Nanowrimo - 13

He continues to talk, which is good because my breath is completely gone.

"All my life I've heard this sweet voice of a woman in my head; nice and soft and steady and always seeming to make sense of those things which made no sense at all. Yet every time I tried to draw near to her, she disappeared. Every time I thought I'd found her, she was gone again. In moments of loneliness I would fly toward that loving voice. But then, POOF! Just like that! Vanished! I just wanted to put the world together in a way that made sense. It was you, wasn't it? That voice was you, Mummy!"

"I-I had no idea that you were once born. I had no idea.... I thought that by my leaving I might..."

"Yes!” He interrupts. “Yes, that is another juicy subject, isn't it? You up and leaving me when I was just a wee child of two years old! And to the care of that boorish man with his peevish fleet of nurses and maids, tutors and horse riding teachers! I was subjected to learning lots of stuff, which I was quite sure mattered little. And I know how to ride a horse into battle. A skill that still serves me well, as you can just imagine. But, no one, none of the lot of them, understood me. No, none of them could figure out that little boy at all. They all figured my moodiness was a side effect of my motherless condition. But that didn't stop them from applying the switch to my back for every sullen attitude or roguish wit. All I had, the only connection, what this thin voice I would hear in the silence. I used to lock myself into the closet and dig deep behind the coats just to have the silence and to year that comfort. I thought if I could just find the owner of that voice, all my misery would stop. And here you are!"

I'm beginning to despise his theatrical manner. What century does he think this is? I hold my head between my palms. The thumping in my temples seems like to explode. Breathing deeply, I can only push out one sentence at a time. "I did think of you often, imagining how I would talk to you if you were with me, if I was allowed to treat you like I wanted to. But that man, that horrible man, he yanked you from my arms within minutes of your birth. I wasn't allowed near my own child. I couldn't nurse you, touch you."

"And leaving looked like a good solution to you? For whom was this solution of yours supposed to be of any benefit? You should have fought! You should have demanded to take care of your son!"

"DON'T YOU DARE JUDGE MY ACTIONS! Don't you dare judge my yesterday using today's yard stick! You have NO IDEA what it was like to be a woman back then. I wasn't a person, I was chattel! When Mr. Fitz... whatever his name was married me he as good as bought me and I, my offspring, my very body belonged to him! I had no voice! I had no rights! I had no wealth or political ties of my own to fall back on and certainly lacked the social graces to be gay in public company. One word from him and I could have been out on the street with nothing and no one to fall back upon! I couldn't even leave my door unaccompanied without incurring condemnation. I COULDN'T WALK DOWN THE STREET! You have no idea! NONE!" He waits in silence while I catch my breath.

“Are you a homosexual?”

“Oh don’t tell me you have a problem with that! Now YOU need to move that attitude into this century!”

“I have no issue with it as long as you are honest. Your father was a homosexual. I was convinced of it even as naïve as I was back then. He despised having to be married to me. It was only in a heated moment after my first feed that I managed to conceive you. I don’t think he made anyone’s life more pleasant save for his lover. So I’m asking you. Are you a homosexual?”

“Yes, indeed I am.”

“Good. You know what you are, then. And I knew what I was, although I didn't know that much about it. I had fed. Sure, I had fed once and felt that inexplicable rush of pleasure. I was as much frightened as delighted. Like the first time you touch yourself as a child and it feels good even though it’s a bit new and unnatural. You like it but instinctively know that you’ve done something mommy would hate. I had, as of yet, no idea where this had come from, thought I had perhaps done to cause it. I looked at you in your crib and saw my shadow pass over your face. I figured, wrongly - obviously, that by leaving I would spare you turning into what I had become."

"I've been looking for you for over 200 years! So many times I thought through just what I might say. I’ve wasted hours crafting what exact words I could say that would ...pierce your heart just as mine has been! And now you're here and you're just so... disappointing! Look at you! You're tired. You have bad hair. You deprive yourself the feeding you need for the most maudlin of reasons. And that is all you have to say to me? These excuses?"

"You're angry."

"Nice catch, that. How ever did you guess?"

"I was angry for a long time. And we do not feel emotions like mortals. Even if you're passing, there's no one who can hold your hand while that wave hits. I’ve felt that tide roll in and hit me like a wall, damned near drowning me in a see of hatred. I killed a lot of people, wanting to watch them hurt. But this, too, shall pass. The tide just as surely flows back out, and hopefully there is not too much wreckage in its wake to tidy up."

"When was that? Was that when I lost track of you?"

"Hm. From before the Tecumseh wars on to the begin of the Mexican war. 1810 maybe? The details, you know, get fuzzy. Counting doesn’t matter so much after a while."

"They wouldn't if you would feed. It is in our nature to feed! Why do you deny yourself what is natural? Vampires make terrible nuns, you know."

"It doesn't exactly go with my job title."

"And what are you doing playing minister to these foolish mortals? They're so peevish and trite! I don't see why you bother with them so much!"

I stomp my foot on the floor, rattling the furniture and windows. "The man you killed tonight wasn't trite. He was a good person."

"That old bit of gristle tasted like canned food." He muses, theatrically picking his teeth.

"You are not funny!"

"Oh! What are you going to do, Mummy? Take me over your knee?" his sarcasm catches me up short. Must have gotten that trait from his father. "you can't because you lack the strength to do anything about it. But you’re not totally spent on life yet, I can see that."

"I do not wish to feed, anymore. I wish to be done. I've seen enough."

"Well, you better start, because you're going to need some energy. I'm not done with your little country town just yet. And no mortal can stop me, so you're going to have to come after me yourself! It will be like all the fun little games we never got to play! Catch me if you can!"

"You - you're not going to kill again, are you? How could you?"

"I feed and kill in the way God intended me to, just like you. When we don't do what we're meant to do, we get unhappy. Wasn't that in one of your Sunday talks?"

"But this is not right! It's one thing to feed but you can't just treat their lives as if they don't matter! Life is not a game! Mortals are not toys!"

"OH please! Look in the mirror next time you toss out the platitudes! Je-SUS! The four fifths of them who won't be 'terrorized' will be eagerly watching the evening news! Not a few will even hope to be my next victim! See, the human brain is wired to enjoy violence. Think about it, they had to be, for violence is necessary to survival. It is mandatory that one do violence to an animal or a tree in order to procure food and shelter. Those ape men who recoiled from wielding the club or flint simply didn't survive. They didn’t live long enough to put their drop into the river of DNA. That's why the English loved watching the criminals be hung, drawn & quartered. That's why Parisian crowds watched eagerly while person after person went to the guillotine. That's why the mobs gathered for lynchings in America like it was a Sunday outing. That’s why nation after nation continues to make war and make movies about war and why people line up and pay good money out of love for gory, violent movies. And now that most people don't get the opportunity to kill in order to eat, now that dinner is just a trip to the refrigerator and just some plastic wrapping away? They're bored and depressed. Don't worry mummy! They're going to love me!"

"You're a monster!"

"And the apple doesn't fall far from the tree!"

"STOP THIS! If you're angry at me then take it out on me! What do you want me to say? That I'm sorry? Sorry doesn't even cover how either of us feels. I was wrong! I was young and foolish and selfish and wrong. I can't expect you to forgive but don't take your anger out on these people!"

"Then why don't you stand up, wipe your bony ass and get off the fucking pity pot?! Live, damn you!"

"Because I'm tired! I am so, so deeply tired right down to my bones. I just can't."

Thick quiet fills up the air. It's a while before he breaks it. "I saw you once. You were soaring above the mountains, riding the air, and hunting with ease. That is the picture of you I have held." He makes for the window, fixing to leave.

"Wait. Before you go. What is your name? I didn't have a say in naming you, and time has taken it from me. I know I’m a terrible mum, but please just tell me your name."

A sly smile curls across his face. "You can call me 'Jack'." And in a flash of dark wings, he's gone.