Longing

Longing

     Missing the one you love is torture we all feel at some point. I been missing mine for almost 200 years. Vampire, you ask? No, I am not a vampire. I wish. I would be out sipping the finest of blood every night. I’m up anyways, so I would fit right in. Vampires aren’t real. I, on the other hand, am real. Zombie, you ask? Nope, wrong again. Zombies aren’t real either. But, being a Zombie would be nice. I would walk around and eat all the assholes (people, not what you’re thinking, Perv) in the world.

     I am getting ready to die. That is why you are reading this. This is my last few days left and I need to get this out. I was born in 1793. I can’t remember my birthday anymore, but I’m sure of the year. I was born in Philadelphia during the Yellow fever outbreak. Most of my family died, only one that survived was my mother. We had a hard life for most of the time she was alive, which wasn’t long. She died when I was only 14 and had to fend for myself ever since. I did what I could to get through my teen years. I didn’t want to end up in any orphanage. They would rape the girls and boys, they didn’t care. And anyone who would resist would end up getting beat every day and treated like shit. I was not going to let that happen. I bounced around the city until I was 18 and got work as a Baker. Breads, pies, you name it. I was 20 when I met, Ava. Fuck, she was a sight for sore eyes. It’s hard to talk to someone so beautiful when you lived such a fucked up life. She came in the shop almost every day before she went to work. She liked the coffee and blueberry muffins. I remember our first actual conversation like it was yesterday.

     “Why do you get the same thing every morning?” I asked stupidly.

     “Because I enjoy the coffee and love the blueberry muffins.” She said.

     “I like blueberries.” I said.

     “I bet you do, otherwise you wouldn’t bake them early in the morning and wait for me to come in to buy them. I’m sure you’re tired. Bakers start baking early in the morning, right?” She asked.

     “Yes, I do start around 2 a.m., but I like seeing how people enjoy my goods before I go to sleep. And you always love my muffins.”

     “I adore your muffins, and coffee. They keep me going. It was a nice talk and I would love to hear from you more tomorrow if you would be available.” She said.

     “I guess I’ll see you when you come in the get something for the walk back home after work. I could walk you home if you like.” I said.

     She came in after work but didn’t get anything, only me. We walked the whole 20 minutes to her house and talked nonstop. Half way there, she even took my hand into hers and squeezed tightly. It was a wonderful walk. I fell in love that day and has gotten stronger every day since.

     We were together for 3 years when I got the curse put on me. Her dying was torture enough. I put on my baked goods early in the morning and fell asleep in the kitchen. We had a fight the night before and I was exhausted. I woke up in flames and couldn’t run upstairs to get her. We lived above the Bakery until it took off. I had no choice but to run and get help. That night, her mom came and put a curse on me. She was Native American and wasn’t happy I let this happen. She said I would feel this pain for 200 years and as long as I have Ava’s handheld mirror, I would keep my youthful body. But if it broke, my body would show its age and I would have to live amongst the beast the rest of my life.

     I witnessed a lot in my life and felt pain from losing Ava every day since. Each day worse than the other. I couldn’t kill myself or be killed. I tried. I was too scared to smash the mirror in fear of being a monster.

     I am currently in the house I was born in. Ready to die. The mirror broke a few months ago and my body is just a corpse. My legs fell off a few days ago, few fingers are gone, skin and bones, old scars opened up revealing bones and I’m not having the best day. I think I have a few days left to live. But those 3 years with Ava was worth all of this and I would do it again if I had a chance. I wouldn’t have had a fight with her over such trivial things though. She was so gorgeous, she didn’t deserve what happen to her. I should have been there to protect her. But that’s why I am going through this hell… I deserve it. But I still long for her.

The End

    

Damien Clark IV

Damien Clark IV

     Damien jumps the gate into the graveyard. He looks around for bright headlights coming from the main street; there are none. He walks down the east path to the far end of the graveyard. He hears it is where ghouls and ghosts come to life at night. The moon is high in the sky and the air is cold and crisp. All the headstones are old and crumbling away in this area.

     “How old is this part of the plot?” Damien said to himself.

     He continues around the trail and hears a noise coming from behind a mausoleum. He looks back towards the road and sees only darkness and fog. Wind chilling him to the bone, he walks towards the sound. Walking very slowly and timidly, he reaches it and grips the handle and pulls. He pokes his head inside and doesn’t see anything but brick walls and an open empty coffin.

     “I am not fucking checking that out… Nope.” He bursts out.

     Damien closes the door and starts to walk away when he hears the noise from inside again. He takes three fast steps and opens the door wide open. Taking a big breath, he walks to the coffin. Covered in goosebumps, he looks inside and the door slams behind him. He runs to the door and kicks it.

     “Open this fucking door, asshole!” He yells.

     “You’re not supposed to be out, Damien.” A voice said from behind him.

     He feels weak and turns around and looks at the bloody woman standing in the coffin.

     “You been away for too long, better get back where you belong.” She said.

     “I just got here. You’re not real. I must have had too many tonight. I can’t even think straight.” Damien said.

     “I am real, Damien. And so are the dangers.”

     She was gone as soon as he blinks his eyes. Damien reaches for the door and walks out. The fog was getting thicker by the minute. Needing a break, Damien went to sit down by one of the old headstones. Noticing he cleaned part of the headstone, he was curious of the name of the poor soul he was sitting on top of.

     “Damien…Clark IV?” He said. “That can’t be right.”

     He looks at the birth and death date and sees: 11/07/1902 – 11/07/1992

     “I was born in 1992… This isn’t right.” He said as he started to get up.

     He put his hand down on the cold ground and it opens up. A hand pulls him close to the ground, another hand comes out and pulls him under the earth. He is completely covered and the grave starts smoking and opens up. A dried out corpse floats above the grave and steaming blood starts to rise and covers the corpse. Fully replenished, he places his feet on the solid ground. He looks at the grave and watches it cover the dried out remains of Damien.

     “Fuck, that was a long 24 years.” Damien Clark IV said.

The End