Star_Spark
07-05-2008, 09:56 PM
“Gabriel, will you ever forget her? Decades-centuries even- have passed. You need to move on.” Raphael lays a hand on my shoulder. I don’t even look at him. How can he possibly understand?
“How,” I ask coldly, “Do you suppose I do that exactly, Raphael?” I stand and gaze at him angrily. “Come on old man, if you are so wise, tell me how to forget because I would gladly like to. I want to forget her face, her smell, her lifeless eyes after I drank her dry. Pray, tell me how to forget!”
Raphael steps back, away from my flow of anger. I look away, swallowing.
“That’s what I thought, Raphael. Now leave me alone,” I mutter darkly. I crouch back down on the ground, wallowing in my own, century’s old self pity.
“I’m sorry old chap,” whispers Raphael and I feel him leave, returning probably to his lover. His vampire lover from whom he never has to worry about hurting.
Jealously burns in my chest, ripping through my body with such intensity, but I push it aside. Guilt at the way I spoke to my oldest friend, and teacher, overpowers the jealous anger.
I can’t hate him; he just doesn’t understand what it’s like. So how can he know that it’s not so easy just so forget?
I sigh, allowing my head to fall into my stone-like hands. Her face flashes into my mind. Marianne had been so beautiful. Her face was heart shaped and ivory coloured, her eyes, big and laced with long lashes, stood out in all their chocolate coloured glory. Marianne’s chestnut, curly hair whips around her face in my mind, as she smiles and holds out her arms to me, her cheeks blushing ever so slightly.
My heart aches and I pull myself from the darkly sweet memory of my lost love.
I shake my head and rise from the cool ground. My hands slide into my pockets as I make my way up the gravelled path to Beaux Champs, the country house Raphael had obtained years before.
I walk in, hands still in my pockets and my head bent, staring at the tiled floor. I glance up, seeing Raphael whispering to Lindsey. She nods and leaves the room.
“Forgive me, friend,” I say, “Marianne is a sensitive subject.” He smiles, and nods.
“Of course Gabriel, it was my mistake. I should know better then to talk of her.” I smile weakly, a faltering smile that flashing for only a second before disappearing.
“Now,” says Raphael loudly, an attempt to change subject, “We must go and feed, friend.” I merely nod, and leave the way I had entered, waiting out in the night for Lindsey and Raphael, trying not to think of the lives we will be taking this night
“How,” I ask coldly, “Do you suppose I do that exactly, Raphael?” I stand and gaze at him angrily. “Come on old man, if you are so wise, tell me how to forget because I would gladly like to. I want to forget her face, her smell, her lifeless eyes after I drank her dry. Pray, tell me how to forget!”
Raphael steps back, away from my flow of anger. I look away, swallowing.
“That’s what I thought, Raphael. Now leave me alone,” I mutter darkly. I crouch back down on the ground, wallowing in my own, century’s old self pity.
“I’m sorry old chap,” whispers Raphael and I feel him leave, returning probably to his lover. His vampire lover from whom he never has to worry about hurting.
Jealously burns in my chest, ripping through my body with such intensity, but I push it aside. Guilt at the way I spoke to my oldest friend, and teacher, overpowers the jealous anger.
I can’t hate him; he just doesn’t understand what it’s like. So how can he know that it’s not so easy just so forget?
I sigh, allowing my head to fall into my stone-like hands. Her face flashes into my mind. Marianne had been so beautiful. Her face was heart shaped and ivory coloured, her eyes, big and laced with long lashes, stood out in all their chocolate coloured glory. Marianne’s chestnut, curly hair whips around her face in my mind, as she smiles and holds out her arms to me, her cheeks blushing ever so slightly.
My heart aches and I pull myself from the darkly sweet memory of my lost love.
I shake my head and rise from the cool ground. My hands slide into my pockets as I make my way up the gravelled path to Beaux Champs, the country house Raphael had obtained years before.
I walk in, hands still in my pockets and my head bent, staring at the tiled floor. I glance up, seeing Raphael whispering to Lindsey. She nods and leaves the room.
“Forgive me, friend,” I say, “Marianne is a sensitive subject.” He smiles, and nods.
“Of course Gabriel, it was my mistake. I should know better then to talk of her.” I smile weakly, a faltering smile that flashing for only a second before disappearing.
“Now,” says Raphael loudly, an attempt to change subject, “We must go and feed, friend.” I merely nod, and leave the way I had entered, waiting out in the night for Lindsey and Raphael, trying not to think of the lives we will be taking this night