I don’t know how long I’ve lived here.
I prowled within these once-pristine white walls, pillars rising up to the now faded murals exquisitely painted on the domed ceiling. Long benches which used to be polished daily now sat askew on the crackled marble floor, the paint peeling and the corners covered in little cobwebs.
There was once a time where this monastery buzzed with life and activity. While it maintained its quiet interior, the inhabitants within it often keeping to hushed whispers, the close-knit community dwelling within these humble walls shared their meals, sermons and lives together as they entered the world there- and so did they leave the world there as well.
I was one of those dwellers, once. But it’s been so long. I no longer remember their faces, their names, what they liked to do in their free time or what their favourite food was. The memories sifted away like sand, and I could do nothing but wait until it all sifted away, and I would be left with nothing but myself and my own desires.
I often pondered about this as I swept through the dusty corridors, brushing my hands over the cracked walls, wondering if each crack contained a memory within me which I’d forgotten. Not much remained of the inhabitants either. They were all said to be buried in the crypts below, a never-ending rest finally granted to them by the god we used to serve. An eternal rest sounded like the perfect way to end one’s existence, and was something which was granted to them, rather than just happen to them. What happens to those then who did not receive the permission to rest? What happens then?
I no longer remember.
Fragments of memory often pass by me like droplets of rain- they remain there for a while, soaking up the surface of which it lands on, before eventually evaporating and returning back to the sky. I sound just like an amnesiac in that sense, and it frustrates me to days on end, to months, to years. How long more must I exist as merely a ‘surface’ for memories to just come and go like that? Not only that, my own body requires a sustenance to function. A sustenance which no human ever needed, yet their bodies themselves serve as a fountain which produces the one thing I wish I never needed- blood.
I believe this is what the common folk refer to as a vampire.
I ‘stalk’ through the woods surrounding the monastery as if I were a predator hunting for prey. My nails which grow out faster than I can clip them easily turn into an animal’s claws. The leathery wings which achingly grow out my back compared to that of a bat. My canines which can’t help but ache for blood, the longer I go without it, the more I start to lose myself. The world closes in on me, and I feel as if I were plunged into a cold, dark cellar without a single piece of clothing to warm me. I guess this is what differentiates me between a bat. They feed on fruit. I don’t.
The monastery is my only place of solace, now abandoned and crumbling under the weight of time. It is where I am safe, where I belong, where I will not be disturbed.
Which was why the moment I heard a moving pair of human footsteps enter the threshold, the noise caused me to jump out of my skin. Hiding behind a pillar near the wall, I spotted a human child wander into the monastery. His skin was so pale, the sunlight streaming in within the cracks of the domed ceiling illuminating his soft brown hair made him look like an angel. He was dressed in torn rags, and visibly shivering, badly. Now that I think about it, it was right about the middle of winter. He was cold, of course. But why then did he wear such thin clothing?
I continued observing him as he went right up to a scorn by a pillar, recently lit up by me to give the place a little more light. I didn’t need it, but it looked nice. A single scorn burning in the darkness of the monastery with only cracks of light streaming through gave me a good feeling. As if there were a light at the end of a tunnel, which often symbolises hope to many.
The boy stretched out his arms to the scorn, warming them. Then he rubbed his palms together, breathing into them, before sliding down against the pillar and hugging himself. There he remained for what seemed like hours. Perhaps days? My concept of time had rotted together with my memories, but he was sat there long enough until I heard a strange noise emit from his stomach.
Ah, hunger. I recognise that feeling. Similar to thirst, but instead of an aching throat, you have an aching stomach instead. Was he too, plunged into a dark, cold cellar with his world closing in on him? I could not imagine how much colder he could get, as his shivers were getting more violent as time passed. I felt guilty for the boy, yet I had no human food with me. But human food consists of animal meat, and certain plants, no? They shouldn’t be too difficult to get in the woods surrounding the monastery.
So I set off silently within the shadows of the monastery, putting my wings to some use as I scoured the nearby forest for an animal. As easily as an owl swooping down for its prey, I landed on a rabbit and quickly killed it with a swift twist of its neck. I returned to the monastery seconds later, the rabbit dangling over my shoulder. I considered how I could show myself to the child. I’d only ever been met with fear and despair by the humans I’d fed on, their eyes pleading and their cries desperate. But this time I was providing food to the human. How differently would it go? Would I scare off the boy, just like a prey getting spooked by a nearby predator? I’d been treated as an animal for so long, sometimes I too, forget that I am not one. But what I see and what humans see is akin to two different worlds- on the same coin, but on different sides. Black and white, right and wrong, life and death. Do we not all want the same thing, though? To survive? To live?
I wrestle with these thoughts daily, the answers seemingly so distant, but now so close as I approached the boy huddled up against the pillar. I forget to make noise as I walk, and the boy whips his head up as I lay the dead rabbit on the ground before him as if it were a peace offering. His eyes are red and puffy, but the irises within them shone with the most illuminating shade of green I’d ever seen. Not like the green of the surrounding woods, but more like the green of the ocean waves. Another distant memory which confused me about why I remembered it.
He then stared at the rabbit, then up at me again. I made sure to hide my teeth, my hands folded behind my back, and my wings tucked tightly behind me. I gave him what I assumed was a smile.
I counted the seconds it would take until the boy eventually starts screaming and crying and scrambling madly away from me as most humans did, but he did not react. In fact, he looked somewhat… dead. The eyes which I looked at seemed as lifeless as a fish out of water. He was alive… right?
“Who are you?” his voice cracked, slightly echoing within the empty hall. I let loose a breath. He sounded as if he hadn’t spoken in years.
I shook my head, and pushed the rabbit toward him. Without opening my mouth, I pointed at the rabbit, then at my mouth. Then I smiled again. But he stared at my arm, my finger… and realised that he noticed the claws. Yet, he didn’t run, didn’t scream. Instead, he simply asked, “you look hungry, too. It’s alright, you don’t have to give me anything.” This time, he gave me smile. It was weak, but that smile seemed to warm my fingertips which were beginning to freeze over in the past few weeks. How did he know?
My jaw dropped slightly, revealing my teeth, and he stilled. Yet he kept his eyes fixed on mine, the smile still there.
“Yours…” I began to say, but I closed my mouth again. How long had it been since I’d last spoken? My voice sounded so foreign to me, the vocal chords ringing in my throat giving me an odd sensation.
The boy shook his head, and pushed the rabbit back toward me. I guess he didn’t yet know what I was. But that made me not want to tell him. Perhaps the longer he didn’t know, the longer he would stay here, below the warmth of the sconce I lighted, within the monastery which I inhabited. The thought of another living being living within these walls strangely excited me, and I was willing to relish the moment for as long as I could. But how long would that be until I eventually blacked out again, leaving behind nothing but a bag of skin and bones? Or until he would find out what I was and run away screaming like all the others?
I gave him a long look, and felt something warm drip down my face. I reached up to touch it- they were tears. Tears?
The boy’s eyes then widened. He then sat up and reached out a hand to wipe my other cheek, saying “I’m sorry… I just don’t feel good accepting food from another hungry person.”
I opened my mouth again, but closed it. That moment his finger came into contact with my face, my skin burned. Not in pain, but it gave me a rather odd feeling that left me wanting for more. Like my thirst, but different. I froze up, processing everything that had happened in those five? Ten? Minutes. It was a sensory overload- one which I was not used to. I fell back, and heard myself saying, “No, no… I’m… not hungry.”
The boy frowned, the disbelief in his face clearly showing. I couldn’t tell him who I was. I couldn’t…
“Let’s eat it together then,” he suddenly said. I still sat there, my hands unconsciously going to my cheek where his finger had left it before. His smile returned again, found myself unable to say no again.
“Alright.”
Note:
Hello!!!!! While i’m balls deep in Uni work, I suddenly found some inspiration to write this thing! Wow, where was this inspiration 4 months ago when I needed to write my weekly creative writing workshop submissions for my portfolio? I guess that’s a #justwriterthings kinda thing.
As always, this is a super drafty version written in just a couple hours, with no idea whether to continue or how to continue. As tempted as I am to transform this into my 8k final portfolio submission, i’m afraid my submission deadline says no so this might unfortunately turn into another abandoned piece.
HOWEVER! I am taking a Fiction for young people module and this could very well go into YA territory. We shall see, because YA still needs certain language and I guess tropes/themes for it to be clearly distinguished as YA. Where this stands right now, I have no idea what genre it falls into. If most people say this sounds like YA, I might do it. After all, we’re dealing with a YA favourite here- vampires 😉
Fiction from the soul 