Tuesday September 16, 2003
Storytime
Here is a story I started a little while ago. Got a call from a friend recently who is taking English in college. Fuck, he's good at writing. Makes my writing look like pond scum. Ah, well, what can you do?
I was young when I received the news. The look on my doctor's face as she entered the room and looked from the floor to my face… a look I will never forget. Months later the look on my parent's faces as they gazed upon the frail shell of my body after hopeless treatment. I never expected to wake up, closing my eyes, the hand of a loved one in mine. I died 8 months, 14 days, 9 hours after knowing exactly when I was going to die.
A awoke to dim light, classical music, and the feel of cold, hard metal beneath me. Unable to move, and too hungry to care, I attempted to blink my burning eyes from their blurriness. I must have made some noise, as a finger came to rest upon my numb lips and an unknown voice whispered beside me, “Shh. The first night is always the most difficult. Rest—all will be explained tomorrow.”
I awoke once more, this time to crystal vision and an unknown body. I was unfamiliar with my new strength, my balance was wrong, and when I attempted to rise, I promptly fell from my resting place. Laughing, a young man with sharp features, short black hair, and piercingly black eyes helped me into a chair. “You must be careful, lest you destroy my furniture. You are stronger than you can imagine, now.”
“What..?” My voice cracking from disuse, sounding nothing like what I remember, “W-who are you?”
Bowing with a flourish ineffective without a cloak, the young figure grinned, flashing canines just a little too long, too sharp. “You can call me Nathaniel. We have much to discuss, you and I, but first, a toast.” Picking up two previously unnoticed wine glasses, he offered one to me. My eyes dropped quickly from his features, as if called by the ruby liquid within the glass. My shaking hand took the glass from his, eyes never leaving the reflective surface of the… wine? Too thick…
“To health?”
“Health,” I mumbled, distracted, as he raised his glass to his white lips. Doing likewise, I drank a single sip but did not lower the glass. Fire burned where this liquid went, and as soon as I had breath in me, a low growl escaped my lips. Downing the remainder in a single drought, I opened my eyes wide at last, gasping, “I must have more!”
— Alice