Tuesday, May 29, 2012

ANNIE RAN AWAY FROM PAPA...and you know what a rumpus that little vampirina can make

Tonight you have Zebulon once again. I have just returned from The Sea of Harps, known to you as The Sea of Galilee. But the ancient Hebrews preferred the more poetic name, for the coastline does form a giant harp and was home to many Biblical bards, virtuosos on an instrument identical to that portrayed on countless bottles of Guiness.

I'd been hob-knobbing with a certain ghostly personage once powerful at the court of King Jeroboam. We'd float above the verdant hills tasting fragrant breezes from off the storied lake. How the moonbeams tickled me. Some disembodied spirits are sensitive that way, but I view it as a blessing and an exquisite pleasure known only to those of my kind.

But then I heard 'Papa' and so I hurried right back. Annie is off on a tear. Once, during a similar episode, she sublimated into the Academy of Natural Sciences and did obscene things to the stuffed monstrosities in all the dioramas . Eskimo matrons frolicked naked with drunken zebras and Neanderthal hunters forswore their prey for a rather bawdy game of buck-buck. Even the beavers got high on grass. And Mrs. Simons' forth grade class (arriving first thing in the morning) genuinely appreciated the altered presentations, though most parents in attendance did not.

Needless to say, vampires (known to certain officers of the venerable museum) were persona non grata there for quite a while.

Still, it's only natural for the former six year old to get that way. She's only been a life-eater for a year and her mortal existence was none too pleasant, but I don't want to get into that. Besides, there are conflicting stories.

Philadelphia vampire life is unsettled now. The 'enemy' storms the gates. Tomas grapples with depression. He'd never admit to that, but it's true. Safe berths are hard to find. Albion, Marianne, Roland and Celeste, our elferino-vampirinos, flit amongst the moldering monuments of Laurel Hill Cemetery. And the caretaker's wife knits light, wool outfits for the sweet-cheeked, little cherubs. She giggles at each tiny kiss, begrudging not the blood, for how else can they get it?

And while it is true that cherubs rarely drain a victim to the point of death, they do have that ability. Teeth or no teeth, the nubile, little, sharp tipped tongue does it all.

Perhaps they'll form a nimbus and confront the 'enemy'?

Now, let me go attend to Annie, before she bites off any more toes...... Oh, and make sure you tuck that blanket in real tight around your feet. No telling where she'll pop up next.


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