Sunday, July 28, 2013


The things I speak of already happened, but not that very long ago. When you read this, it seems as if you peek into the distant past, for my true time is far removed from yours. I know not what calender you use. I'm told the Zoroastrians have one and the Jews have one and the Egyptians have one based on ancient dynasties. The Romans base theirs on The Founding.... the establishment of 'The City.'..... Who cares? Days are days and nights are nights. And all of us ultimately die. Do you think bodies in the grave, or ashes in the urn worry about numbers? 

But please forgive me these outbursts, for I have seen bad things. The lady's maid, from my master's household, asked me to save her father, held in bondage quite nearby, though in a strange and grievous place. Rome holds many secrets behind plain, rough, street-side walls. Her ruling families turn inward, away from the disgusting mob they need so much.... I ask you... who is the real vampire... I, or a clueless, eight year old prince-ling playing knucklebones with the real thing, made from the chopped-off hands of a hungry slave-thief trying to filch a fresh, hot, pigeon pie. They still have him... the slave, I mean.... Play ring toss games on the stumps. And he  eats his food from a bowl like a dog.

I picked the lady's maid's father out right away. They share the same scent. Mortals smell like bread to me, or sausages, or even cat piss. Not vile odors, though decidedly alive and of the flesh. He was packed in tight, down in the 'pits,' mindlessly humping up against a more or less anonymous mound of meat. Must have been a kitchen slave. They do tend to corpulence. Funny, no one chops their hands off. Probably because they're afraid of ground glass in their porridge. Causes heart problems, you know. And by 'problems' I mean death. 

Now, the father in the pit was painfully thin and his illness was quite manifest. Perhaps he'd have lived a season or two more. But the daughter, the lady's maid, was very attached to him. For the first six years of her life they were owned by the same people. She didn't even have a name, not an official one anyway... not a name given her by the master. Most called her 'Outy,' after her navel. They tied rags 'round her feet and used her to polish the floors. But one too many trips to the gaming tables of Capri forced a series of liquidations. She was sold with the cleaning supplies. He was sold as a 'rooster,' for back then that's what he was.

But back to the pit, which was more like a round, deep, well-like dungeon. I think I've mentioned it before. The close, nighttime quarters facilitated mating and frankly guaranteed a good crop of future merchandise. Some of the others knew what I was and called for me to favor them, or to finish them off.  Slaves have such simple wishes. But a vampire bodyguard who feeds off potentially valuable assets, especially other people's assets, walks on shaky ground.

So I fished him out and made him well. Those in the pit cheered and wept. A few drops of life-eater blood passed mouth to mouth is a potent thing. That much I knew...

That much I knew quite well... 

And I did intend to talk about the acid baths, but these episodes are real and truly 'organic.' Isn't that a word endemic to your time? See, I observe. I see things. 

Now let me retreat to the shadows. Next time I'll tell you more...

wander through all of the VAMPIRE WONDERLAND at ~> THE TALE OF 700,000 WORDS ... join me on Twitter~>@wilkravitz ... your COMMENTS are very important to me... thank you very much... 

No comments: