Monday, November 15, 2010

The Book of Sarah

This is our plan. We all agree. We must kill Annie. No one likes it. But it has to be done. At least it will give us some breathing time. And who can say that our enemy will reappear in a human vessel in Philadelphia? He may reincarnate through some poor soul in Jakarta, or Lisbon or on some other world altogether. I'm sure the prey we provide here is not unique. We are not so special. There must be bigger fish to fry. Yet we are charged with frying a little fish, a six year old girl with stringy hair and painfully skinny legs. I have never killed or taken part in the killing of a child. And believe me, the brutal conditions in medieval, supposedly 'God fearing' Europe produced countless numbers of murderous, feral ragamuffins. But I never harmed them. They could not help it. Such was their culture. Father forgive them. They know not what they do. There are many occasions for that prayer, especially in our own time. So who will do the deed? I think it will be Bob. It is strange. I now know that his true name is Lyle, but I cannot call him that, any more than the others can call me Jonathan. I guess we are just creatures of habit and so I am Tomas. Sarah has purchased the most cunning of gifts for the cherubs (and for the elves too). They zip through the air decked out like carriage trade yuppie babies with superpowers. But according to those yuppie braggarts, all their babies have superpowers. Yet I am partial to our own. Yes, our own. We have come to view them as our children. They are orphans with none to protect them. We are men and woman with none to protect. The connection is completely understandable and quite natural to all parties concerned. For the time being we've set them up in an abandoned storage building deep in the forests of Fairmount Park. Sarah, Baylah and their other mothers both magical and human  have transformed the space into a veritable vampire wonderland. But for juvenile vampires, little vampires, not for such as we. They have bright, upholstered chests (their beds) fit for a legion of teletubbies. Warm, thick, comfy carpets grace the cold, slick concrete floor. And viniettes of the finest in nursery furnishings find their places amidst the storybook splendor. The whole is liberally peppered with enough toys and games to satisfy the wants and desires of even the most spoiled mortal spawn. The cost? Do not worry. Our coffers are deep. True we only feed but once a month.And just how far will a purloined Rolex or wallet filled with hundreds go. But remember, we also share our blood with the worthy. We preserve the lives of those souls meant to live. Not all of them are poor. Some are quite rich. Money is not necessarily a bar to goodness. And very often one of our wealthy recipients graciously provides us with a portion of their earthy treasure. Well, I don't mind telling you that I am very easy to shop for. Treasure always works for me. And for the others too I might  add. It's not as if we keep it all for ourselves. Many are those who have benefited from our largesse. And hopefully, if we are able to foil our Enemy and survive we will be able to help many, many more.

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