The Book of Sarah

This time it is Sarah. As you know, I culled my first victim last night. The experience changed me. I felt a cleansing energy pass through me. When the victim ceased to exist, defects in this universe seemed to lessen. And I do not know if it is the blood that nourishes me or something much more fundamental than that. I suspect it is the assurance that I am a tool in God's Hands used for the perfection of creation. I feel like a saint. This is what the rapture must be like. I do not know. Maybe this actually is the rapture. And tonight I will walk among the mortals dispensing life saving trickles of my heaven blessed blood. Will I help the sick, locked away in mercenary hospitals? Should I visit the poor? Perhaps give assistance to homesick, struggling college students? The sad souls filling the jails? Helpless children in brutal surroundings? In time I will come to them all. I am told that most beings such as I make a kill their first night. I did not. I did not require it. What is it that sets me apart? Tomas does not know and the others do not care. But I wonder. Once, at a carnival, the fortune teller told me I was destined to bring about great change in the world. I was still a mortal back then. Did she foresee my transformation? Did she see me as I am now?  During the light-time, while I was 'sleeping' (Tomas says we actually wander the streets of heaven) I heard the voices of children. They called to me from a distance. They whispered my name. They loved me. I'm sure they loved me. Tomas was not surprised when I told him. He said that he was right there with me. Baylah just looked down at her hands and said nothing. She wants a soul to share things with. True, she does have the Pow Wow Woman. But she does not want to join our ranks. She is just here to listen and share the things she knows. Bob does not know what to make of any of it. He appears to be the least spiritual miraculous person imaginable. Bob has problems. Perhaps I can help him solve them? Please excuse me. But I must renounce the ether to another. I must choose my garments for this evening. I do so want to look my best when I make my rounds. After all, a 'visitation' is a life altering experience........ Is she gone? Can I speak now? Did you ever see such a case of 'Jerusalem Fever' in your life? Converts get that way. She has the furvor of the newly saved. Perhaps she is sincere. But everlasting (or practically everlasting) life has taught me that angels lose their enthusiasm after an eon or two. They start picking at their wings. They start shedding feathers. Lose too many feathers and you fall. Well,maybe she will be different. Tomas seems to be. Oh, come on. You know who I am. It is me, the unnamed voice. Let me see. What did I want to tell you? Oh yes! The Old Woman has resurfaced. She was in a women's shelter, a bleak place, straight out of Dickens. The others thought she was crazy. She told them. She told them everything, about how she had tiny gifts of vampire blood in her, about how she was more than onehundred and forty years old. They laughed at her. One brazen bitch even spit in her face. They stole things from her, mostly baubles and valuables she took from the penthouse. The matrons knew what was going on. As long as they got their cut, what did they care? One night she just wandered out onto the street and disappeared. But she did not disappear. None of you can. We always know where you are. Want to know what happened to her? I will tell you. She came face to face with Annie. That Annie thing backed her into an alley. She was about to sic the dogs on her. No, she didn't have the dogs that night. Excuse me.That night she was using the rats. She was about to loose the rats on her. But the Old Woman just looks at her, cool as punch, and says - Aw, you don't wanna kill me. They locked eyes. The Old Woman giggles quietly and says - You know me... And I know you. Not this little thing. Not this little meat puppet. I know YOU. Come on (she bats her eyes like a silent film vixen) give a girl a chance. She approaches Annie, gets down on her knees among the scrambling mass of rats and caresses her. She whispers in her ear. I do not know what was said. I do not know the words. But if I had some lungs. And if I had a mouth. And if I had some lips, I could sure as hell whistle the tune for you.