Wednesday, April 17, 2013


Jonathon awakened. His mind cleared and he had absolutely no idea where he was. First of all, it was dark...beyond dark. This was absolute darkness, unseen even in the vastness of space. He carefully moved 'round, using his hands like a blind man. The floor was smooth and cool, so were the walls. No seams. No bolts. No nothing. A cube... He was in a cube, roughly fifteen feet square. And it was made of lead. Escape was futile and he knew it. So he sat down with his back toward a corner, hugged his knees and thought.

Other night-folk, 'younger' ones faced prisons like this. Elferinos and elferinas knew. Many of these pubescent vampires crossed the ocean sealed in cramped, leaden casks, tossed by the currents and lost for decades before (finally) touching shore. Imagine sensing the crushing weight of the abyss just beyond the metal. Luck ones came to rest on their backs, or maybe (second best) on their sides. Some faced years upside down, wedged 'tween a rock and a hard place. A few never escape. 

But the 'elf' folk have tools. There are things they can do. Magical thoughts envelope pathetically trapped beings in clouds of 'reality.' Other times and other places congeal 'round the victims like mold on a berry, til they see better things and taste salty blood. And in this way time passes. Occasionally friendly whales nudge them on their way. The night-folk have a treaty with the princes of the sea going back to the days and nights of Lemuria. Or was it Mu? Indeed, some true vampires cross the sea on cetacean steeds. But that's a whole other story.

Jonathon cried. At least his tears were salty. And after a time, he too had visions... of plant filled courtyards and tinkling fountains.... of poetic troubadours and well formed horses. He was home, safe, among the sunny hills of Old Al-Andaluz, surrounded by the poetry of classical Arabic, Aramaic and liturgical Hebrew. Then he took up the oud and he played. How sweet the Berber song.

But what would he do when the moon came (his time to feed)? How would he find food then?

A few miles away, in the town house, Edith told the others she 'felt' him. And the twenty eight thousand year old (though resembling a thirty two or thirty three year old Richard Gere) being known as 'Papa,' smiled. For him, at this time, that was a lot.

Yet other beings 'felt' him too... and they were much nearer. The ninety four year old sickly billionaire sat staring at the dense, gray wall. Then he raised a palsied hand and a functionary wheeled him closer, so he could reach out and feel the cool, unyielding surface. He thought of the treasure within. Vampire blood does many things. It can heal wounds, cure melancholia and confer immortality. And the old man, known as Tobias Maxwell savored each sweet possibility.

While sealed within his six sided shell, the vampire, known as Jonathon went riding.... 'Drinkers of The Wind,' they called them..... Horses of the desert.

And the young, mortal Andalusian aristocrat rode for miles.....
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