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Jonathon speaks -
I enjoyed saving those two young men last time. Such acts enrich me. I feel it's why I came to be. And I've done similar things before and I remember them all. There was a time almost one hundred years ago, I visited a prison camp in Mississippi, a miserable collection of ticky tacky worn plank barracks and heavy, iron chains. The souls were shackled together at the ankle. They slept that way, every one on their back in hard, mean, little coffin-like beds, bitten by all manner of loathsome insects... greasy, unwashed faces in the night .... attached to a big chain running through each filthy nest... broken bulbs on a long line of Christmas lights. A 'trustee' sat on an old cane back chair, making sure nobody got 'antsy.' He didn't have a gun, being a prisoner himself and all, but they gave him a starter pistol. Somebody commence to dance around too much he just squeeze off a shot and guards come running. Trustees work two hour shifts. They sleep in the trustees' bunk. No ankle chains. They're like slaves to the guards, though. Some say chains would be better.
You see, I like variety. Certain nights I just sublimate up into the air and see where it takes me. The ether moves faster than the actual air molecules you are used to. One night I went to Bermuda. Trips down south are easy. Got to hole up somewhere during the day, because I can't go there and back in one night. But vampires have a talent for finding hidey-holes. Every town has an old, boarded up 'haunted' house. Some days the place really is haunted... by me.... But this stories about that night at the prison camp.
I'd pass through the flimsy walls just above bunk height. They call them 'bunks,' but there's only one level. Then I'd slide over my intended subject. I can tell who needs saving, always could. Don't make no noise. Prisoners sleep through anything. Road work tires them out real good. In the middle of the night the trustee rings a little bell and whispers - Piss pot. Piss pot. Who gotta use the piss pot? He has a hurricane lamp screwed into the wall right by his chair. Gives off a little light. Them what gotta pass water raise their hand. Trustee take 'em one or two at a time down the other end to use the piss pot. Got a rule ... if you twin-pissin' you keep your head down and follow your own stream. Nobody want the trustee to call the guards. Guards allowed to kill a prisoner. It say so in the book. They got a little instruction book. On page seven it say --- Y'all can kill a fella what get hisself all worked up. 'cause sometime that the only thing what work...... But you gotta have a good reason to write down in the 'reason' ledger, or Old Mister Big Man, the warden gonna fart in your face. That's what they call it --- fart in your face. ... Means he gonna do something to you, like fire your brother-in-law. Next time it happen, he fire you. Everybody got family 'round here.
So I slide over fella I'm gonna help, put my arms around him, like we gonna dance and sublimate out through the wall. Them what's close to me gets carried along in my aura. Pass through anything what ain't lead.... When we outside, I do like I did with them two kids last night. I set 'em down out back of a nice shuttered general store and pass inside for some proper clothes. They tend to be awake by then and start asking questions. I motion for them to be quiet, 'cause I'm a guardian angel and The Lord don't want no trouble. Most cooperate, 'cause they like that bein' free part. Sometimes I bring out a soaking wet towel so they can clean up a little. Then, when they all dressed in new dungarees and work shirts, I slip off a ring, or something and say -- Here, you can pawn this.... They don't ask no questions. Figure we got lots a rings in Heaven.
I can't tell you who I saved that night, 'cause he has children and grandchildren and they're real high level these days. Go to The Kentucky Derby and everything. Have a house in Dustin, Florida. Don't want no convict pop-pop, so I oblige them.
Look how easy I slip into this Southern Talk. That's a vampire talent too.
You see, we fit in real good.....
<more next time>
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
click WHAT UP? ... for a sample Vampire Wonderland subscription. poke around a little. if you like, subscribe for real.
click YES ... to join me on Twitter. maybe leave a COMMENT too?... thank you.
I enjoyed saving those two young men last time. Such acts enrich me. I feel it's why I came to be. And I've done similar things before and I remember them all. There was a time almost one hundred years ago, I visited a prison camp in Mississippi, a miserable collection of ticky tacky worn plank barracks and heavy, iron chains. The souls were shackled together at the ankle. They slept that way, every one on their back in hard, mean, little coffin-like beds, bitten by all manner of loathsome insects... greasy, unwashed faces in the night .... attached to a big chain running through each filthy nest... broken bulbs on a long line of Christmas lights. A 'trustee' sat on an old cane back chair, making sure nobody got 'antsy.' He didn't have a gun, being a prisoner himself and all, but they gave him a starter pistol. Somebody commence to dance around too much he just squeeze off a shot and guards come running. Trustees work two hour shifts. They sleep in the trustees' bunk. No ankle chains. They're like slaves to the guards, though. Some say chains would be better.
You see, I like variety. Certain nights I just sublimate up into the air and see where it takes me. The ether moves faster than the actual air molecules you are used to. One night I went to Bermuda. Trips down south are easy. Got to hole up somewhere during the day, because I can't go there and back in one night. But vampires have a talent for finding hidey-holes. Every town has an old, boarded up 'haunted' house. Some days the place really is haunted... by me.... But this stories about that night at the prison camp.
I'd pass through the flimsy walls just above bunk height. They call them 'bunks,' but there's only one level. Then I'd slide over my intended subject. I can tell who needs saving, always could. Don't make no noise. Prisoners sleep through anything. Road work tires them out real good. In the middle of the night the trustee rings a little bell and whispers - Piss pot. Piss pot. Who gotta use the piss pot? He has a hurricane lamp screwed into the wall right by his chair. Gives off a little light. Them what gotta pass water raise their hand. Trustee take 'em one or two at a time down the other end to use the piss pot. Got a rule ... if you twin-pissin' you keep your head down and follow your own stream. Nobody want the trustee to call the guards. Guards allowed to kill a prisoner. It say so in the book. They got a little instruction book. On page seven it say --- Y'all can kill a fella what get hisself all worked up. 'cause sometime that the only thing what work...... But you gotta have a good reason to write down in the 'reason' ledger, or Old Mister Big Man, the warden gonna fart in your face. That's what they call it --- fart in your face. ... Means he gonna do something to you, like fire your brother-in-law. Next time it happen, he fire you. Everybody got family 'round here.
So I slide over fella I'm gonna help, put my arms around him, like we gonna dance and sublimate out through the wall. Them what's close to me gets carried along in my aura. Pass through anything what ain't lead.... When we outside, I do like I did with them two kids last night. I set 'em down out back of a nice shuttered general store and pass inside for some proper clothes. They tend to be awake by then and start asking questions. I motion for them to be quiet, 'cause I'm a guardian angel and The Lord don't want no trouble. Most cooperate, 'cause they like that bein' free part. Sometimes I bring out a soaking wet towel so they can clean up a little. Then, when they all dressed in new dungarees and work shirts, I slip off a ring, or something and say -- Here, you can pawn this.... They don't ask no questions. Figure we got lots a rings in Heaven.
I can't tell you who I saved that night, 'cause he has children and grandchildren and they're real high level these days. Go to The Kentucky Derby and everything. Have a house in Dustin, Florida. Don't want no convict pop-pop, so I oblige them.
Look how easy I slip into this Southern Talk. That's a vampire talent too.
You see, we fit in real good.....
<more next time>
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
click WHAT UP? ... for a sample Vampire Wonderland subscription. poke around a little. if you like, subscribe for real.
click YES ... to join me on Twitter. maybe leave a COMMENT too?... thank you.
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