Living in the Flames

He left her where she fell, without a soul.

When he got home he coughed it up.

Then he watched it form into a wisp

of bitter sludge colored smoke.

Then it vanished,

he assumed into the depths of Hell.

 

 

The child who he’d taken lay sleeping in a bed upstairs.

A small face covered with bruises. A broken arm healed badly. A tiny heart still longing for love and acceptance.

The child would heal and find love. He’d make sure of that.

If those he associated with out in society at large knew what he was they’d call him a fiend, a ghoul, a blood sucking monster and of course, evil. He was satisfied and safe knowing they saw him as the most handsome and charming gentleman they’d ever met. He was a fine upstanding citizen.

Of course he was that, otherwise he would have left the child to be preyed upon again and again by her own kind. She would have been used and cannibalized in the most vile ways imaginable. She would have died inside then her body would have come to a violent end.

He never questioned why, he knew there was no answer to that question. Or more to the point that there was no viable real solution. So he’s just continue to do his best at what he did and help out where he could.

 

 

That was a long time ago. Aside from fashion and technology not much had changed over the years, or so he thought most of the time.

I asked him about it the other day. He said, “Sometimes it is like living in the flames.”

I didn’t ask him exactly what that meant. I didn’t have to.

Upstairs the sound of teenagers laughing and music playing could be heard. He smiled at me and said how much he enjoyed his visits with us. Then we sat and listened to the sounds of the night.

~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman

6 thoughts on “Living in the Flames

  1. Okay, this was quite fascinating, Juliette. I’d love to see more of it! Could you eventually “build” around it a little, like you did with some other stories of yours?

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