False Starts and Finding Love – Things that we’ll never be able to explain.

False Starts, Lost Dreams, Finding Love and an Ancient Tabby

As a child Bronagh would get up each morning and go to school. There she’d figure out ways to escape through day dreams and long lone walks around the school ball field. In her more lucid and social moments she’d be trying to ignore the nonstop bullying from the group of smirking thugs who ruled the school. Having a different name in a universe full of Debbies and Nancys and Susans made one stand out. It made one get picked on along with being small, plain and quiet. Her family was also considered weird.

Her father was a large loud Irishman with a thick accent and her mother was a small pale elf like German woman who’d lost her family in a tragic accident, then ended up in a group home for unclaimed children. The Irishman and the German girl met in a bar, got married, moved to America and had too many children and didn’t do things like other families. They’d sit up all night and play cards and smoke and drink too much. Then they’d tell stories of ghosts and werewolves and violent relatives who didn’t come to America. They’d sing loud songs and walk around their backyard in their underwear. Sometimes the intensity of the couple frightened the other families of their normal middle class community.

Bronagh was never mistreated at home but she never felt too connected to her family either. She loved them but she didn’t want to live with them or be like them.

She struggled in school but in her secret world she was smart and would one day be beautiful and successful. Nightmare sessions in front of the class unable to do a math problem while other children jeered made her imagine a different life. At that point she started to keep secrets.

Nobody ever knew what she was feeling or thinking. She gave away nothing by her expression or words. She lived in two worlds – one on the outside and her own world inside.

She grew up, went on to high school, made friends, grew into a beautiful young woman, made straight A’s and never looked back.

Then she went to college and found herself on too many long walks alone, but that was OK. She was used to that. Friends came and went. There were always good times to be had but she never stayed close to anyone. She graduated and had plans but her life seemed to be one big black hole that sucked the life out of every idea, every relationship and every job prospect. All of her choices sucked. It was as if everything she touched turned to garbage. It was garbage that couldn’t even be recycled. It was toxic waste.

Time passed and roadblocks grew higher and doors slammed in her face. She found herself with a college degree, a shelf full of books, a stray one-eyed tabby cat she named Toulouse, and nothing else.

One day she decided that one of two things needed to happen. She either needed to die or fall in love. Nobody would ever love her she decided, so she set a date to end it all, that is if nothing happened.

She grew numb.

One day she forced herself to go the large university library to research jobs and graduate schools.

On the first floor she ran into an old party friend Cindy. Beautiful lucky Cindy was going off to her dream job in Los Angeles. A huge engagement ring sat on Cindy’s finger. Cindy’s clothes were beautiful and obviously expensive. Joy radiated out of her, not for material reasons but because she was just where she wanted to be. Then again Cindy had been born where every girl wanted to be.  Cindy was that kind of girl. Bronagh gave Cindy a hug and wished her the best.

Then she saw a guy she’d had a one night stand with talking to a biology professor she’d had. Ditching them she went up the stairwell to the second floor to take refuge with some art books.

On the second floor, as she left the art section, she ran into a man she’d been in love with. He was glad to see her. He was glad to tell her that he was getting married – to somebody else.  He asked her if she still had the cat. She thought he thought she was an idiot. She lied and said she had a boyfriend and great job prospects. Someone she really liked had dumped her the week before. She’d been fired from a job she’d held for a week. It didn’t matter. He’d cheated on her anyway. Being young and miserable with no prospects is no fun even when you don’t feel bad about telling lies.

Feeling numb she looked at college catalogs, made notes about graduate school requirements then go up to walk and distract herself. It was time to look up poisons or just sit down and die and turn into a mummy that someone would find in 50 years or so behind a stack of books nobody ever read.

In the deep darkness of the ancient basement stacks she accidentally tripped and fell into the arms of a man. It wasn’t that kind of fall into your arms. It was more of the kind of “I noticed you were looking up poisons,” kind of falling to his arms. He noticed in a big way. Poisons were not the kind of things pretty girls, or anyone not doing medical research or writing crime novels usually looked up. She said she was writing a story. He knew she was telling a lie but he let it pass. He told her he was doing research for a class he was teaching in creative writing. That wasn’t a lie. Well, not a complete lie.

She had iced herbal tea with him in an earthy crunchy little coffee shop and they talked about all sorts of things. His name was Valentine, yes, that Val, my brother. His friend Alonzo joined them.

That was 36 years ago. She still remembered the purple skirt and white lace top she was wearing. On her feet were gray flats. Val was wearing jeans and a black tee. Alonzo wore a red vest and a white button down shirt. His dark hair curled around his ears. It was weird how she remembered the details. She clicked with Val and Alonzo. They didn’t judge her. But they were not like the predators she’d met who wanted to lure her into schemes and religions and cults and plans that she didn’t want to be part of.

They became friends and she became one of them – one of us. A Vampire.

I know it sounds weird but she tells such a glum story. Bronagh is the funniest Vampire I’ve ever met. Yes, we have a sense of humor. You can’t live as long as we do and not.

Bronagh thinks about things too much – old things, things that happened, the guy in the library, the guy who dumped her, people who had been to her, a friend who died when they were young. But then not really, not lately. She used to sometimes wonder what life might have been like had she not become a Vampire.

Becoming a Vampire wasn’t what solved her problems. Having some support and encouragement and sheer tenacity is what got her out of her gloom. Long story. Hard work. Creative thinking. Love. Humor. She shrugs it off.

She’ll laugh and talk about how handsome Alonzo is,  but she’ll be quick to tell everyone that she married him for his sense of humor. She’ll tell you about how he proposed to her while they walked under the stars on a windy beach. She won’t tell you about the times she was so unhappy and lost before that day in the library. Those dark times were such a small portion of everything but still, it makes a mark.

Alonzo had a past so full of nightmares that he was glad to become a Vampire and live in a world of calm control and find some measure of peace. I’m just glad to have them in my life. Maybe I’ll talk Alonzo into telling me a few stories.

Valentine’s Day is almost here and all kinds of ghosts of relationships past are coming out of the woodwork. Let’s just keep most of them tucked away. We don’t need to deal with them or let them bother us.

Alonzo just shrugs and laughs off anything from his past. Bronagh does the same for the most part. They’re just like any other couple, only they’re Vampires. They believe that what they is due to divine intervention and it happened for a reason. Maybe. Maybe not. I’d like to think it was meant to be. OK it was meant to be.

And the odd thing about this story is that the old one-eyed tabby cat Toulouse is still alive at 43 years old. Of course, cats aren’t supposed to live that long but sometimes, well, all Vampires know that there are things we’ll never be able to explain.

~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman

The Art of Writing Love Letters is Alive and Well (even for Zombies & Ghosts)

My brother Val always says “love isn’t a physical thing. It is a meeting of souls. Be it friendship or romantic lovers, it is something we can write about and dream about, but we can never truly explain or define it.”

The Art of Writing Love Letters is Alive and Well (even for Zombies & Ghosts)

The most popular post on this blog is “How to respond to a love letter.”  Really. Out of the zillion or so things I’ve written on just about every subject everything always circles around back to LOVE.

That is proof that the art of letter writing is not completely dead (YES – real scientific proof) AND romance is still alive and well.

Everyone writes love letters. And that means YOU. Below are some examples to inspire you and get you going.

 

For Modern Royalty

Let me undress you my love and rid you of your fashionable dress. Let me unroll your stockings one by one. Let me slip off your panties and bra so carefully. And when you’re all mine naked and beautiful, let me cover you with frumpy pastel colored grandma clothing and ugly hats forever.

kiss snow white

 

For Werewolves

Let me run my hands along your bare skin and feel the fur grow under my fingers.  Run in the woods with me my love and let me hear your howl in the moonlight. Be the father of my cubs and the alpha of my pack.  Your large paws and dark eyes excite me.  I sniff you and your scent intoxicates me.  Both the man and beast in you make me love you even more.

blue eyed adam

For Zombies

Know that I love you for more than just your brains. When I first saw you staggering across the street, the wild look in your one remaining eye, the slight smile, the slow groan, the matted hair and I knew you were the girl for me.

I will be with you even when we fall apart and our body parts trail behind us…and there is nothing left except our love.

zombiesinlove

For Vampires

In the shadows you bring dark light and the slow beating of your heart. I live for your cool touch, your lips on my neck, fangs lightly teasing me. You’re my heart and soul. You are my shadow. You are my love. You are the one I will spend centuries with sharing wine and blood and passion.

k_1

For Regular Humans

You’re cute. I like being with you. I love you.  xoxoxoxox.  I can’t get enough of you. Light my fire or even my BBQ Grill – I’m easy. Love you sweetie pie!

S030946

For Ghosts

In life love was just a dream like mist or a phantom.

Now it is real even though nothing else is.

Through the centuries we drifted,

Only to meet at night, haunting the truth and reality of life,

To find love in death and tragedy,

And hope that will never make sense,

But it is ours and ours alone.

You haunt me to my very soul,

The spirit of our love lives anew.

dancing in the dark

So get out your pen, your pad, your smart phone, your crayon or pencil and write a letter to the one you love.

xoxoxoxox

~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman

Vampire Diary: Protecting the Cuteness

Vlad’s Vampire Diary #35, Protecting the Cuteness

 

Dear Diary,

This afternoon I was awakened by the sound of the doorbell.

My neighbor, a woman named Casandra, stood at my door with panic in her eyes.

“Vlad, are you free for a few hours?”

I escaped after being locked up in a crypt for three hundred years, then found out I was no longer Vampire King. Of course I can be free for a few hours.

I smiled, ran my hands through my thick golden hair and said, “Casandra, you look distressed. What can I do for you?”

She told me that her five year old boy, a lad named Lucas had fallen on the playground and broken his arm. I was asked if I could watch her four month old son Trevor. Of course I could. What else was I doing? I am a former Vampire King who has not decided what to do with myself aside from observing this confusing modern world, and writing in my diary.

Cassandra works from her home and only, as she tells me, has part time daycare. Her husband was out of town on business she told me. I have been around babies. I could do this.

I went two houses down and went inside, where Cassandra showed me where all of Trevor’s food, diapers, and other gear was. Modern babies have an overwhelming amount of gear.

Trevor smiled when he saw me. Cassandra gave me a hug, then said, “You’re cold. Do you want me to turn up the heat?”

I told her that I was fine. I did not tell her that I am a Vampire, therefore always cold.

Trevor was in his crib. I held out my hands and he grabbed my index fingers. One in each hand.

“There was a time when a baby boy like you would have been served up on a silver platter by some Vampires. You would have been a delicacy. You are a lucky boy young Trevor,” I said to the tiny child.

He laughed.

I pulled my hands up, Trevor hung on but his head fell back. His tiny neck was unable to support his massive baby head. I put my hand under his head to support it. He laughed. I laughed.

Here we are together, two males, bonding in our cuteness.

He laughed again then looked into my eyes and said “blee eeebub.”

I laughed. “Ahhhh you want me to tell you a story do you? Then you shall have one,” I said to him.

“Dear Trevor. Once upon a time there was a baby. She was cute. More cute than me. More cute than you. She was more cute than a puppy or a kitten. She was, what shall I call it, universal cute. No baby had ever been more precious, at least until you were born.

One night, when her parents were asleep a Vampire came in through the window of their villa and took the cute baby girl. The Vampire was on the way to a party and said to his hose that he would bring an appetizer. It was like that big game, the Super Bowl, where people get together to watch sport and eat and drink until they fall asleep. He put the cute baby upon a large sterling platter, not into a super sized bowl, and took her to the party.

Everyone at the party ran their tongues over their fangs, ready to feast upon the baby. But this baby, this tiny cute baby, who was cute beyond cute, this baby who was almost as cute as you are cute, caught the eye of a handsome Vampire named Wydo. He was a prince. Yes, my young toothless friend, Wydo was a Vampire prince.

Wydo was enchanted with the child, not because she was so very cute, but because he knew she would one day be able to control everyone she saw, including even a Vampire King.

Wydo demanded that dancing dwarfs come into the hall and do gymnastics, and then fighting games for the crowd of Vampires. There were no dwarves, for they had been drained of their blood earlier in the day, so musicians, who were alive, were brought in. Then the Vampires danced. Wydo went into a dark stairwell and summoned Demons to come in the guise of beautiful maidens full of blood and distract the other Vampire.

Then do you know what Wydo did? I bet you do know what he did smart baby Trevor. Wydo wrapped the baby girl in his cloak and stole her away in the darkness of the night.

And did Wydo drink her blood. No he did not. He brought her back to her parents home. Seventeen years later he turned her into a Vampire. Do not be shocked my little one, it was her idea.

Another thing you might not have guessed yet was the fact that Wydo was my grandfather.

Several years later, about fifty years later, she became my first wife. We were both Vampires and of the same age. It seemed like a perfect match. But then she tore out my heart. She stabbed me in the back. She left me. She left me alone. She did not physically tear out my heart. She broke it. Badly, in the worst way a woman can break a man’s heart.”

I stood in the middle of the room bouncing a baby, and thought my heart was going to explode. As empty as my heart was of blood, I felt like it was empty of everything else. It was not a feeling of cute. It was a feeling of pain.

Then the baby Trevor laughed. I laughed and showed him my fangs. He laughed even harder, and so did I. The pain in my heart stopped.

I told him more stories of adventures, with gore and death, and large hungry carnivores animals. As long as Trevor laughed I told him stories of my life.

“Do not marry a bitch,” I said to Trevor. “Make sure she is warm like you, even if she is a Vampire.”

Trevor laughed his cute baby laugh and I was once again  at peace.

A few hours later, after it was dark and I sat on a leather couch which was the color of blood, Cassandra came home with the child Lucas. A green plaster cast was on the child’s arm. His fingers stood out. He looked as if he was in pain.

I touched his fingers. “You are a brave young man,” I said. I did not flinch as I took the pain away from his broken bone. He smiled at me, then his mother took him to bed.

I handed Cassandra the baby Trevor. He reached out his tiny arms and practically fell at her.

“Oh I could just eat you up,” said his mother as she kissed his cheeks.

Me too I thought.

Then she looked right at me and said, “You and Trevor are so cute together.”

Sigh. I was once the Vampire King and now I am a cute guy who watches babies who are also cute. This is a confusing world in which I exist. I also changed Trevor’s diaper, not once but three times, and I fed him breast milk his mother had pumped earlier. I am indeed a good friend to have around.

“With Brad out of town I don’t know how I’m going to sleep,” said Casandra.

“I can help you,” I said.

Once Cassandra was in a trance, and less a pint of blood, she slept. I made sure she had sweet dreams of her boys growing up to be strong men, like Vampires of old, but not so much as to scare her, and not Vampires.

I walked home thinking about my former wife. I must stop doing that. Not stop walking home. Stop thinking of my former wife. The bitch.

~ Vlad

 

Dear Diary,

I lay in bed in the arms of my betrothed, Gillian. Her head is on my chest. Her arms are wrapped around me. She is as still and cool as marble. If she was not a Vampire I would think she was dead.

The two cats lay curled at our feet, hot and vibrating.

Jane the coyote lays curled at the foot of the bed on a blanket Gillian gave her.

I feel loved.

~ Vlad

 

Dear Diary,

Oh the number of hearts I have broken over the centuries. Thousands. Maybe more. My capacity for breaking hearts is vast.

I was sitting in my favorite chair, with two cats attempting to keep my lap warm, when my love Gillian came home.

“I would stand but the cats would be so sad,” I told her with a smile, and held out my hand to her. “What brings you home so early? How was the Spa Night with your friends. You do not look relaxed my love.”

“It was weird and horrible even for people like us,” she said. By “us” she was speaking of Vampires, or at least I assume that. She then continued. “First They put something on my hair that smelled like dried cow patties. I went to the ladies room and washed it out of my hair. After that it was time for facials.”

“Cow patty? They put hamburgers on your face?” I asked.

“No Vlad. Oh you have missed a lot during your time in the crypt. A cow patty is a large dried cow poop.”

“My darling, how vile. How was the facial?”

“Worse than the cow pattie part.  I was told to lay back and relax as someone rubbed salmon oil on my face. If that wasn’t horrible enough, cats were then brought in to lick it off of our faces.”

“Cats? Why cats?” I asked.

“I was told it was the latest thing in natural skin care. The cat’s tongues exfoliate the skin. Bull shit.”

“Cow patties again?”

“No Vlad, bull shit is an expression for something that isn’t true. I don’t know where it came from. Please don’t ask me to explain. But damned if I was going to let some cat lick salmon oil off of my face. Darling I’m not going to kiss you or even come near you. I smell like a garbage can. I have to take a shower. I’ll be back in a bit.”

I watched my poor dear walk up the stairs, then went back to my pondering.

I’d heard of women centuries ago who would use the blood of virgins to try to make themselves beautiful.  That never worked. Oh the crazy things that vanity makes people do. On the other hand I appreciate the efforts that women take to make themselves appealing, and beautiful. Dare I say cute? Yes, even cute.

As a male I find it fascinating, horrifying, and completely confusing and mysterious. I would be maybe too bold to also say I find it cute.

~ Vlad

 

Dear Diary,

Today is Saint Valentine’s Day.

Last night Gillian said I am more cute than the one called Timberlake. I rolled my eyes at her and it made her laugh. Then she said she was still on the fence about the one who rides the board called Shawn White. Then she explained to me about this Shawn White. Then we watched the Olympic game coverage.

I know it was a joke Gillian was making but I was impressed and amused beyond words.

I love that woman.

I will now learn to ride a snow board.

But for now I will ride… excuse me, I will make love to Gillian. Maybe she’ll give me a high score. And I find myself with three gold medals! See I can find humor. 

Gillian and I made love. It was perfection. Then we talked, our bodies and minds entwined. I will no longer think of my former wife, or other Vampire loves of my past. Thoughts of Gillian are all I want or need. Of course I have my memories, but that is all they are. Just memories, and none as sweet as my thoughts of Gillian. Who needs chocolate when one has true love. Then she whispered in her sleep saying, “Vlad, you’re so cute.”

Sigh. Such is the life and love of a Vampire King.

~ Vlad

 

Kissed by a Vampire

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

White Silk, Black Tails

White Silk, Black Tails – A Vampire Love Poem

I was a spirit

In white silk with pink roses

Bustle in back

You in black tails

Took my breath away

And a century later

When you realized

That I loved you

I could exhale.

 

~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman

Dead or Alive

 

Dead or Alive
A Vampire Romance

By Juliette Kings

“What a bunch of idiots,” Jamie said to himself as he watched a mob of men run down the road brandishing knives and guns they didn’t even know how to use. They wouldn’t dare use them. Well, maybe they would – that is why Jamie had to hide. Now he was all dressed up with no place to go.

Now what? Maybe a trip to his favorite opium den for an easy meal or a trip to Madam Rosanna’s for a drink with one of her girls. At least the girls were clean and pretty, but the rush of opium infused blood sounded good right now.

Jamie ended up back home to change his bloody shirt. He knew his housekeeper would be able to get the stains out but it still annoyed him.

As he grabbed a new shirt out of the wardrobe the smell of jasmine and roses gently made him smile. He turned around.

“Belinda. What a delight.” She was indeed a delight but he didn’t expect to see her, not here in his house, much less in his bedroom.

The delicious sight in a silk green dress smiled and sat on his bed. “Your housekeeper let me in. I don’t think she approves but then again…” she didn’t finish her sentence but just laughed.

James brushed his lips across hers then slid his fangs across the side of her neck. “She doesn’t approve of you because she doesn’t know you.” His mouth went to Belinda’s again.

“You taste like blood,” she whispered.

“You taste like death darling Belinda.” Jamie took her hand and pulled her up. “I’m getting dressed. Let’s go out.”

They passed into the darkness outside, arm in arm, laughing quietly at their private jokes.

Maybe they’d go to the whore house or the opium den. Maybe they’d go to a musical revue or drop by and see friends. Anything was possible. Together, Jamie and Belinda always had a way of making everything fun – at least fun for them.

They decided on the theater but stopped in front of one of the larger churches in the center of the city. A bride and groom happily rode in their carriage to start a new life together. The bride was dressed in innocent white. The groom was happy and handsome.

Jamie and Belinda stood, arm in arm, and looked upon the happy couple.

“That could have been us,” said Belinda.

“We don’t deserve that kind of happiness,” said Jamie, giving her hand a squeeze.

“Why not? We could get married. We could be happy Jamie.”

“Oh darling, you’d drive me crazy. I’d have to kill you.”

“I’m already dead. Well, sort of dead.”

And under the gaslights by the church Jamie kissed Belinda. “Dead or alive, I love you Belinda. I always have. I always will.”

A cold tear ran down Belinda’s cheek. Jamie led her into the empty church and up to the alter. “Belinda, will you love me and stay with me always?”

“Jamie, will you love me and stay with me always?”

“I suppose. Aren’t we supposed to talk about till death do us part?”

“I didn’t think about that,” said Jamie.

“You wouldn’t now James would you?” She called him by his proper name, the way she thought a wife would.

They left the church and headed back to Jamie’s place. Over a glass of wine they made uncomfortable small talk.

“Will you stay the night Belinda?” He had to ask.

“If you’ll have me. Oh Jamie, we’re so awful. We really are. There has to be more.”

He thought about it for about a second. “Not really. We are what we are. We are who we are.”

Then he took her hand and led her back up to his room.

In the morning the world came alive, but they continued their sleep, wrapped in each other’s cold dead arms, as alive as they knew how to be.

~ end

 

~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman