100 Days of Writing (2013)

Where I torture myself (again) by writing (at least) 500 words for 100 Days (straight).

[100dow2013]

059. Reflection

“Please, I need a room.”

My room is small and filthy, with nothing in it but a bed, a small closet, and an even smaller bathroom, but I ask for nothing more. I rip my mud-caked clothing away from my body and go to the tub to try to wash the dirt away. I come out fairly clean, but I can't wash away the pervading feeling of filth.

I've just gotten into my pants when the mirror on the wall catches my eye. I support myself against the wall and stare at it for a good length of time. I've never had a reason to care before—my whole existence had boiled down to feeding and when I could get my next taste of blood—but I never really got used to the fact that I no longer have a reflection. It's been years since I had reason to care; I can barely remember what my face looks like anymore.

I stand and touch the mirror uncertainly, needing the cold feeling of glass to reassure myself that this is indeed my reality now. I can see my hand, but the reflection that everyone comes to take for granted has been stolen from me. One more reminder that I am no longer human, and never will be.

“I'm sorry, are you being emotional?” I hear my voice from behind me. “I can come back later, if you want.”

I turn around, and my new reflection is grinning at me.

“How long are you planning on haunting me?” I growl, pushing past him into the room to finish dressing.

“My guess? Until you feed again. Just one meal and you can be at peace again. Does that sound like a deal?”

“No.”

“What, it's not like this new-found righteousness stops the screaming.”

In an instant, he's right beside me. He reaches up to touch my face, but I swat his hand away and put as much distance between the two of us as possible.

“All you're doing is torturing yourself,” he pleads and follows after me. “Just one feeding and all the pain and guilt can go away.”

“You're asking me to kill a person,” I remind him angrily.

“Yes, and you've done it plenty of time before without hesitation. The world isn't going to miss just one more insignificant human being. It's overpopulated right now, anyways. Honestly, you'd be doing the world a favor in the long run.”

“Shut up!” I shout. I reach for the nearest item and hurl it in his direction. A clothes hanger falls to the ground where the specter stood a moment ago.

I sigh and throw myself onto the bed. I'm exhausted. It's been weeks since I last fed, and the only sleep I've gotten in that time has been fitful spurts of unconsciousness. In the morning I start the rest of eternity. But for now, I need sleep.

[100dow2013]

058. Absorbed

From the very first moment I saw him, I knew he was trouble. Of course, when you're almost asleep and you suddenly have a fugitive trying to hide in your room, trouble is only one of the things that pop into your mind. Most of the other things are curses. But I guess I'm just a big softy, and I had to help him. In a weird way, he sort of reminded me of my friend... damn, I can't even remember his name anymore. I've been here too long.

Anyways, when I sent him off, I thought that was the last of it. That just goes to show how much of an idiot I am, though. Later on Kanzah sends me on this stupid mission to bring him back in, as if Kanzah needs one more serial killer to boss around. And you know what? I should have just brought him in. I didn't owe him anything. I had no idea who he was—hell, I still have no idea who he is—but I couldn't resist the urge to screw Kanzah over in any way possible. So instead of doing what I'm told like the loyal worker I am (yeah, that's a laugh), I hide him away and take the blame for it.

Then you'd think that would be the end of it, but you'd still be wrong. I mean, it must have been a year since I heard the names “Abidan” or “Jordan” or anything similar, but just when he was slipping from my memory, I hear rumors about Kanzah finding the prodigal son. So once again I stick my head out for him, and turns out he's a pony rancher nowadays.

So I go and warn him, and it even seems like he remembers me a little bit, but I can't just end it there. Now I'm standing outside of Kanzah's office door about to do something I know I'll regret.

I bite my lip and knock on the door. He answers almost immediately. The door swings up open easily, silently, and he's sitting at his desk. I'll be damned if I know what he does all day, but it seems like whenever someone's looking for him, he's at his desk in front of his computer alone. Little pervert.

“What do you want, Machiel?”

I don't respond. Before he has time to act, I'm reaching over his desk and pressing my palm against his forehead. There's a loud crack that I know no one besides us can hear, and his memories flood into my head. An unnerving majority of them are him looking at his screen, and to my disappointment it's actually all work related.

There it is. I only see Jordan's name for a split second, but it's enough. I latch onto the memory and yank it from his head, sending him crumpling to the ground.

“Aah, shit,” I sigh. It's bad enough that I'm infiltrating my boss' memories for some guy I hardly know, but you can bet I'm going to be the first one he yells at when he finds himself waking up from a mysterious nap.

I heave back into his chair and try to reorganize the paper he knocked off his desk in the fall. When it's at least a little presentable, I flee as quickly as possible.

Hopefully this will be the last time I have to worry about this shit, but we all know that's not going to happen.

[100dow2013]

057. Nearly Finished

Half-dead, I try to pull myself to my feet, but I meet with resistance. I look down to see my hands and feet are tied to the chair I'm sitting in. Normally I would be able to break out of these no problem, but right now I feel so week, I can hardly feel my limbs at all.

When I look back up, there's a shape looming over me. My eyes can't focus on it until there's a face right up close to mine.

It feels weird to be staring into m face after all these years of having no reflection.

“Well, isn't this a fine mess you've gotten yourself into,” he says.

I try to respond, but all that I'm able to produce is a throaty gurgling sound. He smiles at me and shakes his head sadly.

“This is what happens when you make mistakes, when you let your hunger get the best of you. Because that man upstairs? He's going to kill you. And by the looks of you, he's almost finished.”

We lock eyes for a moment, and even through the pain I can tell that he's enjoying himself.

Somehow, I manage to mumble, “What did I do?”

“What did you do? Oh, nothing much. Just murdered all of his family and everyone he loved while he watched. What a stupid thing to hold a grudge about, right?”

When he touches my temple, their cries echo through my head and my vision is filled with the pools of blood that I spilled. It wasn't just them, either. This is who I am. I kill. I need to in order to live.

It's never had any effect on me before, but now it churns my stomach. I can practically hear the children calling out for their father to save them, see them as they fall down just a few feet from the parent who can no longer protect them.

“What do I do?” I grunt.

“Well, let's think about this logically for a moment,” he says and taps his finger on his chin a few times. “You could go the masochistically righteous route and let him kill you to atone for your sins or something foolish like that. Or you could break out of here and finish what you started.”

“I... don't want to die.”

“Well, there you go. Choice number two it is, then.”

I pull harder on the ropes, and it hurts, but they give way. I stand. My hallucination is gone, but in it's place is the priest who's come to kill me. The sight of him brings back memories of the weeks trapped down here: him torturing me, cutting me slowly until my whole body was covered in my own blood, then washing it off with holy water so it seeps into the cuts and burns me at my very core. Suddenly I no longer feel any guilt for my actions.

He sees me, too, and holds up a pathetic-looking knife. I smile.

“Still think you'll be able to hurt me with that?”

It would sound far more threatening without me coughing violently, but it's still enough to set him trembling.

He swings the knife at me in a wide arc. I latch onto his wrist long enough to hear a satisfying snap. He drops the knife, and I catch it with my other hand. In an instant the blade is at his throat, and the fear on his face is invigorating.

I'm about to dig the knife into his neck when the scenes of all the other kills I've made crash over me like a brick wall. I cry out in pain and drop to my knees, clutching my head. I can hear their screams, see their blood. Their voices are so loud.

I sit there in a heap, shaking uncontrollably, for a good ten minutes before the images subside once more. When I come to, the priest is gone.

I stagger to my feet, leaning up against the wall just to be able to move. I take one step, then another, until somehow I make it out into the sunlight. It burns like hell itself, but I push onward. I can't stay here. I have to get somewhere safe, wherever that may be.

[100dow2013]

056. Plain

Well, that assumption was only part right. Turns out I really am what most people would label as 'plain.' Even been called ugly a few times. I suppose I'm a bit overweight. My stupid facial hair has decided it's going to grow in splotchy at best most places, but I've been able to save face by just shaving it short. Never really had anyone care to hit on me, either way. But that brings me to the error in the assumption: I honestly don't give a crap. Like, nobody thinks I'm hot or wants to suck face with me? You cannot even begin to comprehend how little I care.

Why is what made today so amusing.

I was too lazy to make myself super, so I went out and got a burger. I'm watching the people coming in, when next thing I knows there's a woman in the seat across from me. Nobody seems to pay any attention to it, but she definitely looks out of place. She's wearing what looks like some low-cut, sparkly red ballroom gown. She's got her jet black hair done up all fancy, and there's a huge string of pearls falling around her neck.

I stare at her, and she reaches up to hold my hand inside of hers. The white glove that goes up to her elbow makes her black skin look even richer.

“Um. Hi.”

My eyes dart between our hands entangled and my hamburger. Right now I'm much rather have the hamburger. Damn, I'm hungry.

“Hello,” she coos pleasantly and gives me a smile that's supposed to be coy but is far too rehearsed.

“Is there something I can help you with?”

“Actually, I think there's something I can help you with. See, I've been watching you for awhile.”

“Um, creepy.”

“Silence,” she barks loud enough to make me jump. “I'm not finished yet.”

“Yes, ma'am,” I blurt, sitting up as straight as possible. Even through her gloves, she's digging her fingernails into my skin and it feels like she's going to draw blood any moment.

“Now, as I was saying. I've been watching you, and you looked lonely. So I'm prepared to offer you a deal: how would you like to make any woman fall desperately in love with you? You can get a different woman in your bed ever single night, if that's your thing.” She must see the look on my face, because then she adds, “Or you can do men, too, if that's more your thing.”

There's a long silence, then she commands, “You can talk now,” and lets go of my hand.

I rub my hand and sigh, smiling at her and pitying her just a little bit.

“Sorry, lady, I'm going to have to decline.”

She looks utterly shocked that I'd refuse. “Wh- what? How could you... but don't you at least want to know the price?”

“Not really. I'm just not interested. Not really into the whole dating thing. Or, you know, the whole mind controlled sex slave thing. Nonconsensual much?”

She explodes out her chair and looks like she's about ready to tear my head off. “What- but- what do you mean you're not into dating? How could you- you know what, nevermind. I don't care. I'm leaving, you freak.”

I don't notice her leave, but she's gone in an instant. Good riddance. Time to get back to eating.

[100dow2013]

055. Ponies

Let me start at the beginning, as far back as I go. Which, granted, is only about a year. The day I died. There was a car crash, and I was at the brunt of it. I remember the excruciating pain in more detail than I'd like. I remember the agonizing pain, the surprise and confusion at what at just happened, and the way that it burned to take my final breath.

But then surprise I'm staring up at this freaky kid and I don't really know what his deal was, but I guess he was trying to hire me as a serial killer or something. I ran, but didn't have anywhere to go. Just when I thought I was going to die again, I rain into someone who saved me. I don't know exactly how, but I don't need to know how; I just needed to get out of there. He told me to imagine home, and when I did there was this horrible ripping sound, and everything went black. Then I was home.

That was a year ago. Since then, things have been quite enough. There's been some odd occurrences, sure, but nothing to write home about. I had to start a new life—turns out there's no good way to explain to your parents that you died but you're not dead—but it turns out my old life was crap anyways. And it turns out horses are really awesome. I'm working as a hired hand on a pony farm now, and it's actually really great. Never would have expected that when I was alive.

So, I'm working for a really sweet couple when things go to crap. It's hot and I'm sweaty, but I wouldn't have it any other way. But then that's when I hear that sound. It sounds like something tearing, like the universe is coming apart or like your soul is being ripped from your body. I shudder and the hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention. The ponies are all in a fuss about it.

And when I turn behind me, that's when I see him. Stepping out a swirling mess of black, there's a man I've met just once in my life, but whose image is forever burned into my brain. The one who saved me from that creepy kid. I'm shocked to see him, but he doesn't look surprised at all. He looks frantic.

“Y- you,” I squeak. I can't think of if I forgot his name or never learned it, but he certainly recognizes me.

“You have to get out of here,” he demands.

“I don't understand,” I manage to mutter, entirely not sure what's going on. “What's going on?”

“He's found you.”

“Who?”

“Kanzah.”

It only takes me a moment to realize he's talking about the weird kid.

“But, I don't understand,” I repeat. “How did you find me?”

He casts his eyes downward. “That's not important. You just have to get out of here.”

I watch him for a long time. Eventually he looks back up at me, and we both just stare at each other.

I sigh and lean against one of the fences.

“No. I'm not running again. I'm done running.”

I can't tell if he looks sad or angry, but finally he concedes:

“Fine, then. I'll try to stall him for you.”

There's that sound again and he's gone. It's such a strange interaction that I'm hardly even sure that it was real. But there's no forgetting that sound.

[100dow2013]

054. History

A boy, barely sixteen, shivers against the cold night. The jacket he's got on is hole-ridden and barely holds any warmth, but he wouldn't dare part with it. So once more, it will have to do. He looks up at the large metal gate and sighs. Another night sneaking into a graveyard and pretending he doesn't know that this is wrong. His conscience is always screaming at him, but he's gotten better at ignoring it now. Sure, these people were supposed to have gone to their final rests, but the ones who have aren't the ones he's after. He's only after the ones who aren't resting anymore.

My favorite stories were always the earliest. The Wolf with Two Names. The one that began it all. The first warrior against the darkness. Ever since that day when he fought against the wolf pack that took his family from him, he fought to make sure no one else had to go through what he had. He took what most people called a curse and put it to good use. He did more with his life than any so-called “normal” human being. He was always a great inspiration for me.

The boy grips the shovel tighter and looks at the grave in front of him. It's fresh. He didn't know this person when they were alive, but he had heard the name before. And now he was dead, and his body was about to be dug up. It sends a chill down the boy's spine.

But even the greatest warriors come to an end eventually. In the end, he was betrayed by one of the people he trusted the most. After all the demons and vampire he had fought, he was killed by the person who had taken him in and cared for him in the years after his parents' death. It just echoed the message I had learned all throughout my entire life: once a person dies, they're gone. Even if it looks like they've come back to life, it's never really them. When a person rises from the dead, their souls is still gone, and all that's left of them is a demon wearing their face. You can never trust a vampire.

“Hurry up, Kai,” the voice booms from above him. Kai doesn't bother to look up; he merely digs the shovel once more into the mound of dirt at his feet. The crunch is more familiar a sound to him than he'd like to admit. He doesn't want to remember that he now spends his nights digging up graves with a priest who takes them to study them. He doesn't want to remember that he never got to see his parents once they died or that he spent weeks with a vampire he didn't know instead of looking for their bodies. He didn't want to remember what he was now, but that didn't matter. No matter what he wanted, this was his life now. Everything else was history.

[100dow2013]

053. Regret

Well, not you exactly. Hell, you were the best thing to ever happen to my poor, sad excuse for an existence. You were perfection in my messed up world. Just the smell of you could send my heart aflutter. Which is funny, because I never would have seen myself falling for you. But it was if I was under your spell, and fall I did. You were the Mona Lisa in a world of cheap finger paintings.

But familiarity breeds contempt, as they say. I guess we got too comfortable around each other. We took each other for granted, and didn't realize the wonderful things we had. Well, I should say, I didn't realize the wonderful thing I had. If what you said is true, you were faithful to me until the end, and I was just too blind to see it. I was a blind and stupid fool, and heaven knows I probably still am.

I let you go, and it's my biggest regret. I walked away from you, and it cost you your life. Sure, everyone says it's not my fault, that I'm imagining things, but I know the truth. I break your heart and not even a month later you pass away; it's too big of a coincidence. No matter what anyone says, I know that I was the one who killed you. I am so, so sorry.

Those first few weeks were unbearable. Some times, I would walk through the perfume department just to see if I could catch the scent that used to be yours, to try and fool myself into thinking this was all a sad dream. I would hear our songs, and it would crush me. Everything reminded me of you.

I never thought it could get worse, but it has. It's gotten much, much worse. Every single shifting shadow makes me think you're there. Every inexplicable noise and every creaking floorboard is your footstep. I see you in every face, in every crowd, in every picture. You're haunting me. I can't go on this way. You used to consume my thoughts with love, but now I'm filled with fear at the thought of you. I'm afraid that maybe I'll see you again.

I'm ashamed to admit, it's almost made me regret ever loving you. I want to say that I only regret losing you, but that's not true anymore. I regret ever loving you. I regret you. If I had never met you, none of this would ever have happened. You'd still be alive, and I'd still be able to live with all this terror.

If you ever really loved me, you'd be able to see how much you're hurting me. You're killing me.

But then again, maybe that's the point of all this. Get revenge on me for what I've done. Well, you're not going to win. Haunt me forever if you'd like, but I won't give you the pleasure of ending my life.

May the best man win.

[100dow2013]

052. Vice

The text he got was short, simple. Really, it was too simple: We've got a problem. Meet me at the usual. Not much to go on, but when she beckoned, he came.

He sighs, drums his fingers on the table. He'll give her five minutes, then he's gone. In the meantime, he takes a small mirror out of his pocket and checks himself over once more. He looks good, but that's to be expected; he always looks good. Hair pitched at just the right angle and volume, teeth perfectly straight and glistening, just the right amount of scruff to be classy yet casual. The suit he was wearing had just been custom-made by the finest tailors the world had to offer. Some would say, and often did, that his habit of only wearing a suit once was a bit extravagant, but the last one had gotten crumbs on it, and they surely couldn't expect him to wear sullied clothing.

When he puts the mirror away, there's a man next to the table watching him, mouth agape.

He gives this newcomer an award-winning smile. “May I help you?”

The man falters, and when he speaks he doesn't dare look at this object of perfection. “I don't mean to be rude, but you're, uh- you look really, um, really nice. I'm sorry, I don't mean to, I mean I don't-” A raised hand silences him.

“It is perfectly fine. Vanity does have his perks.”

The man nearly swoons, but he somehow finds the strength to pull himself away.

When the man at the table turns back, there's a woman sitting in the seat across from him.

“What was that, another admirer?”

He smiles. He knows it's a joke, but it's only funny because it's true. It seems that wherever he goes, there's someone there who's overwhelmed with joy at his magnificent beauty.

“I suppose that's the nature of the beast. And how are you, Lust? Or what was the name you chose for yourself now? Aphrodite? Very classy.”

“I'm doing okay, all things considered.”

“Aah, yes, you said there was a problem. Care to share with the class?”

“Well,” she sighs, “Remember that man I made a deal with it?”

He nods. “I've been hearing plenty of him. What was the deal? The ability to make anyone fall in love with him in exchange for his measly soul?”

“Yeah, that one. Well, it seems he's still got a pesky shred of conscience hanging on. Got himself a One That Got Away recently. One moment they're sucking face like nobody's business, then the next he's kicking her out.”

“And what do you want me to do about it?” he asks and leans back.

“Well, I've just been thinking. How dare he dump her like that. Who does he think he is? Does he think he's better than her or something?”

“The old pride thing, then.”

She nods.

“I'll see what I can do.”

“Thanks.”

“Hey, you want a beer or something before you go?”

She shakes her head and stands up. “I'll just steal some of his booze. He keeps the good stuff laying about for special nights, but he never seems to notice when any of it goes missing.”

He blinks and she's gone. Sighing, he stands to leave as well. The point was the beer. Hell, beer is one of the most disgusting things he's ever tasted, and not even close to being worth all the calories. But it's been years since either of them had enough free time to catch up, so he figured now was as good a time as any. But she just popped in to use him then left.

Back to the grind it is, then.

[100dow2013]

051. Definition of Death

The door of the church moans shut and slams firmly in place. There's some mumbling before Kai's head pokes around around the corner.

He almost makes it to the stairs before the man inside the office calls him back. He ignores the shifting lump in the child's stomach; there's no question what that could be.

“Kai. What is death?”

The question takes him by surprise, and he almost drops the creature concealed within his shirt.

“Wh- what?”

“Death,” Judas spits, annoyed he has to repeat himself. “Define it.”

“Um. Death is... when a person dies?” he says dumbly and shifts his feet. “I guess it's when they stop to exist? One moment they're here, then the next they're not?”

Judas slams his fist on the table, causing the child to jump, and yells, “That's just it. That's what you would expect the answer to be. That's what most people would say, but you and I both know it's not that simple. You spent weeks with a man when the only thing you knew about him was that he was dead. And my wife...”

He cuts himself off, but Kai's curiosity is piqued. Cautiously, he enters the tiny, cluttered office far enough to see the empty bottle of alcohol on the desk next to the priest.

“Judas, are you... drunk?” he asks, reaching out to him like he's some dangerous animal. He's seen Judas temperamental before, but he was always sober when angry.

“So what if I am?” Judas coughs, poking the bulge in Kai's jacket and causing the cat inside to fall to the desk and meow sharply. Despite the fact that this is the third cat Kai has tried to smuggle in this month, Judas still appears shocked. “Get that mangy, flea-ridden thing out of here.”

The boy frantically grabs the feline and flees the office before Judas has a chance to snatch it.

“You never answered my question,” Judas yells after him, but there's no response. He sighs angrily and buries his head in his hands, staring at the bottle in front of him like he's expecting it to move. “Define death,” he repeats to himself.

After a minute of trying to find the answers in the empty glass, he suddenly rises from his chair and makes his way to a small cabinet hidden away in the corner of the room. In the second shelf down, far to the right, there's a small compartment that blends into the back. From this he draws a small vial of thick, red liquid, which he proceeds to pour into the glass that until recently held the remains of his drink. He then takes to staring at this new fluid.

“Blood is life,” he muses to himself, repeating words that his wife had spoken to him after he had raised her from the dead. “The connection between life and death is the blood.”

He holds the glass up and watches it, smells it. The smell turns his stomach almost as much as the idea creeping in his mind. He closes his eye, brings the glass up to his lips, and pauses, reflecting on what he's learned one last time in the hopes that he can talk himself out of it.

Everyone knows the mythos surrounding vampires: to be turned, one must be fed upon. But in reality, it's much more complicated than that. In fact, it's not even the being fed upon that is the key. Someone can be turned simply by living far enough off the narrow road, or by never finding rest in sacred ground. The true key, though, is the blood of the vampyre. When a vampyre turns its prey, it doesn't just feed, it gives of itself. And the longer the blood of the vampyre stays in it's victim's body, the easier it is for a portion of that person's soul to linger after their death.

At least, that's what he's been able to surmise. Strangely enough, he hasn't been able to find an expert on these things yet.

Judas sighs and opens his eyes, but the glass is still there, and still full. Slowly, he lowers it and places it back on the desk. What was he thinking? There was no way to be sure that the information he had was correct; Father Hadon had so much nonsense mixed in with his research that there was no way anything was reliable. And what was he even trying to do? Try to curse himself so that a demon could ride his corpse for the rest of eternity once he died? He was being ridiculous.

He's almost ready to forget this whole mess when he remembers the whole reason he started this. His wife. He has to know what happened to her. What went wrong. He did everything perfectly, yet she had still come back different. Even after all of these years, the guilt is unbearable.

Before he can back down again, he grasps the glass and forces it up to his lips. The contents inside pours into his mouth and coats his throat as it seeps down. He chokes on it and coughs. The glass slips from his hand and shatters on the floor. He can hardly breathe. It tastes nauseous, even worse than it smells.

He collapses into his chair and lets his head fall against the desk, trying not to gag. Hopefully this will all be worth it in the end.

[100dow2013]

050. Past

She's been acting strange ever since the night he managed to revive her. He hadn't thought anything of that, either, though. She had been murdered, then brought back from the dead. Even considering the sort of magicks she pursued in life, she would have been in shock. Some unnatural behavior would be understandable, even expected, after such events. But now she was sneaking out of the house in the middle of the night. What had gotten into her?

Barely dressed, Judas stumbles out of the room and down the stairs. She's still nowhere to be found, so he groggily pushes through the doors to the chilly outside air. Even through the newly fallen snow, he can make out a pair of footprints leading away from the church and back into town. When he gets to the busier streets he almost loses her, but eventually the tracks lead him to a house. Even through his tired haze, he can recognize the pattern.

He doesn't go in immediately. Instead, he waits, placing his ear to the door. He expects to hear voices, but instead he hears a sound he can't quite understand. It almost sounds like a feral animal slurping up its drink.

He forces his way through the door and stumbles groggily to the ground. Sure enough, his wife is there. But she's not alone. Beneath her is a man's body, already cold, bloodied and mutilated. His blood is smeared over him, over the floor, over her, dripping from her mouth.

He's paralyzed with fear until she looks up at him, and there's a wild fire in her eyes.

“Judas.”

“Wh- what are you doing here?”

She throws the body to the ground and stalks toward him. He doesn't know why, but he finds himself backing away from her. She catches him, though, and when she touches his face it sends shivers down his spine.

“They wanted to hurt us, Judas. They tried to take me away from you.”

“But what were you doing,” he stammers, trailing off and pointing a trembling finger in the direction of the body.

She grasps him and forces him to look back at her. “What I did I did for us. We'll never be safe until they're all gone.”

“You killed him,” Judas murmurs, hardly believing the words he's saying.

She laughs, almost cackles, and stands up. “Oh, so now you're high and mighty? The man who kidnapped a person to resurrect his dead wife? Who watched while she killed a man that he kidnapped? This wasn't my first kill, Judas, and you know it. You encouraged it before. This is all your fault. The past comes back to haunt you. His time was up.”

He stares at her, at the body, as questions and accusations fight for his attention. He's pulled back to the present when she yanks his chin upward, forcing him to come face to face with the consequences of his actions.

“If you have a problem with this, say so now. Because like or not, this is what you brought back. The woman you fell in love with is dead.”

His eyes stay locked on hers, but his hand moves to the stakes hanging from his belt. He had feared something like this might happen. Ever since he resolved to bring her back, he had known that it was a fool's errand. The thing that he brought back wouldn't be her; it would be a demon wearing her face.

But he hesitates. Maybe he can work it out. Maybe she's simply having a hard time adjusting. Maybe he doesn't have to be alone again.

One look at her face, though, reminds him that there's no way out of this.

Before either of them has time to think, there's a stake through her heart. Her face softens just before it disintegrates and his dead wife falls to dust on top of him. He coughs, chokes, shakes, but can't bring himself to move.

Once again, he's all alone.

[100dow2013]

049. Sand

I try my luck and, sure enough, my legs hang off and burn against the hot sand. I pull them back in quickly and sit up. I take to watching the people playing in the water, trying to make out the one person I should be able to recognize. I think I find him and squint.

Then he sneaks up behind me and the next thing I know there's a fistful of sand raining down on my neck. I yelp in surprise and spin on him.

“Hey there, Sara.”

“Hi, Mitch.”

“I didn't think you were gonna show.”

I shrug and try lying down again, making sure to confine myself to my island of safety. “Yeah, well, I wasn't sure if I'd show either. But I figured I've been here a couple months now, I might as well try to live my life again.”

He smiles and sits down next to me. I wince at the thought of sitting directly on the sand.

“Well, I'm glad you decided to come. Nice to have someone to talk to.”

“Why aren't you out in the water?” I ask, calmly scanning the beach-goers. “Don't tell me you were waiting for me.” Please, please, don't tell me you were waiting for me.

“Nah,” he laughs. “I just never actually learned how to swim. Whenever we come down here I spend most of my time splashing around in the shallow end and trying not to get dragged under.”

“Friends don't understand boundaries?”

“Not exactly. What about you? Didn't you bring a swimsuit?”

I dig my toes into the sand and wince at the burn. Eventually, though, the feeling subsides.

“I haven't been to a beach since my parents were alive. I don't even own a swimsuit.”

“Oh. I'm sorry.”

I lift my toes up and the sand crumbles apart. Some of it sticks to my feet, but mostly it just falls back to the ground.

“Don't be. It was a while ago. I'm over it.”

He doesn't reply for a while and I sigh. I wasn't expecting to be sharing this already. I hardly even knew him, and this wasn't exactly the kind of information you build a friendship on top of.

“Hey, come here.”

Before I even have time to look, he's grabbed my hand and I'm running with him to the shoreline. He beats me there and splashes water at me, but I can't stop myself in time and I crash into him. We both tumble over into the water. I try to get to my feet, but he holds me down and splashes me more.

Neither of us goes out very far, but we spend the whole day splashing around at the shoreline. I have fun. I laugh. It's been awhile since I've done that.

[100dow2013]

048. Respect

“No one really knows,” my coworker admits. “She showed up a couple weeks before you did and hasn't really said anything. I think she works across the street and comes in on her break. I guess she's just one of the quiet ones.”

We don't say anything more about it, but I'm thinking of her throughout my whole shift. When my lunch break comes, she's still around, so I gather the nerve to go up to her. She's wearing a uniform from the grocery store. Her black hair is pulled back to fall just a little bit past her shoulders. Her meal except for her drink is gone, but she's writing in some sort of book.

“Hi,” I say. Stupid. You don't start a conversation with a stranger like that. Quick, say something else. “My name's Mitch.”

She calmly looks up and glances over me. “Yeah,” she says without smiling.

I wasn't expecting that response. “Um... yeah?”

She lifts a pencil to point at my chest. “Name tag.”

“Oh, yeah, haha, I guess.”

“I'm Sara,” she says, but she doesn't say anything else.

I shift awkwardly. This isn't exactly how I expected this conversation to go.

“So, uh, I've seen you around a bit, but you're always alone. I thought maybe you'd want to hang out or something?”

She looks up at me, and it's just on the edge of not being a glare. “I'm not looking for a boyfriend.”

“I can respect that.” She eyes me suspiciously, so I wave the thought away. “I mean, that's not what I meant. Some of the guys here are thinking of going and just hanging out around town on Friday, and I thought you looked kinda lonely, so maybe you'd want to come? Like just to have fun if you're not enjoying yourself you can totally leave whenever you want to.”

There's scorn in her laugh, but she smiles for the first time I can remember.

“You know what, Mitch. I'll think about it.”

She goes back to her writing without another word, so I sigh quietly and head back to the counter to scarf down a burger in the next couple minutes.

My coworker from before comes over. “Dude, that was horrible. At this rate you're never going to get in her pants.”

“Shut up, man,” I say and nudge him roughly. “I'm not looking for that. 'Sides, she doesn't want a boyfriend.”

“And what you're okay with that?”

“Um... yeah? Why shouldn't I be?”

“Wait wait wait,” he blurts and sits down in the seat across from me without asking. “You're inviting her to hang out with you, and you have absolutely no intention of being more than friends with her?”

“I know, so hard to believe,” I groan with a roll of my eyes. “Actually talking to a person of the opposite gender because they're cool.”

He pushes off the table and heads back to behind the counter. “Man, the apocalypse is coming, isn't it.”

I roll my eyes again and dive into my burger. What an idiot.

[100dow2013]

047. Sacrifice

Her husband stands beside her, and even though he knows that this is only temporary, that soon he will be able to see her again, there's still tears forming at the edge of his eye. They're not tears of sadness; they're tears of rage. They took her from him. She was innocent, she was his one beacon of joy in this dark, stupid world, and they stole her from him.

He's no fool, though. He's no stranger to death. He knows that when people die that's the end of them, and they never come back. But he also knows that sometimes that isn't true, and sometimes they do come back. He hasn't worked out yet whether this is a blessing or a curse, but right now he doesn't care. Right now he just wants her back.

He leans down to kiss her cold cheek, then stands and turns around him. In front of him is another man. This one is trembling. He's bound and gagged. His eyes search frantically for anything that could save him. But there's nothing, and when his captor takes another step forward, his eyes dart back forward.

The standing man takes a few more steps, then crouches down next to him and rips off the gag.

“I want to hear you scream, you pathetic worm,” he says, scraping a bony finger across his captive's neck.

“P- Please, Judas, what are you doing?” the man whimpers. “I don't know what I did, but whatever it, we can work this out. Whatever you want, I can help you. Just please, let me go!”

Judas straightens up to his full height, looming over his prey. “Whatever you did? Look at that woman and tell me you don't know why I'm doing this.”

The man's gaze follows his captor's point to the huddled frame on the ground. He barely recognizes her before he finally makes the connection.

“J- Judas, I'm sorry! It wasn't my fault! I was against it the whole time!”

“Of course you were.”

He walks away to a table with contents the man can't quite see and begins mixing ingredients in a old, dirty bowl.

“Blood of the revived. Blood of the slain. And of course...”

He turns to the man cowering on the floor.

“...Blood of the slayer.”

A flash of steel, and there's a knife at the man's neck. He tenses and waits for the inevitable cut, but it never comes. He looks down to see the blade is still there, but death hasn't come yet.

Judas' face is still hardened. “I want you to be able to see the woman you murdered when she returns.”

The blade slips away from his neck and digs into his skin, shooting a cry of pain into the air. Judas lets go and the man clutches at his wound.

“Judas, you don't want to do this! You don't know what this is going to do! There's no way to know that this is going to work, that she's still going to be her!”

“Don't talk to me about what I want,” he growls. “If it weren't for you, none of this would have to happen.”

He kneels down in front of his wife and brings the bowl to her lips. The thick, red liquid falls down into her mouth and slides down her throat.

She remains cold. She remains pale. But just when Judas is about to give up hope, she convulses and coughs. Her eyes open and lock onto his, and she gives him the same smile that first melted his heart all those years ago.

“Hello, Judas.”

[100dow2013]

046. Heat

It takes everything she's got just to crane her head to get a view of the clock. She really needs to get her daughter to move the clock to a better position. It should almost be time for her to come home, in fact. She really must remember to tell her about the clock.

Just like that, the daughter comes through the door. The moment she walks in her satchel is on the floor and she's at her mother's bedside, tucking the covers in tighter.

“Mom, you really have to make sure you keep your covers tight. You have to stay warm.”

“Why, Allison, it's plenty warm; I don't need any more covers,” she croaks, her voice hoarse and painful.

“I know, ma, but the doctor said you have to sweat this out. The more heat the better.”

“It's hotter than hell in here, another blanket isn't going to cure me.”

Allison flinches at her mother's tone and the ensuing coughing. “Ma, please don't yell. You'll only hurt yourself.”

They both sigh, and a long silence stretches between them. The mother racks her brain for what she wanted to say once her daughter got home, but all that comes up is nothing.

Instead, she watches as Allison goes to the window and opens it a crack. It may not affect the temperature that much, but it's some sort of peace treaty, at least.

“So, how are you friends, dear?”

“I don't have any friends,” she reminds her mother bitterly, clearing off the table rather than looking her in the eye.

“What about those people at your work? Aren't they your friends?”

“Well, let's see,” she growls, turning to lean on the table so she can glare at her mother. She's far away enough that her mother won't be able to see. “One of them hit on me again.”

“Was it that Jack fellow?”

“Yup.” Allison rolls her eyes. Even her mother can recognize Jack from just the perversion.

“Oh, I do like that fellow. You should bring him over some time. Get to know him.”

Allison groans. “I can do better than Jack.”

“So you say, dear, but you haven't so far. And if this man is interested in you, you had better jump on the chance. It's not like you have a long line of suitors.”

“He's interested in everyone—everything, mom.” And there was one person she did kind of like at work, but he didn't seem to notice her. She decided it would be best not to tell her mother that.

“Look, I'm going to give you your medicine, but then you need to get some rest, okay?”

Her mother's head made a small dip that Allison figured was a nod, so she went to the almost-empty closet and pulled out a handful of pills. Not many left. And with Vicky gone now, hopefully pay would still be coming regularly. They were having trouble making ends meet. If she didn't get paid soon...

Allison didn't want to think about it.

[100dow2013]

045. Silence

You try to make a sound, to alert the outside world that you're here, trapped, but nothing works. You bang on the wall but all it produces is a soft thump. You shout at the top of your lungs but the noise dies as soon as it hits the wall. The sound is dead and soon you will be too. If you can't get out then there's no way that you can survive. You'll have to eat eventually. Is there even any air in here. Holy crap what if there's no air and every breath you take is just another waste what if you're going to suffocate in here and no one is going to notice you don't even know where you are how is anybody supposed to find you.

You sit down on the floor and cry, your entire frame heaving in ungraceful sobs. But no stop it you idiot. Crying will only use up more oxygen and you have to conserve that. Who knows how long you've been in here or how long you still have. You try to take shallow breaths but eventually you just have to gasp. You try holding your breath but you just explode in heavy sobs. Where are you why hasn't anyone noticed that you're gone.

Thump thump thump your ears are ringing there's no sound but the sound of you this is what life sounds like every moment of every hour of every day your bodies works away unheard and now it's screaming at you and you can hear your blood pumping and it's driving you mad you think you can stand it for very much longer you have to get out of here but how. There's nothing. There's walls and floors and ceilings and you and your body and all the noise that's hidden away just beyond the silence.

You huddle in a corner and cover your ears but that just makes it worse. With each of beat of your heart and with each ring of your ear you can feel your whole body shake. You cry out but it hardly makes a sound. There's nothing. You're going to die in here and there's nothing. You whisper goodbye and the words fall dead to the ground like the tears streaming off your cheeks. Goodbye. You don't know why, you don't know how, but goodbye.

[100dow2013]

044. Sparks

The first sign of him I see are the sparks flying up into the wind. I stop a ways back to just watch them dance and flicker out. I try to force a smile, but it won't come.

“Are you sure this is allowed?” I call out as I walk forward and sit on the ground next to him. “Won't the park people get mad or something at you starting a fire?”

Rayan smiles. There was a time when I would have melted at that smile, though there was no way I would admit that to anyone. He's certainly not perfect, but that smile was a work of art. But now it just brings back all those painful memories.

“Don't worry; I told them everything and they're totally cool with it.”

“Really?”

“Nah, but if somebody walks by I can just douse it quick. Pyro, remember?”

“Hmm, yeah.”

We both turn back to the fire at the same time, like we both know what the other person is going to do or like we have some sort of connection. With a flick of his writs, the sparks fly into different patterns and trace various pictures in the sky. A few of them even get a laugh out of me. He laughs then, too, and pretty soon we're both just having a good time like nothing's ever happened.

He lies back in the damp grass, and I follow his lead.

“So, you're really leaving?” he asks like it's any random question with no weight behind it.

“Yeah,” I tell him simply.

“Why?”

“Because I... I just can't stay here.”

“Why not?” he asks, turning to face me.

I don't turn to him.

“Because I just can't. Everything I've gone through here. What reason is there to stay? There's no way I could go back to school or go back to my job. Right now I'm living in a place that's more an ash tray than an apartment building. I've got a precise total of three friends, and one of them is dead.”

“So what about the other two friends?” he interrupts as the fire lets out another angry puff of sparks. “Are they not worth your time?”

“Rayan, it's not like that. I like you. Your nice, and you're the best friend I could have ever asked for, but that's not enough. Everything around me reminds me how crappy everything's been. Of how much I've messed anything up.”

“Sara, you didn't messed up. Nothing that happened here is your fault. This was all Angel.”

“That's just it, Rayan,” I cry. “You keep saying that nothing is my fault and that everything is Angel's fault, but eventually you have to wake up and realize that this is me. I was the one that hung out with Angel, I was the one who lost control and destroyed the school, I was the one that followed him away. As much as I'd like to pretend that this isn't my problem to deal with, it is.”

He tries to reply, but all that comes out is a grunt and a sigh, so I stare into the fire. It's lower now, barely more than dying embers.

I sigh.

“Rayan, I don't want our last conversation to be a fight. I just... I want you to hold me.”

He scoots in closer and wraps his arm around me, and I let my head fall against his shoulder. He wraps a lock of hair around my ear and kisses the top of my head.

“Is this really our last conversation?”

I don't reply.

[100dow2013]

043. Wilted Flowers

“Remind me again where you're taking me?” I call out to the man a few paces ahead of me.

“We have to make sure that none of those people you killed turn. The amount of killing you've done will bring enough attention to us; we don't need more vampires going out on their own.”

“What, you don't even know how a vampyre is turned?” He had made it seem like he was knowledgeable about these sorts of things or some nonsense, but it turns out he really is just another ignorant sunwalker.

“I told you before. You're... my first,” he says, and his pace quickens a bit.

“Isn't that romantic,” I scoff.

“Shut up,” he grunts and accelerates even more.

I take the opportunity to go at my own pace. There's really nothing he needs me for. I suppose he just didn't want to leave me alone at the church. Maybe he still doesn't trust me. He would have trusted Dorian, of course, but once Dorian died things changed. Not that I blame him.

I smile at the thought and allow my gaze to wander around the graves. Here and there are headstones that are still decorated, but most of them have already fallen into decay. Absolutely no respect for the dead. Out of sight and out of mind.

One grave stops me. There are a bundle of flowers on the loose earth, but they already started to wither. The grave should have settled by now, but for some reason it hasn't.

The I take a look at the name on the headstone.

“This is my grave,” I declare, not really intending for Judas to hear me.

He does, though. Noticing I'm not still right behind him, he backpedals to me.

“Yes, I suppose it is,” he says. “Is something wrong with that?”

“No. These flowers. They're from that woman that I killed?”

He makes a sound which may be a sigh or a laugh. “Yes. Dorian's wife. She placed them there before coming to me to have you killed, I'd imagine.”

“Dorian still feel for her,” I seethe. “He has all of these stupid emotions, and he's trying to feel them.”

“That will fade. The longer you go on, the weaker the connection to your soul will be.”

I turn and walk past him, making sure I step on the flowers on the way. “I thought you said you didn't know anything about us?”

“I told you I wasn't sure of the details,” he growls and follows. “But I've been able to learn some things before you.”

“Well, then. Let's give you some more details.”

The rest of the way is mostly silent, strictly business. All we have to show for the night is a few very not reanimated corpses. How disappointing.