IT WAS ANOTHER DREAM that reinforced my fear that I was still losing pieces of my memory on a daily basis. Pieces that may have been significant in some way that I no longer know about. As much as I have tried, I cannot record my every waking moment, every thought, every minute, after all. I can only write so much, else I would live my life attached to a computer.
It is however true that normals can only remember so much. They forget the little things, sometimes even forget what they ate that morning, or where they placed the car keys just minutes before. But it is not these little things that I am afraid of, and I am no longer simply human, not at all normal. What I fear is losing something important, and not even knowing that I ever considered it so.
And this last dream gave me cause to be concerned once more.
It started abruptly, as most dreams do, in an open field. I was standing beneath the stars, skies clear, looking out into the distance at a city. It's lights told me it was a living city, populated and active, not alive as normally defined, but neither am I. All around me was grass that grew up to my ankles, nothing else except the night breeze to keep my company.
Or so I thought. So I was quite surprised when I felt a hand take my own.
I turned to my right and saw the woman in my dreams, dressed as she usually was in layers of blue. She was standing beside me, my hand in hers, her gaze over the city. I felt another wind blow over us both, and it caught her hair; I felt a strand graze my cheek. Unblinking, she stood there while I recovered from my surprise. Just as I was about to speak to her, she spoke first.
Now, as of yet I have never remembered anything she has told me in dreams. I have not questioned this, as I simply reasoned that was how dreams are. This time, however, I remembered her words clearly, as if I had just heard them.
"What is memory, Xian?" she asked, her lips moving only slightly as she spoke. Her voice was barely a whisper, but I thought then how beautiful, how delicate and how cold it was. She continued.
"Have you ever stopped to consider why you remember one thing, and not another? To consider perhaps that your memory is faulty, and that you remember something incorrectly? It is a conceit to think that our memories are completely without fail and beyond reproach. They are not as frozen as we assume them to be."
"We believe memories to be the absolute truth, the final arbiter of what really happened. We are shaped by them, we are changed by them, we decide things depending on our experiences. Rather, our memories of our experiences."
"But what if memories are false? What if what we remember are lies? What if we have been lied to by ourselves, and we can trust nothing, not even what we remember? Because memories can change, others can change them, or we can change them ourselves. They can even, perhaps, affect a transformation within themselves."
"In a way, memory is alive. In the sense that memory can grow, adapt, change, even reproduce. Memories can breed, can you imagine that?" she almost laughed, instead I saw a slight smile. "In that sense, even we are alive then, though we do not grow, sometimes we do not even change. But after a fashion we can adapt, and after another we can even reproduce."
"But maybe memories, even our memories, are alive. Perhaps they are the only thing we have left that is alive." She paused here, and looked to the ground, thinking, while all I could do was watch. "No, but even this is a lie."
She turned to me, and her almond-shaped eyes look deep into mine. "No, memories are not alive. Memories are ghosts."
She turned back to look at the city once more, and I felt the pressure of her hand increase slightly. I responded in kind, and dared to take a step closer to her. I imagine I could almost smell her fragrance, but that memory is lost to me right now. Though at the time, I believed I caught her scent, and it mixed with the scent of the grass around us.
"Can they not be both?" I asked, my eyes still on the features of her face. "Ghosts and echoes of life, imperfect records of fact and experience. That can change, grow, and breathe new life, create other imperfect records." I wondered where I read all this, or if the thought had come to me on its own. Perhaps even thoughts have a life of their own.
"Perhaps," she allowed, after a while. Then she released my hand, and took a step forward, then another. She turned her head slightly towards me, giving me a brief look before taking yet another step. "Maybe even we are ghosts and memories of life. Echoes of the life we once had, imperfect records of what we were before."
"But if you can't remember, then what are you an imperfect record of, Xian?" she teased, spinning once to face me briefly, before taking another step away from me.
"Remember these things, Xian," she said, and she allowed a layer of cloth to fall from her back. "When you wake, you will remember," she said, as another fell, and was taken by the wind. I could see the skin of her back now, the slim curve, the smoothness. It was then that I saw a mark on the small of her back: a tattoo of circles, one within another, and other markings that I could neither read nor identify.
I took a long look at her back, mesmerized by the sight of her, drawn by the sight of her pale skin and the circles within circles. The symbols that seemed to become more arcane, more vague as looked upon them. They seemed to writhe as she moved, the curve of her back granting it an illusion of life. Or was it actually moving even as she moved?
She turned to face me once more, a slight smile on her face. I almost imagined her to appear playful, teasing, seductive in a way that sought to reveal deeper meaning rather than sexuality. Our gazes seemed to lock, and it seemed to last forever. She took another step towards me, and I took one towards her as well.
"You will remember these things," she whispered again, and our lips met, briefly.
And I woke up, the sun was down. And I remembered.
Xian's Journal
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Xian
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- Joined: 29 Nov 2014, 17:42
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Xian
- Registered User
- Posts: 337
- Joined: 29 Nov 2014, 17:42
Re: Xian's Journal
JUST WHO EXACTLY is this woman that I keep seeing in my dreams? I have met and spoken with her many times now, and perhaps even more times than I remember. She is obviously significant in some way, though I haven't really been able to identify her definitively. All I know is that, in my dreams, she is important, and we know each other, and most times she is trying to help me.
I have some theories about this. Some of them are thought out, while some are drawn from the air. Here are the top three, for future reference.
One possibility is that she really is another vampire, and somehow I am establishing contact with her, or she is establishing it with me. That she exists in the real world, likely older and more powerful and wise than I. The problem with this is that she and I seem to have a familiarity with each other in the dreams, and it's well established that I don't know her. It is possible that it's the dream state that accounts for this, or that properties of our kind allow for this familiarity.
Another hypothesis is that she is someone from my past, maybe even a combination of several people from my past. And our conversations and interactions are my previous memories bleeding into my present, perhaps in order to help me understand myself better. It would explain my familiarity with her, and her vampiric state may simply be how my mind has reconstructed her in my dreams. This may be a sign that my previous memories are not lost after all, and that I can possibly regain them someday. Or that they are there but hopelessly jumbled.
A third possibility is that she is completely a mental construct, someone my subconscious has created to help me make sense of my new existence. Perhaps, like the second theory, she is created from several people I used to know, an amalgam of qualities that will endear me to her, so that I listen to her. That would account for our mutual familiarity, and does give me a different way to look at my dreams. This would suggest that our conversations are either my memories coming back slowly, with her as the conduit, or that I am rationalizing my existence and explaining it more clearly to myself, through her. Would explain much, indeed.
Any of these three could apply, but each does seem to have its problems. First, if she is a construct, then according to my dreams, I am in love with myself. Heh. Not such a far possibility. But this would also mean that she isn't telling me anything that I don't already know, and likely will not possess knowledge that I don't already have. This would eventually limit her usefulness, to look at it in that way.
If she is from my past, whether as an individual, or a combination of people, then likely there were important people in my life. Unless I drew her from people who were familiar, people I had met, but really didn't know or care about. This too would have the same limitations as above, that she would only be telling me things that I already know, just things that I don't remember yet, or haven't yet put together. Makes these two the most related.
Lastly, if she is a vampire that exists in reality, then there is another vampire who knows about me aside from my sire. Perhaps her sire knows that I exist, and is reaching out to me? Wouldn't that be some sort of incest for me to be in love with her? Heh. This would mean that another more powerful vampire has taken interest in me and is teaching me things I do not know - definitely something useful there, except that there may be an ulterior motive to this.
I wonder though: Is it even possible for me to actually be in love? I've mentioned before that there are times where I doubt what I feel, in part because I can over-intellectualize and over-analyze everything. It does seem that I have emotions, I do feel things, though I can hardly compare if I feel them with the same intensity as I did when I was alive. Can a dead thing love? It does seem that way, though I would need more examples of it for me to have a definitive answer. I can definitely feel, though I do think that I can rationalize better than I can feel.
Except perhaps when it comes to the woman. I believe it is least possible that she is a real vampire that exists and is trying to help me. It is more likely she is a memory or a dream. Yet some part of me does wish that I meet her in the waking world someday. I hope she is real.
I think I am what they call a hopeless romantic. So be it.
I have some theories about this. Some of them are thought out, while some are drawn from the air. Here are the top three, for future reference.
One possibility is that she really is another vampire, and somehow I am establishing contact with her, or she is establishing it with me. That she exists in the real world, likely older and more powerful and wise than I. The problem with this is that she and I seem to have a familiarity with each other in the dreams, and it's well established that I don't know her. It is possible that it's the dream state that accounts for this, or that properties of our kind allow for this familiarity.
Another hypothesis is that she is someone from my past, maybe even a combination of several people from my past. And our conversations and interactions are my previous memories bleeding into my present, perhaps in order to help me understand myself better. It would explain my familiarity with her, and her vampiric state may simply be how my mind has reconstructed her in my dreams. This may be a sign that my previous memories are not lost after all, and that I can possibly regain them someday. Or that they are there but hopelessly jumbled.
A third possibility is that she is completely a mental construct, someone my subconscious has created to help me make sense of my new existence. Perhaps, like the second theory, she is created from several people I used to know, an amalgam of qualities that will endear me to her, so that I listen to her. That would account for our mutual familiarity, and does give me a different way to look at my dreams. This would suggest that our conversations are either my memories coming back slowly, with her as the conduit, or that I am rationalizing my existence and explaining it more clearly to myself, through her. Would explain much, indeed.
Any of these three could apply, but each does seem to have its problems. First, if she is a construct, then according to my dreams, I am in love with myself. Heh. Not such a far possibility. But this would also mean that she isn't telling me anything that I don't already know, and likely will not possess knowledge that I don't already have. This would eventually limit her usefulness, to look at it in that way.
If she is from my past, whether as an individual, or a combination of people, then likely there were important people in my life. Unless I drew her from people who were familiar, people I had met, but really didn't know or care about. This too would have the same limitations as above, that she would only be telling me things that I already know, just things that I don't remember yet, or haven't yet put together. Makes these two the most related.
Lastly, if she is a vampire that exists in reality, then there is another vampire who knows about me aside from my sire. Perhaps her sire knows that I exist, and is reaching out to me? Wouldn't that be some sort of incest for me to be in love with her? Heh. This would mean that another more powerful vampire has taken interest in me and is teaching me things I do not know - definitely something useful there, except that there may be an ulterior motive to this.
I wonder though: Is it even possible for me to actually be in love? I've mentioned before that there are times where I doubt what I feel, in part because I can over-intellectualize and over-analyze everything. It does seem that I have emotions, I do feel things, though I can hardly compare if I feel them with the same intensity as I did when I was alive. Can a dead thing love? It does seem that way, though I would need more examples of it for me to have a definitive answer. I can definitely feel, though I do think that I can rationalize better than I can feel.
Except perhaps when it comes to the woman. I believe it is least possible that she is a real vampire that exists and is trying to help me. It is more likely she is a memory or a dream. Yet some part of me does wish that I meet her in the waking world someday. I hope she is real.
I think I am what they call a hopeless romantic. So be it.
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Xian
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Re: Xian's Journal
THERE WAS another hunter tonight. It could have even been the same one, or it may have been one among many. I really didn't get a good look. All I know is I was walking down the street when I felt a killing intent directed at me, from a direction that I couldn't determine. Instead of think, I reacted to the image of the attack, but I was too slow to get completely out of the way: I caught a bullet in my shoulder. A bullet that, if I am right, was meant for my head.
I didn't waste any time to check on my injuries; I could still think, I could still move, I had to trust that my vampiric constitution could handle the rest. Even before I had fallen to the ground from the force of the shot, I knew that I had to run, and run fast. I chose a path that both gave me cover from where I thought the shooter was, and took me as far away as possible.
As I ran, I did my best to recall the split second before the shot. Did I miss some sign that an attack was coming? Were my vampiric reflexes, my ability to have an idea of an attack, the only warning I had? Had I been careless, and allowed myself to be seen for what I was? I considered the answers while I ran on.
How do I know it was really another hunter and not just some psychotic human? There are enough reports of humans going crazy and just shooting people. But usually, such things happen in more public places, where there are more targets. And the shooter just keeps shooting, and shooting, until they run out of bullets, or are taken down. So while I guess I can't be completely sure, at least for that reason "hunter" was a more realistic possibility.
That and I allowed my paranoia quite a lot more leeway given the bullet wound in my arm. And my paranoia told me that there was at least one person, perhaps two or more, and that they were coming after me. And not just to invite me to tea either.
Once I figured I was far enough away, I ran into what I knew was an abandoned building. Not completely abandoned, since there were at least a few homeless people who called it home, but abandoned enough. I ran in, keeping to the shadows, and found a nice, dark corner, in a nice, empty room in an upper floor. This was once an apartment building, I think; abandoned in order to develop newer, more expensive housing, likely than not. Enough for my needs.
I took off my somewhat ruined jacket - I would have to replace that later on - and took a look at the injury. My arm. Again. Thankfully, it seemed the bullet had passed clean through my flesh, without getting lodged into the bone, or breaking my upper arm. Still, there was quite a bit of blood, though much less than a similarly injured human of course. A human would have bled out right where I was shot. Another benefit to an unbeating heart.
It looked much worse than the cut I had a few nights previous. That had healed fast enough, though I still had a light scar from it, closer to my elbow. This one would take longer, and I would need more blood to help me heal. That should be easy enough, though I would need to take care to not be seen. I could not take even one hunter, not yet at least. I had to avoid them as much as I could.
I also knew that I could not return to my sire's apartment. I could not risk them following me there, and threatening her as well, though I knew she could take care of herself. But I couldn't risk it, I can't risk it. I would need to find alternative accommodations, perhaps for a few days. This building would do for now, and I had a few ideas in any case.
At least I would still have online access, and the ability to take down my journal; apparently one of the gifts I had as part of my change was a form of telepathy that allowed me to connect to the web. It still feels strange, but it's definitely very useful. Maybe I can even send a message to my sire this way; yes, I would have to tell her.
For now, I need to rest, and to think.
I didn't waste any time to check on my injuries; I could still think, I could still move, I had to trust that my vampiric constitution could handle the rest. Even before I had fallen to the ground from the force of the shot, I knew that I had to run, and run fast. I chose a path that both gave me cover from where I thought the shooter was, and took me as far away as possible.
As I ran, I did my best to recall the split second before the shot. Did I miss some sign that an attack was coming? Were my vampiric reflexes, my ability to have an idea of an attack, the only warning I had? Had I been careless, and allowed myself to be seen for what I was? I considered the answers while I ran on.
How do I know it was really another hunter and not just some psychotic human? There are enough reports of humans going crazy and just shooting people. But usually, such things happen in more public places, where there are more targets. And the shooter just keeps shooting, and shooting, until they run out of bullets, or are taken down. So while I guess I can't be completely sure, at least for that reason "hunter" was a more realistic possibility.
That and I allowed my paranoia quite a lot more leeway given the bullet wound in my arm. And my paranoia told me that there was at least one person, perhaps two or more, and that they were coming after me. And not just to invite me to tea either.
Once I figured I was far enough away, I ran into what I knew was an abandoned building. Not completely abandoned, since there were at least a few homeless people who called it home, but abandoned enough. I ran in, keeping to the shadows, and found a nice, dark corner, in a nice, empty room in an upper floor. This was once an apartment building, I think; abandoned in order to develop newer, more expensive housing, likely than not. Enough for my needs.
I took off my somewhat ruined jacket - I would have to replace that later on - and took a look at the injury. My arm. Again. Thankfully, it seemed the bullet had passed clean through my flesh, without getting lodged into the bone, or breaking my upper arm. Still, there was quite a bit of blood, though much less than a similarly injured human of course. A human would have bled out right where I was shot. Another benefit to an unbeating heart.
It looked much worse than the cut I had a few nights previous. That had healed fast enough, though I still had a light scar from it, closer to my elbow. This one would take longer, and I would need more blood to help me heal. That should be easy enough, though I would need to take care to not be seen. I could not take even one hunter, not yet at least. I had to avoid them as much as I could.
I also knew that I could not return to my sire's apartment. I could not risk them following me there, and threatening her as well, though I knew she could take care of herself. But I couldn't risk it, I can't risk it. I would need to find alternative accommodations, perhaps for a few days. This building would do for now, and I had a few ideas in any case.
At least I would still have online access, and the ability to take down my journal; apparently one of the gifts I had as part of my change was a form of telepathy that allowed me to connect to the web. It still feels strange, but it's definitely very useful. Maybe I can even send a message to my sire this way; yes, I would have to tell her.
For now, I need to rest, and to think.
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Xian
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Re: Xian's Journal
WOUNDED AND WARY of being found, I stayed for the rest of the night in the abandoned apartment building. Thankfully, I had managed to feed a little before I was attacked, though I will need more blood soon. Still, I secured the room I was in best I could, ensured that it was safe not only from wandering vagrants, but also from the vengeance of the sun.
Funny how that phrase came to me; it's not the first time I considered the sun as sort of an enemy since my waking as a vampire, but now I'm attributing it sentient characteristics. Personification, they call it in writing. But that term assumes that the sun is truly not sentient.
At least, that's what science thinks. Though of course, true scientists will admit that there are limits to their current understanding of the world. I and my kind, for example, would be scientific impossibilities, needing new theories, new experiments, new analyses. A sentient sun would probably break the minds of scientists around the world. But for now, that phrase seems apt.
The thought of experiments on my kind makes me uncomfortable. I've seen a lot of fiction about what "science" does to things it doesn't yet understand. Experiments without moral guidance. Disrespect of sentience that does not correspond to their ideas.
Of course, all that is fiction. Entertainment used to show moral conflicts, to present disagreements of behavior and create dynamic and engaging stories. Perhaps the truth would be more benign. Maybe science would be more careful and kind than what today's writers believe.
I'm in no rush to find out. I would hate to be prodded and poked and experimented upon. I know that I have been testing my own limits, but I would have a problem having that forcibly done to me. I think I would rather fight to the death than exist in such a state.
I don't think I could stand having any vampire subjected to that, come to think. In this I feel the most separated from the humanity I was birthed from. Odd, since I don't really remember ever being human, after all. Still, it's now a "they" and "us" situation. I guess the hunter, or hunters, have emphasized it, have clarified the divide, have drawn the line in the sand, for me now.
I guess from a certain standpoint, we are a threat to humanity after all. And historically, humanity has never been kind to threats to its existence. Human science has always been aggressive towards viruses and bacteria that are harmful to humanity, for example. And before efforts at conservation, species that were seen as a threat were hunted to extinction, and now "controlled" so that humanity can prosper.
Even when one views the behaviors of the different countries, this behavior can be seen. Countries fight wars with those that they see as a threat to their existence, or as a hindrance to their growth and prosperity. "They" versus "us" time and time again, the welfare of the community versus the welfare of another, different community. Wars of beliefs, ideologies, for resources, for living space. Wars to dominate, wars to prosper and expand.
Some scientists even theorize that the ancestors of humanity did much the same to other near-human species in the past. They say that early humans, the evolutionary grandparents of modern humanity, either accidentally or actively eradicated other species. Forced their migrations into less prosperous areas, competed for food and resources, or even warred and killed them to the last. And so, humanity's evolutionary place was secured, with violence.
It should be no surprise that humanity would have a violent reaction to vampires. We are both a possible and evident threat, and a top predator that seems able and willing to take the evolutionary place of humanity. And so, from this point of view, I can see why we would be hunted.
From my standpoint, we are very much on the losing end of this. Yes, we are powerful, and likely we all have abilities far beyond that of normal humans. But numerically, they are superior, and they can employ technology and tactics that can overcome almost any supernatural advantages that we have. Aside from that, we cannot operate during the day, halving the time we can engage and actively participate in any war against them. Or even to defend ourselves from any war they wage against us.
Aside from these reasons, we also depend on them for our existence. Arguably, we can subsist on the blood of animals; feeding on pig's blood for my first days proved that. But I do think that we get the most out of human blood. So we are forced to prey on an intelligent, numerous and possibly vengeful food source in order to continue to exist. Each time we need to feed, we have to put ourselves in danger.
This makes me understand better why we must hide our existence, though I don't understand why these hunters don't make us known? What force prevents this, or what reason do they have to keep the rest of humanity ignorant? Do they have some sort of reason for it, or do they have other motivations? Do they seek to supplant us, to claim our place, perhaps to be the next vampires? I do find that thought odd. But I guess I won't know until one is questioned, or if one of them leaves such information accessible online. I've a feeling they're more careful than that.
Regardless, this gives me even more motivation to find others of our kind. Just as humanity formed communities to improve their survival, perhaps my kind does the same. Mutual protection, succor, perhaps even teaching each other and sharing knowledge.
If we do not have this, then we really have lost, and it will only be a matter of time.
Funny how that phrase came to me; it's not the first time I considered the sun as sort of an enemy since my waking as a vampire, but now I'm attributing it sentient characteristics. Personification, they call it in writing. But that term assumes that the sun is truly not sentient.
At least, that's what science thinks. Though of course, true scientists will admit that there are limits to their current understanding of the world. I and my kind, for example, would be scientific impossibilities, needing new theories, new experiments, new analyses. A sentient sun would probably break the minds of scientists around the world. But for now, that phrase seems apt.
The thought of experiments on my kind makes me uncomfortable. I've seen a lot of fiction about what "science" does to things it doesn't yet understand. Experiments without moral guidance. Disrespect of sentience that does not correspond to their ideas.
Of course, all that is fiction. Entertainment used to show moral conflicts, to present disagreements of behavior and create dynamic and engaging stories. Perhaps the truth would be more benign. Maybe science would be more careful and kind than what today's writers believe.
I'm in no rush to find out. I would hate to be prodded and poked and experimented upon. I know that I have been testing my own limits, but I would have a problem having that forcibly done to me. I think I would rather fight to the death than exist in such a state.
I don't think I could stand having any vampire subjected to that, come to think. In this I feel the most separated from the humanity I was birthed from. Odd, since I don't really remember ever being human, after all. Still, it's now a "they" and "us" situation. I guess the hunter, or hunters, have emphasized it, have clarified the divide, have drawn the line in the sand, for me now.
I guess from a certain standpoint, we are a threat to humanity after all. And historically, humanity has never been kind to threats to its existence. Human science has always been aggressive towards viruses and bacteria that are harmful to humanity, for example. And before efforts at conservation, species that were seen as a threat were hunted to extinction, and now "controlled" so that humanity can prosper.
Even when one views the behaviors of the different countries, this behavior can be seen. Countries fight wars with those that they see as a threat to their existence, or as a hindrance to their growth and prosperity. "They" versus "us" time and time again, the welfare of the community versus the welfare of another, different community. Wars of beliefs, ideologies, for resources, for living space. Wars to dominate, wars to prosper and expand.
Some scientists even theorize that the ancestors of humanity did much the same to other near-human species in the past. They say that early humans, the evolutionary grandparents of modern humanity, either accidentally or actively eradicated other species. Forced their migrations into less prosperous areas, competed for food and resources, or even warred and killed them to the last. And so, humanity's evolutionary place was secured, with violence.
It should be no surprise that humanity would have a violent reaction to vampires. We are both a possible and evident threat, and a top predator that seems able and willing to take the evolutionary place of humanity. And so, from this point of view, I can see why we would be hunted.
From my standpoint, we are very much on the losing end of this. Yes, we are powerful, and likely we all have abilities far beyond that of normal humans. But numerically, they are superior, and they can employ technology and tactics that can overcome almost any supernatural advantages that we have. Aside from that, we cannot operate during the day, halving the time we can engage and actively participate in any war against them. Or even to defend ourselves from any war they wage against us.
Aside from these reasons, we also depend on them for our existence. Arguably, we can subsist on the blood of animals; feeding on pig's blood for my first days proved that. But I do think that we get the most out of human blood. So we are forced to prey on an intelligent, numerous and possibly vengeful food source in order to continue to exist. Each time we need to feed, we have to put ourselves in danger.
This makes me understand better why we must hide our existence, though I don't understand why these hunters don't make us known? What force prevents this, or what reason do they have to keep the rest of humanity ignorant? Do they have some sort of reason for it, or do they have other motivations? Do they seek to supplant us, to claim our place, perhaps to be the next vampires? I do find that thought odd. But I guess I won't know until one is questioned, or if one of them leaves such information accessible online. I've a feeling they're more careful than that.
Regardless, this gives me even more motivation to find others of our kind. Just as humanity formed communities to improve their survival, perhaps my kind does the same. Mutual protection, succor, perhaps even teaching each other and sharing knowledge.
If we do not have this, then we really have lost, and it will only be a matter of time.
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Xian
- Registered User
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- Joined: 29 Nov 2014, 17:42
Re: Xian's Journal
I WAS TERRIFIED out of my wits, even more so than discovering that there were hunters and that they were out to get me, and my kind. I expected to be intimidated, even a little scared. But I wasn't prepared for the terror I felt when I finally met another vampire other than my sire.
I'd decided that I had to find a new haven for at least the next few nights, to keep from leading any hunters to my sire's lair. I mentioned this just previously, I think. It's safer for her, and probably for me. I just hope they aren't watching the place. I should go tell her what's up.
Anyway, last night, I stayed in that abandoned apartment building, in a room safe from the sun, and far enough away from any of the resident vagrants. When I woke up from the night, everything looked undisturbed, so I spent the next few minutes thinking about where I could hole up for a few days. I had several options in mind, but eventually I felt myself drawn towards the Quarantine Zone.
This was something I had not mentioned before, I think. More through carelessness than premeditated omission though. My sire had spoken to me a little about the Quarantine Zone when I had asked her, then decided to take me there through a path normals didn't know about. After a quick run through the city, we took a hidden entrance to the sewers and walked quickly through the darkness.
In that darkness, I felt a creeping dread. Something like spiders about to fall on my head, or an alligator jumping up from the shadows. Only somehow I knew those things were fairly tame compared to what I could find in these tunnels if I was not careful. I made sure to follow my sire's lead faithfully, hardly daring to step where she had stepped first.
We exited the sewers, climbing up into the city streets within the so-called Quarantine Zone. She didn't explain what she knew about the place, but she allowed me to wander a little, and even pointed out a zombie or two... a story for another time perhaps.
Somewhat more significant was what happened when we left - I felt a presence in the sewer tunnels as we retraced our steps back into the human-occupied section of the city. I almost turned to look, but I was, I admit, afraid to see what I felt was in the shadows. Later on my sire had asked if I had seen her, Keara Aithne. Her sire.
My sire's sire. My grandsire, I suppose. I remember I felt chilled and thrilled at the thought. Had we really passed close to her? Another vampire? Was she the presence I had felt in the sewers? Maybe it was my paranoia and an overactive imagination, but still, I was excited that I had come so close.
Many times I had almost gone back to the Quarantine Zone to seek her out, maybe to catch a glimpse, or to regain that feeling of fear and awe. Just as many times I found a reason not to go. But now it occurred to me that perhaps the Quarantine Zone could be the best place to hide out for a while, at least until I figured out my next move. Specifically, the sewers, or maybe one of the abandoned buildings there should be good enough.
I decided, at least for the first night, to stay in the sewers. The darkness would be good, and humans would be at a disadvantage there, I reasoned. Given that I could now project myself into the web through my mind, I didn't even need to take much with me. Just some essentials.
So I found a replacement jacket, something large enough and long enough to reach my knees, and returned to the tunnels beneath the Quarantine Zone. Finding a dry enough place was easy enough, a small corner near a junction was a good, clean enough place for me. So I settled in, and decided to try and find out just how those hunters had found me. I decided I would try the Police systems first, then perhaps try the other Law Enforcement agencies in the city. Maybe even the Mayor's office, if I dared.
I was in the middle of a basic hack to find leads when I heard a whisper. "Hello, darkling," the voice said. It sent a shiver through me, and I felt cold, colder than death. For a moment, I felt complete terror. I had been found, and there was something out there in the darkness far more powerful, more ferocious, more elementally dangerous, than anything I had experienced before.
"Know you as yet I do not." the voice continued. My mind stumbled from the web, while part of me sought out to find a way to run, to flee, to escape. "And yet, of my blood you are."
This gave me pause, and my mind almost shut down. If I still breathed, I would have held my breath. If my heart still beat, it would have been racing. A face, the barest shadow, seemed to peer at me from the darkness, features obscured. But I could feel her eyes piercing deep into me.
"My name is Keara. Keara Aithne."
I'd decided that I had to find a new haven for at least the next few nights, to keep from leading any hunters to my sire's lair. I mentioned this just previously, I think. It's safer for her, and probably for me. I just hope they aren't watching the place. I should go tell her what's up.
Anyway, last night, I stayed in that abandoned apartment building, in a room safe from the sun, and far enough away from any of the resident vagrants. When I woke up from the night, everything looked undisturbed, so I spent the next few minutes thinking about where I could hole up for a few days. I had several options in mind, but eventually I felt myself drawn towards the Quarantine Zone.
This was something I had not mentioned before, I think. More through carelessness than premeditated omission though. My sire had spoken to me a little about the Quarantine Zone when I had asked her, then decided to take me there through a path normals didn't know about. After a quick run through the city, we took a hidden entrance to the sewers and walked quickly through the darkness.
In that darkness, I felt a creeping dread. Something like spiders about to fall on my head, or an alligator jumping up from the shadows. Only somehow I knew those things were fairly tame compared to what I could find in these tunnels if I was not careful. I made sure to follow my sire's lead faithfully, hardly daring to step where she had stepped first.
We exited the sewers, climbing up into the city streets within the so-called Quarantine Zone. She didn't explain what she knew about the place, but she allowed me to wander a little, and even pointed out a zombie or two... a story for another time perhaps.
Somewhat more significant was what happened when we left - I felt a presence in the sewer tunnels as we retraced our steps back into the human-occupied section of the city. I almost turned to look, but I was, I admit, afraid to see what I felt was in the shadows. Later on my sire had asked if I had seen her, Keara Aithne. Her sire.
My sire's sire. My grandsire, I suppose. I remember I felt chilled and thrilled at the thought. Had we really passed close to her? Another vampire? Was she the presence I had felt in the sewers? Maybe it was my paranoia and an overactive imagination, but still, I was excited that I had come so close.
Many times I had almost gone back to the Quarantine Zone to seek her out, maybe to catch a glimpse, or to regain that feeling of fear and awe. Just as many times I found a reason not to go. But now it occurred to me that perhaps the Quarantine Zone could be the best place to hide out for a while, at least until I figured out my next move. Specifically, the sewers, or maybe one of the abandoned buildings there should be good enough.
I decided, at least for the first night, to stay in the sewers. The darkness would be good, and humans would be at a disadvantage there, I reasoned. Given that I could now project myself into the web through my mind, I didn't even need to take much with me. Just some essentials.
So I found a replacement jacket, something large enough and long enough to reach my knees, and returned to the tunnels beneath the Quarantine Zone. Finding a dry enough place was easy enough, a small corner near a junction was a good, clean enough place for me. So I settled in, and decided to try and find out just how those hunters had found me. I decided I would try the Police systems first, then perhaps try the other Law Enforcement agencies in the city. Maybe even the Mayor's office, if I dared.
I was in the middle of a basic hack to find leads when I heard a whisper. "Hello, darkling," the voice said. It sent a shiver through me, and I felt cold, colder than death. For a moment, I felt complete terror. I had been found, and there was something out there in the darkness far more powerful, more ferocious, more elementally dangerous, than anything I had experienced before.
"Know you as yet I do not." the voice continued. My mind stumbled from the web, while part of me sought out to find a way to run, to flee, to escape. "And yet, of my blood you are."
This gave me pause, and my mind almost shut down. If I still breathed, I would have held my breath. If my heart still beat, it would have been racing. A face, the barest shadow, seemed to peer at me from the darkness, features obscured. But I could feel her eyes piercing deep into me.
"My name is Keara. Keara Aithne."
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Xian
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- Joined: 29 Nov 2014, 17:42
Re: Xian's Journal
I WANT TO BE CLEAR, however, that the terror that I felt was not out of any impending danger. It was not from a feeling that I was about to be harmed, or some foresight into a gruesome end. At the time, I didn't think she was about to destroy or harm me; I still don't think she wishes me any harm. My terror comes from many elements, and I'll try to explain them briefly.
Firstly it came from the fact that here was another vampire. After all my time thinking about seeing another vampire, meeting another vampire, here she was. In the shadows before me was the one who made my sire a vampire. So it was a terror mixed with thrill, with excitement. Finally! Another vampire!
Next, here was a vampire that made me think about elemental power, and abilities I had barely an inkling of. Who knows how old she was, how powerful? I just knew that if she wished me harm, I wouldn't be able to do anything about it. Not. One. Thing. It was like looking at a bear or tiger up close, when they weren't interested in you as food. Multiplied by quite a lot.
And then, here was someone who could possibly answer so many if not all of the questions I had in my mind. She could tell me so much, she could possibly have so many answers. So part of the terror was fear and amazement that the knowledge could be right before me, had I any way or courage to ask for it.
Lastly, at least for now, here was a connection to the other vampires of the world. Well, perhaps that is overstating it; after all, my sire was very much willing to help me, and would probably have shown me to other vampires. And who's to say that my sire had not informed her sire that I was here, that I was looking for answers?
All of this ran through my mind, all of this and more. But this is all I'll say about it for now.
Firstly it came from the fact that here was another vampire. After all my time thinking about seeing another vampire, meeting another vampire, here she was. In the shadows before me was the one who made my sire a vampire. So it was a terror mixed with thrill, with excitement. Finally! Another vampire!
Next, here was a vampire that made me think about elemental power, and abilities I had barely an inkling of. Who knows how old she was, how powerful? I just knew that if she wished me harm, I wouldn't be able to do anything about it. Not. One. Thing. It was like looking at a bear or tiger up close, when they weren't interested in you as food. Multiplied by quite a lot.
And then, here was someone who could possibly answer so many if not all of the questions I had in my mind. She could tell me so much, she could possibly have so many answers. So part of the terror was fear and amazement that the knowledge could be right before me, had I any way or courage to ask for it.
Lastly, at least for now, here was a connection to the other vampires of the world. Well, perhaps that is overstating it; after all, my sire was very much willing to help me, and would probably have shown me to other vampires. And who's to say that my sire had not informed her sire that I was here, that I was looking for answers?
All of this ran through my mind, all of this and more. But this is all I'll say about it for now.
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Xian
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- Joined: 29 Nov 2014, 17:42
Re: Xian's Journal
FRAGILE. That's what we all are in the end. Dead bags of meat, bone and blood, waiting to break open and leave it all scattered in the street. Or wherever it is that the death angel catches us.
And I think, eventually, she catches all of us.
Death, and dying. That's all that I can really think about right now. Death, and dying, and all things related to it. How I am a dead body waiting to die again. How I used to be alive, but I left that life behind the way I left all memory of it. A dead thing imitating life until it no longer can.
I can't really help it. I think I may be dying. If I had any doubts about there being somebody out to get me, they all flew out the window. Or maybe out of the crack in my skull. Facepalm. By a not-so-friendly palm. With a butcher knife. Or whatever the heck that was.
Really hard to focus right now. If I was a mere human, I'd be dead. But I'm already dead, so what am I now with my head split open? Dead and about to get dead-er? Is my head actually split open, grey stuff, pink stuff and red stuff showing? That's how it feels like. Though I don't really have prior experience that I know of. Though if I had prior experience, I guess I would have been dead long ago.
I wonder how it looks. I don't really know, I haven't been able to see for myself. Mirrors and all that. I don't see myself in them. Nobody can.
We can die. I know we can die. I mean, we're all dead, but we can die again. Or is it called dying when a dead thing goes? Pretty much anything can die, though. Even us who are already dead. At least I suppose we can die.
Dang. Can't focus. Can barely write. Or is it "type?" Whatever. Is this typing though, when i will it and I can put the words into a file and hide it in my hiding place? With just my will and my mind?
It kinda feels like I'm bashing my head on a keyboard right now. Heh. Probably looks like I tried to do that too. On a keyboard with spikes. I'd hate to see that keyboard. I think I'm coherent though. I think I'm keeping it together.
It feels more like an act of will than an act of my physical body though. Like my body wants to quit, but I don't want to let it. It feels that way at least. I'm willing myself okay, but my body wants to just lie down and play dead. Heh. Play dead.
Not yet, buddy. Not if I can hang on.
Why me though? Why the heck did they pick me? There seems to be so many other vampires out there, so many other things in the darkness. I've been keeping my head down. Heh. Had my head been down, maybe it would have come off.
Maybe because I'm the easy prey. The quick kill. Or at least they thought so. I guess someone screwed up if they thought that. Predators do that, kill the weak. Prey on the easy kill. Cull the herd. Do vampires form herds? Heh. Maybe I was just the careless one. Predators take on those too.
I don't wanna be careless. I don't wanna be weak.
Looks like I can live through, er, survive this, though. I don't think I'm bleeding anymore, at least. And there's no grey stuff in my fingers after I try to feel the wound. I can still count. I just remembered the value of pi. I can still move my fingers and toes. Good, good.
Do we suffer permanent damage? Will I have some sort of brain damage from this? I did have a scar that I thought was lightening after my first one though. The first time a hunter put a blade in me. I was luckier then. Maybe we don't suffer permanent damage. Maybe we can. Maybe this one's it.
This is pretty bad though. Pretty bad that I called out for help. Bad. Baad. Bad Bad Bad.
Mary had a little sheep. Sheeple listen to the sound of one hand barking. I am roar hear me vampire.
Gah.
I think I made it to the safe haven. I was able to get here, one way or another. I think. Not sure now. I feel hazy. I remember bumping into a human. Tried a bite, it didn't sit well. Burned going in, burned going out. I think I left a trail of me-bits from there to this corner. Means I should be easy to find. Just follow the trail of me to find me.
I think I should sleep. Sleep. Yes, that should help.
And I think, eventually, she catches all of us.
Death, and dying. That's all that I can really think about right now. Death, and dying, and all things related to it. How I am a dead body waiting to die again. How I used to be alive, but I left that life behind the way I left all memory of it. A dead thing imitating life until it no longer can.
I can't really help it. I think I may be dying. If I had any doubts about there being somebody out to get me, they all flew out the window. Or maybe out of the crack in my skull. Facepalm. By a not-so-friendly palm. With a butcher knife. Or whatever the heck that was.
Really hard to focus right now. If I was a mere human, I'd be dead. But I'm already dead, so what am I now with my head split open? Dead and about to get dead-er? Is my head actually split open, grey stuff, pink stuff and red stuff showing? That's how it feels like. Though I don't really have prior experience that I know of. Though if I had prior experience, I guess I would have been dead long ago.
I wonder how it looks. I don't really know, I haven't been able to see for myself. Mirrors and all that. I don't see myself in them. Nobody can.
We can die. I know we can die. I mean, we're all dead, but we can die again. Or is it called dying when a dead thing goes? Pretty much anything can die, though. Even us who are already dead. At least I suppose we can die.
Dang. Can't focus. Can barely write. Or is it "type?" Whatever. Is this typing though, when i will it and I can put the words into a file and hide it in my hiding place? With just my will and my mind?
It kinda feels like I'm bashing my head on a keyboard right now. Heh. Probably looks like I tried to do that too. On a keyboard with spikes. I'd hate to see that keyboard. I think I'm coherent though. I think I'm keeping it together.
It feels more like an act of will than an act of my physical body though. Like my body wants to quit, but I don't want to let it. It feels that way at least. I'm willing myself okay, but my body wants to just lie down and play dead. Heh. Play dead.
Not yet, buddy. Not if I can hang on.
Why me though? Why the heck did they pick me? There seems to be so many other vampires out there, so many other things in the darkness. I've been keeping my head down. Heh. Had my head been down, maybe it would have come off.
Maybe because I'm the easy prey. The quick kill. Or at least they thought so. I guess someone screwed up if they thought that. Predators do that, kill the weak. Prey on the easy kill. Cull the herd. Do vampires form herds? Heh. Maybe I was just the careless one. Predators take on those too.
I don't wanna be careless. I don't wanna be weak.
Looks like I can live through, er, survive this, though. I don't think I'm bleeding anymore, at least. And there's no grey stuff in my fingers after I try to feel the wound. I can still count. I just remembered the value of pi. I can still move my fingers and toes. Good, good.
Do we suffer permanent damage? Will I have some sort of brain damage from this? I did have a scar that I thought was lightening after my first one though. The first time a hunter put a blade in me. I was luckier then. Maybe we don't suffer permanent damage. Maybe we can. Maybe this one's it.
This is pretty bad though. Pretty bad that I called out for help. Bad. Baad. Bad Bad Bad.
Mary had a little sheep. Sheeple listen to the sound of one hand barking. I am roar hear me vampire.
Gah.
I think I made it to the safe haven. I was able to get here, one way or another. I think. Not sure now. I feel hazy. I remember bumping into a human. Tried a bite, it didn't sit well. Burned going in, burned going out. I think I left a trail of me-bits from there to this corner. Means I should be easy to find. Just follow the trail of me to find me.
I think I should sleep. Sleep. Yes, that should help.
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Xian
- Registered User
- Posts: 337
- Joined: 29 Nov 2014, 17:42
Re: Xian's Journal
I AM MORE than just my body. I am sure of that now. In a philosophical sense, I suspected this, but also feared the truth of it. After all, my existence to this point has mostly been tied to my physical form. The changes that I went through, they affected my physical form most obviously, even when I didn't realize the changes because of my memory loss. But the changes were more than just raising a dead body and reawakening the mind behind it.
I think it change my mind as well; it seems my amnesia, my memory loss, was a sign of that. Perhaps it was my mind's way of coping with the change, even. But it was more than that. I think it also changed my spirit as well, and changed my soul, if I can really believe that stuff.
I am different, but still myself. I was myself before the change. I am myself now. But the change made me different enough that my mind needed to take a break I think. Needed time to process the change in my subconscious. And for that, it may have needed to forget, at least for a while.
Despite being myself, the changes in my body, my spirit, my soul, my mind, required a time for everything to catch up with each other. I may have even caused a little delay in this because I became determined to find out everything I missed, to learn things I didn't yet know. So I needed more time for everything else.
I think I need more time still. Perhaps this wound is a good thing in that I have been forced to slow down. I became something more in body, spirit, soul and mind, but now the different parts of me have the time to come together while I recover from my injury.
And while I rest, I start to remember.
I think it change my mind as well; it seems my amnesia, my memory loss, was a sign of that. Perhaps it was my mind's way of coping with the change, even. But it was more than that. I think it also changed my spirit as well, and changed my soul, if I can really believe that stuff.
I am different, but still myself. I was myself before the change. I am myself now. But the change made me different enough that my mind needed to take a break I think. Needed time to process the change in my subconscious. And for that, it may have needed to forget, at least for a while.
Despite being myself, the changes in my body, my spirit, my soul, my mind, required a time for everything to catch up with each other. I may have even caused a little delay in this because I became determined to find out everything I missed, to learn things I didn't yet know. So I needed more time for everything else.
I think I need more time still. Perhaps this wound is a good thing in that I have been forced to slow down. I became something more in body, spirit, soul and mind, but now the different parts of me have the time to come together while I recover from my injury.
And while I rest, I start to remember.
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Xian
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- Joined: 29 Nov 2014, 17:42
Re: Xian's Journal
HE TOOK A QUICK LOOK in the mirror, something that he just couldn't help doing, ever since he was a kid, and for a moment he had second thoughts. Instead of entertaining them though, he took a look at his face. Dark eyes the shape of his Japanese-Filipino mother's, dark shadows beneath them just a little bit darker than the night before. Thin lips taught on his face, similar in shape to her's but more pained, less of the smile he could remember from her face, and more of the sneer he had adopted. Life hadn't been good, and it showed.
His strong cheekbones came from his Irish-American father, though the soft, tapered chin was once more his mother's. His father gave him his short temper too, he thought, snorting in remembrance. He imagined that the streaks of red on his black hair came from his old man too, though he knew that it was just chemicals and inks, a reminder of one of the symbols of his old affiliation. Most of it was gone, too, time eventually wiping away the traces of that past.
He frowned, and his hand came to his face, a finger tracing the line of a slight thin scar, horizontal from just beneath his left eye. Above it, its sibling continued up through his forehead and into his scalp. It had been weeks before his hair had grown back, and had that knife been a little bit closer, he could have lost an eye. As it is, he was lucky it had only looked deep. He snorted to think about small blessings, and shook his head to clear the memory from it.
I can't be distracted tonight.
He'd grown his hair long, just about shoulder length, from the spiked hair he had adopted back then. He had even contemplated growing a beard; anything to help change how he'd looked just months before. But he could never really grow a decent beard, despite his parentage, and his hair could only grow so quickly. It was probably enough for now, and few would recognize the spiked red-haired gang member he had once been.
Not that anybody here was likely to recognize him; that was the point of going all the way to Canada, after all. He'd been all over, running, and running. He had to run some more, he'd decided. But for that he needed more funds.
And funds were what it was going to be all about tonight. It wasn't going to be some big bank robbery, nothing like stealing a priceless jewel. Those things get you high on many watch-lists, and he was no way good enough for those anyway, not alone at any rate.
But a small burglary, a couple of missing things, maybe a laptop that was better than the piece of trash he'd snagged a while back, maybe a few bucks here and there. That was something he knew he could do on his own. There would be a police report that would get filed and eventually lost once other things came into mind. Still a bit of a risk, but safer than any other alternatives he could think of.
He checked himself again, slightly torn black-blue denims, old but serviceable combat boots he'd dyed black, simple black shirt, with a denim jacket thrown over. He looked just like any other thug, any other burglar, any other street punk looking to score a little by getting into some small office nobody really cared about, except maybe the people who worked there. Again, good enough, though he thought to tie his hair back to make sure that it didn't get caught in anything, or cover his eyes at a bad moment.
He put on an old pair of leather gloves, one of the few remaining things he had kept from his old life. He adjusted the fit, then picked up the Glock on the dresser, making sure it was both loaded with its safety on before he tucked it behind him. He wished he'd managed to keep his old holster, the one Kacey, his old flame, had given him. That would have been better. But he'd had to leave it behind like most everything else.
Not that he was any good with it; he was never the muscle, just one of the guys around to help fill the ranks. Yeah, there had been the beer cans and rough-painted targets. He didn't do badly on those. He had no illusions about him being a gunslinger, though. Sure, he could sometimes do some good with electronics and computers, but they didn't need that a lot. Often he'd thought that he was just some sort of mascot anyway.
He wondered how Kacey was, how any of the others were, and wondered if any of them were still alive. He hoped so, but then he told himself that they'd practically abandoned him, practically left him for dead, and that he owed them nothing. Though he did miss the company, and for not the first time he had to fight away the fear that he would be doing this without anybody watching his back this time. No Kacey waiting in the back alley with the bike. No Jet with his guns making sure the guards and cops would stay away.
I can do this, he told himself. I can do this. I can do this. I need to do this. And that really sealed the deal.
He picked up the cloth on the dresser, damp with dark ink, and began to smear the black stuff over his face; a trick he'd learned that would help keep people from identifying him, specially in the dark. Xian took another quick look in the mirror, and whispered to himself, "You can do it, you've done it before, you need this." And after a few breaths, he stepped out of the window of the cheap apartment and into the fire escape outside. Quickly, as quietly as he could muster, he descended to the alleyway below.
His strong cheekbones came from his Irish-American father, though the soft, tapered chin was once more his mother's. His father gave him his short temper too, he thought, snorting in remembrance. He imagined that the streaks of red on his black hair came from his old man too, though he knew that it was just chemicals and inks, a reminder of one of the symbols of his old affiliation. Most of it was gone, too, time eventually wiping away the traces of that past.
He frowned, and his hand came to his face, a finger tracing the line of a slight thin scar, horizontal from just beneath his left eye. Above it, its sibling continued up through his forehead and into his scalp. It had been weeks before his hair had grown back, and had that knife been a little bit closer, he could have lost an eye. As it is, he was lucky it had only looked deep. He snorted to think about small blessings, and shook his head to clear the memory from it.
I can't be distracted tonight.
He'd grown his hair long, just about shoulder length, from the spiked hair he had adopted back then. He had even contemplated growing a beard; anything to help change how he'd looked just months before. But he could never really grow a decent beard, despite his parentage, and his hair could only grow so quickly. It was probably enough for now, and few would recognize the spiked red-haired gang member he had once been.
Not that anybody here was likely to recognize him; that was the point of going all the way to Canada, after all. He'd been all over, running, and running. He had to run some more, he'd decided. But for that he needed more funds.
And funds were what it was going to be all about tonight. It wasn't going to be some big bank robbery, nothing like stealing a priceless jewel. Those things get you high on many watch-lists, and he was no way good enough for those anyway, not alone at any rate.
But a small burglary, a couple of missing things, maybe a laptop that was better than the piece of trash he'd snagged a while back, maybe a few bucks here and there. That was something he knew he could do on his own. There would be a police report that would get filed and eventually lost once other things came into mind. Still a bit of a risk, but safer than any other alternatives he could think of.
He checked himself again, slightly torn black-blue denims, old but serviceable combat boots he'd dyed black, simple black shirt, with a denim jacket thrown over. He looked just like any other thug, any other burglar, any other street punk looking to score a little by getting into some small office nobody really cared about, except maybe the people who worked there. Again, good enough, though he thought to tie his hair back to make sure that it didn't get caught in anything, or cover his eyes at a bad moment.
He put on an old pair of leather gloves, one of the few remaining things he had kept from his old life. He adjusted the fit, then picked up the Glock on the dresser, making sure it was both loaded with its safety on before he tucked it behind him. He wished he'd managed to keep his old holster, the one Kacey, his old flame, had given him. That would have been better. But he'd had to leave it behind like most everything else.
Not that he was any good with it; he was never the muscle, just one of the guys around to help fill the ranks. Yeah, there had been the beer cans and rough-painted targets. He didn't do badly on those. He had no illusions about him being a gunslinger, though. Sure, he could sometimes do some good with electronics and computers, but they didn't need that a lot. Often he'd thought that he was just some sort of mascot anyway.
He wondered how Kacey was, how any of the others were, and wondered if any of them were still alive. He hoped so, but then he told himself that they'd practically abandoned him, practically left him for dead, and that he owed them nothing. Though he did miss the company, and for not the first time he had to fight away the fear that he would be doing this without anybody watching his back this time. No Kacey waiting in the back alley with the bike. No Jet with his guns making sure the guards and cops would stay away.
I can do this, he told himself. I can do this. I can do this. I need to do this. And that really sealed the deal.
He picked up the cloth on the dresser, damp with dark ink, and began to smear the black stuff over his face; a trick he'd learned that would help keep people from identifying him, specially in the dark. Xian took another quick look in the mirror, and whispered to himself, "You can do it, you've done it before, you need this." And after a few breaths, he stepped out of the window of the cheap apartment and into the fire escape outside. Quickly, as quietly as he could muster, he descended to the alleyway below.
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Xian
- Registered User
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- Joined: 29 Nov 2014, 17:42
Re: Xian's Journal
IT WAS A LITTLE over a year ago when his gang adopted him as one of their own. A bunch of asian-americans trying to find their own identity in a country that didn't understand them, running away from parents who understood them even less. Escaping the old rules they felt should have been left behind anyway, while trying to rewrite the new rules as they went along.
Jet had become like a brother to him after he'd run away from his parents, and eventually introduced him to what Jet called was his new family. A year after his first year in college, he'd come home to find his father in a drunk rage. He couldn't remember the words now, but the beating still felt fresh. Fresh also were the eyes of his mother who could only watch as it happened.
Jet found him, and accepted took him under his wing. And eventually, the rest of the gang accepted him too. He took his place willingly, feeling lost but yet still too full of pride to admit that he should go home and just apologize for the words he had for his father. For his mother. He could make his way like this, these were his people now, these were his family. At least that's what he told himself.
For a while things were good. Sure, he was thought of as the small one, being one of the youngest among them. Though he was technically taller than Jet at 5 feet and 8 inches. But Jet and the others were bigger, tougher, leaner, had been on the streets longer. They could fight better, drink more, get better women. But that was fine with him. They were his bigger brothers, the girls were his bigger sisters. They were his new family. And when Kacey took an interest in him too, their intimacy pushed away any thoughts of ever leaving them, or her, behind.
They'd taught him how to handle a gun, though he never picked up a real aptitude for it. Good enough for simple targets, good enough not to shoot himself in the foot. And how to throw a punch, though they said he punched more like a girl than Kacey did. And he admitted to himself that it was true. Jet did teach him a few other things, but he wasn't a great student, but they didn't mind. He made them laugh, and he was another gun, another warm body, another kid to buy the beer.
Besides, Kacey liked him, they said, and Kacey had been one of them a long time.
But when push came to shove, they showed their true colors soon enough. Kacey soon showed less and less interest over time, and they soon grew apathetic if not completely tired of the new kid's antics. He wasn't strong enough, or fast enough, or good enough in a fight. Sure, he had a knack for computers, and he'd cracked that ATM that one time. But really, he was another mouth to feed, another body to take care of. Another tongue that could talk smack, if the wrong people got to him.
It all came to hell when a rival gang, one that had never before felt the need to actually do anything about their rivalry, crashed the old crumbling home they used as their headquarters. He'd been caught alone in the backyard; he'd caught the flash of a knife, pain across his cheek near his left eye, then a large explosion on his right temple. He figured out later that they had probably thought him dead after the baseball bat hit him. That or they didn't think he was a threat. He vaguely remembered gunfire and curses, and Tim falling out of the second floor window near him, his head cracking on the hard dirt.
He'd heard the bikes of some of the others then, his head spinning, Tim's dead eyes staring at him. He tried to call out, hurt and bleeding as he was, but he could barely squeak. Instead he willed himself awake, and carefully crawled to the next yard. Angry, confused, wounded and tired, he took the motorbike he and Kacey had left there, and once he felt the world settle down from its spinning, he rode out as far and fast as he could.
He had just a little cash on hand, and found himself doing anything he could to get by from day to day. He ran from town to town, from city to city, away from his old life, away from the gang who'd left him behind, away from his parents who didn't quite give enough of a damn anyway.
After a few months, he found himself in Canada, in a little city called Harper Rock, on his way away from the East Coast, away from everything that he knew, and standing behind some small office building that was about to close down anyway, desperate for just a little more cash, hoping for a little tech he could make use of, needing a way to start over and start as fresh. Something he felt even someone like himself had a right to hope for.
Jet had become like a brother to him after he'd run away from his parents, and eventually introduced him to what Jet called was his new family. A year after his first year in college, he'd come home to find his father in a drunk rage. He couldn't remember the words now, but the beating still felt fresh. Fresh also were the eyes of his mother who could only watch as it happened.
Jet found him, and accepted took him under his wing. And eventually, the rest of the gang accepted him too. He took his place willingly, feeling lost but yet still too full of pride to admit that he should go home and just apologize for the words he had for his father. For his mother. He could make his way like this, these were his people now, these were his family. At least that's what he told himself.
For a while things were good. Sure, he was thought of as the small one, being one of the youngest among them. Though he was technically taller than Jet at 5 feet and 8 inches. But Jet and the others were bigger, tougher, leaner, had been on the streets longer. They could fight better, drink more, get better women. But that was fine with him. They were his bigger brothers, the girls were his bigger sisters. They were his new family. And when Kacey took an interest in him too, their intimacy pushed away any thoughts of ever leaving them, or her, behind.
They'd taught him how to handle a gun, though he never picked up a real aptitude for it. Good enough for simple targets, good enough not to shoot himself in the foot. And how to throw a punch, though they said he punched more like a girl than Kacey did. And he admitted to himself that it was true. Jet did teach him a few other things, but he wasn't a great student, but they didn't mind. He made them laugh, and he was another gun, another warm body, another kid to buy the beer.
Besides, Kacey liked him, they said, and Kacey had been one of them a long time.
But when push came to shove, they showed their true colors soon enough. Kacey soon showed less and less interest over time, and they soon grew apathetic if not completely tired of the new kid's antics. He wasn't strong enough, or fast enough, or good enough in a fight. Sure, he had a knack for computers, and he'd cracked that ATM that one time. But really, he was another mouth to feed, another body to take care of. Another tongue that could talk smack, if the wrong people got to him.
It all came to hell when a rival gang, one that had never before felt the need to actually do anything about their rivalry, crashed the old crumbling home they used as their headquarters. He'd been caught alone in the backyard; he'd caught the flash of a knife, pain across his cheek near his left eye, then a large explosion on his right temple. He figured out later that they had probably thought him dead after the baseball bat hit him. That or they didn't think he was a threat. He vaguely remembered gunfire and curses, and Tim falling out of the second floor window near him, his head cracking on the hard dirt.
He'd heard the bikes of some of the others then, his head spinning, Tim's dead eyes staring at him. He tried to call out, hurt and bleeding as he was, but he could barely squeak. Instead he willed himself awake, and carefully crawled to the next yard. Angry, confused, wounded and tired, he took the motorbike he and Kacey had left there, and once he felt the world settle down from its spinning, he rode out as far and fast as he could.
He had just a little cash on hand, and found himself doing anything he could to get by from day to day. He ran from town to town, from city to city, away from his old life, away from the gang who'd left him behind, away from his parents who didn't quite give enough of a damn anyway.
After a few months, he found himself in Canada, in a little city called Harper Rock, on his way away from the East Coast, away from everything that he knew, and standing behind some small office building that was about to close down anyway, desperate for just a little more cash, hoping for a little tech he could make use of, needing a way to start over and start as fresh. Something he felt even someone like himself had a right to hope for.