Path of the Vampire forum

My eyes stared at my reflection or at least I would have if it showed. Vampires couldn't see themselves in mirros and other reflective surfaces so I was staring into an empty mirror. In my mind's eye I looked like Hugh Jackman in the opening of the latest Wolverine film. I spent so much time in my apartment and feeling sorry about myself...I sort of lost myself. Some time was spent apologizing to people. The people I brought pain to. Was I expecting smiles and laughter when I showed? No. But Jesus I was so ignorant and sheltered. All of the negativity that came to me was a system shock and a depressing one. So I curled into myself like some people wrapped themselves deep inside of a bottle.

Pulling out a straight razor I began to run it over my throat. A few days ago I would have considered pressing hard from ear to ear, but I was done being that guy. Instead I ran the blade up my clean neck. My mind saw the thick beard go away section by section. Every time the razor touched my skin I pictured the beard falling into an empty sink. By the time my face was clean I just stared at the razor. Deep down I didn't want to be that guy that crawled away. I didn't want to be the asshole either.

So I pressed the blade to my skull then started to cut away the hair. Hair sprinkled into the sink. By the time I was done I felt patches of hair. Again the blade went to work. The chill caressed my now ball head. Tomorrow night the hair was going to be back. One of the woes of being forever young. After the transformation whatever snapshot the curse took of you...that was how you were going to look forever. Doing radical things like head shavings, in most case, were just temporary for a day.

Feeling the cool air on my now naked head I snagged a black fedora hat I usually wore, flung on my black three quarter length coat and my guitar. Baby steps were going to be needed. Basics. A pair of black sketches were already on my feet, they were black with the white souls and laces untied, a pair of simple jeans that matched the shoes and a black shirt that featured a Deadpool symbol on the chest.

Tonight was...going to be a start all because I was alone with a razor.

A private diary log:

OH THANK THE GODS!




My hair grew back. One of the few advantages to being a vampire, the whole thing was sorta a mixed bag, was the snapshot effect. A vampire was a lot like you, or whomever, had a picture taken of them. That moment is forever captured in time. It will never age, even though the photo may age. You will still be supporting your rocking mullet in that photo you took at the Springsteen concert in 87. Being a vampire often had the same effect. When you were turned was your snapshot. Granted the whole thing will transform you, make you beautiful, regrow some missing hair in certain cases and the like. Then you would remain as the snapshot. The picture, you as a whole, will age but appearance was you are in suspended animation like that moment. If you've been improved it still uses that instance as the foundation.

In short, bald Simon was never meant to last. I've made a couple of new friends! They're good people. One is named Lyana. She's fun and EXTREMELY smart. I thought I was good with a program until I met her. Then ummm...yeah...I suck! However, she's helping me out with a few things.

Then there's Renee. She's cool and fun, likes my music and my overall crazin randomness, plus she's not a belieber (a plus)!

Still learning about each. Oh! And then there's Jambi! He's pretty cool. He has a green floating head and says "Mecha-lecha-High, Mecha-Heiny-Ho." Can't find the box he's in though. Granted, I may have dreamed about about Jambi because when I met him I was in this really cool house. There was a bunch of demented puppets and a tacky dressed cowboy that kind of looked like Morpheus from the Matrix movies there too. I may have slept with the TV on last night or the night before.

In short I've met some good people.

-Me

Another Diary Entry:

I know of something that comes. Some would call it wicked. Others would call it welcomed. I cannot say what it is because it's not my place. A presence that has never left but has long since been gone. Closer and closer they stride until it can utter, "We're here."


It's coming.

The cold night air caressed my face. Somehow it was trying to comfort me on tonight's journey. Anyone would have trouble tonight be they human or vampire. If the being was able to think and feel beyond simple instincts then they would have hated nights like mine. I just pressed forward holding onto something tight in my left hand.

My three quarter length black leather jacket clung to me. The winter liner snuggled close too. Neither did much to block out the cold. Sure they kept me warm but the cold within me could not be touched. Nothing I wore from the black jeans to the matching boots would have done much to comfort me. Sometimes cold just couldn’t have been comforted.

For a moment I leaned against a nearby stone wall. Places like where I was going it was common to see stonewalls. Mounds of stone forged and formed together. Metal bars with spikes were common too. Either case they looked pretty damned ominous.

Breathing hard I pushed away from the stone. Walking into the place I looked around to see nothing out of the ordinary. Luckily the place was empty too. Stone monuments were erected by rows. Part of me honestly felt bad because I was only here for one person. If I were a better man I would have been here for more. Graveyards brought out the strangest emotions.

Eventually I stopped at a grave then sat down next to the tombstone. An arm went around it as they would a shoulder if there was one to grab. “Hey Tis. We didn’t talk much after a certain point, but that doesn’t mean I forgot. Doesn’t mean that I got the feeling we probably worked together in a different place in darker times. Either way your absence creates an Abyss deep inside. People will miss you more than me. People will cry harder than me, but it does not mean I do not have my own tears to shed.”

In my left hand were three roses, two red with one white. A red one went on Tis’s grave, “They say people like us are immortal, but how quickly the candle can burn out…even for us. The only real difference between us and humans is just the length of the candle. Unfortunately the flame can still be snuffed too soon. You’re proof of that,” my lips touched the top of the gravestone gently, “Until the next lifetime my friend. May our time then be longer than it was in this one,” black streaks ran down from my eyes before the tips disappeared in a puff of smoke. Shadows cried and bled differently. We let out a black ichor that eventually turned to smoke.

Sadly, my tears could not have been seen for long. I hope she knew despite the lack of tears I was crying for her. Eventually I tore myself away. After the first few steps I looked back at the grave. “Stay safe wherever you are. Don’t make me find a new way to kick your ***,” I winked toward Tis. Slowly I started to leave the graveyard. Two of the roses were still in my hand. They reminded me tonight was not over.

My feet carried me from a graveyard deep into the woods. God I hated this journey. No matter how much I tried to forget about this place I remembered it like the back of my hand. Fear gripped at my heart and I so badly wanted to run away screaming. I just wanted to throw my hands up and run for dear life, but I couldn’t. No matter how much I wanted to run I just couldn’t and I knew that. Making my way through branches, up and down hills, twisting and turning my body I knew I had to keep going. Suddenly a familiar sight caused me to stop instantly. My blood ran cold. A simple unmarked cross stared me down.

Tears streamed down my face again. My body shook with fear and other emotions. With a defeated breath I was able to say, “Hey kid.” Yes, the grave belonged to my child, my only child. Quietly I moved to the cross then fell to my knees.

My arms wrapped around the cross. Our time was short, too short, but any parent could have had forever with a child and they would claim it was still not long enough if they had to bury their offspring. The white rose slipped from my hand. Tears poured down my face. I rocked my body slightly and just hung onto the cross.

Time slipped by. Besides the tears, the pain and the suffering I was able to let out a few screams. It was a long time before I was able to whisper, “I love you,” to my daughter. With shivering lips I kissed the cross and vanished in an instant. I couldn’t stay out there any longer. Our few visits were always long. And every time I ran the risk of destroying myself. Around her nothing mattered, but my loss and pain. That wouldn’t have mattered to the morning sun so I had to rip myself away each time.

Now I was in an alleyway nearby my apartment building across the city. Quietly I slunk outward and then into the apartments. I made my way through the lobby and ignored the world. Once inside my home I went for my acoustic guitar.

Pulling away the strings I just admired the image on the front. It was a hand painted scene of a sunny day with a sea of clouds and a sky of bright blue. With the utmost care I set the guitar up on a display then set the last red rose in front of it. “Vous avez rate, Cyn,” I said low. Cyn was someone long gone that had painted the front of my guitar. Sure the picture had some nicks within it now. I just thought she would have wanted me to play the damned thing instead of getting a new one. So I played it, but that didn’t mean I wouldn’t have my moments of remembrance.

Stepping away from his desk, an organized chaos with papers and folders, Simon Cross went to a closet. Pulling out a case he handled it with the utmost care. Flicking open the hinges he pulled out an electric guitar. The thing was black with a bit of gray airbrushing for an accent in the design. %R%R Next he pulled out a speaker along with a hair tie. Putting up his hair he plugged everything in. His fingers strummed over the strings as he adjusted and tuned everything. At first he began with Van Halen's Erruption. People often considered the wordless song to be part of "You Really Got Me." Simon just played the song because it was a real test of his skills. %R%R With everything set to go, he began to play something else. He needed to play this song. Father's Day was always rough on Simon. It got better with each passing year, but it was always going to be hard. There was going to be a long walk later after he was done. Deep, dark notes rumbled from the speaker:

"Sitting in the dark I can't forget. Even nooww, I realize time I'll never get. Another story of the bitter pillls of fate. I can't go back againnn. I can't go back again.
But you asked me to love you and I did. Traded my emotions for a contract to commit. And when I got awwwaay, I only got so far. The other me is dead, III hear his voice inside my heaaddd.
We were never alliiveee. And we won't be born again! But I'll never survive, with dead memories in my heearrrrr-arrrrttt. With dead memories in my heearrrrr-arrrrttt. Dead memories in my heartttt!"

Simon sang and played Slipknot's "Dead Memories" loudly. The man had years of practice on each and was quite good. This song wasn't done to be a temporary star because there was no crowd. He wasn't doing it for the money for there wasn't a contractor to pay him for a gig or passer bys to drop coins into his guitar case. He was playing because it was father's day.

A lot of fathers were out there celebrating today. Sons and daughters were giving them gifts, and saying "Happy Father's Day." Crissy, Simon's vamperic mother, always gave him a gift. A box of fancy cigars rested on top of a pile of papers that sat on the desk. She knew this day was hard on him.

Unlike a lot of fathers out there Simon had to bury his child. Not only did he have to bury his daughter, she was his first and only child. Yes, she was not his by blood nor was she his by a vampire's standards. Her sire had abandoned her and Simon took her in. He was more than willing and even happy to teach her. Things were good for a little while.

All of the memories flashed before Simon's mind. How awkward it was to teach her. To not be the rebellious pain in the *** and be the mentor to someone. Despite all of the oddness, it somehow felt right.

A smile crept on his face as he continued to play. Every warm moment washed over his person. For a split second the world wasn't so dark. The day wasn't so bitter. He held onto those good thoughts for as long as he could.

Like with each time he remembered his daughter Simon couldn't stop the bad memories.They whirled in his mind like an oncoming storm and forced him to relive those emotions, every time. She had left him a note. For whatever reason she decided to walk out into the sun.

By the time Simon got the note it was too late. She left it the night before. Sunrise was coming in two hours.
When he got up to read it, she was gone. Rushing out to her place, the world was a blur. He was hoping that maybe she stopped herself or some divine miracle had intervened.

All that greeted him was a pile of ashes in front of her door. He fell to his knees devastated. "No," he whispered into the wind as black streams started to run down his face. Being a Shadow made it so Simon couldn't bleed a normal color of blood. His was an inky black ichor. So when he cried it didn't look like blood tears. His tears looked like black face paint before they turned into smoke and vanished.

He rocked himself near her ashes. "No, no, no, no," Simon babbled. When he composed himself enough to function the world was a blur. So were the rules to society. The first store he saw with a nice vase in the window the man broke into. Only one the vase and some wooden fencing were taken.

Returning to his daughter, he gathered her ashes then walked for miles into the woods.Turning the fencing into a makeshift cross he staked it into the ground. From there he dug at the dirt with his bare hands. When there was a big enough hole he spread his daughter's ashes inside. She wasn't going to be without a proper burial, not his kid.

Even now as he played tears streamed down his face. Notes continued and collided with distortion. The memories were too much. A scream flowed from his lips, he frantically unplugged the guitar and practically ripped it off of himself.

Screams continued as he brought the instrument down onto the ground. The thing splintered with each bashed into the floor. He tossed the remnants of it aside just as the tears stopped. Klara would probably say a few things about it, ask questions, but he would deal with it then.

Right now he just needed to get out. Grabbing his coat, Simon started to go out. Pausing in the door way he turned to look back in the apartment. Sighing he went toward the closet againa nd pulled out a second case.
In a huff Simon left. The first stop was to a flower shop. A single white was was held delicately in one hand when he came out. His feet carried him from the shop into the woods. Like always, the trail was a bit hard to follow.

Even knowing the route so well, Simon didn't want others to disturb it so he put the grave in a hard to get to spot.

Standing in the dirt was the makeshift cross. Two years of weathering and wear weighed heavy on it, but it was still upright. A sad smile pulled at the corners of his mouth, "Hey kid," Simon said.

Sitting down, one hand placed the case down, the other delicately set the rose atop of the grave, and his head rested on the cross as if it were a shoulder. "Miss ya," he croaked. Tears started to stream down his face again.
Idly his hand traced over the dirt. He wanted to ask "Why? Why did you do it?" but the answers wouldn't come. They didn't come last year. They didn't come when he buried her. The answers were never going to come. He learned to accept that.

Time slipped by. He had fallen asleep. His roller coaster ride of emotion had exhausted him. Rising up, he grabbed the case and dusted himself off. Dirt had fallen off his three-quarter length leather coat, the black button up shirt her wore and the matching slacks. Walking away a few steps he breathed out and turned back.

Looking to the grave he said in a low whisper, "I can do so many things that defy physics, law and order. Yet the one thing I wish I could do, that would defy all of those things, and I'm completely powerless. You'll always be my daughter. Even when the rest of the world forgets you. When the world discovers your grave and people have generated a million ghost stories about you, your father will always remember the truth," again the sad smile made an appearance on his face. "I love you. Always will."

Part 2

Pulling himself from the ground Simon was up. Some brush and debris fell off his person, but he was upright. Walking off he made his way to another sight. Breathing out he tried to muster up some courage. This day was hard on multiple levels. It was a day of painful remembrance, but people deserved to be honored.

His feet carried him to the sight of headstones, tombstones and everything else associated with a grave. A heavy sigh left his lips. Counting off the rows of graves, like he did with every visit, Simon stayed on the course. Then he wet down several before plopping down.

"Cyn," Simon he and sat down next to it. Tuning up his guitar he looked at the painting on the front of it. Cyn Aster Worthington did it. A beautiful sky made with a sea of blue paints. He made the local guitar place preserve the piece. Sadly, it was after a few nicks and dents made their way onto the piece thanks to a few days of playing.

From there he started to play the guitar. His fingers worked over the strings. Notes danced in the air as he kept playing. Cyn hung out in a hotel room he paid for. He didn't want to see someone stranded without a home. Cristi helped Simon out with his home and so he tried to help out others.

They met in a club that Simon found himself singing in. Some wild vampire came in blabbing French. Most looked at her as if she was crazy. Luckily the singer knew French. At that point a friendship was formed.

He played music for her, tried to help her out, teach her the ropes and those memories were cherished. While he was playing, a stream of black ichor ran down his face before it dissipated in a stream of smoke. The last few notes played and he looked at the grave, "You're missed Cyn. I know you're sleeping. You may or may not be back. Hell, this probably isn't your grave, but I bought the plot. It's your memorial until you return." With an affectionate hand movement, he tried to nudge a non-existent chin. Silence sat down for a moment before he began to play again.

Simon stared at the room in completely and utter disbelief. All of the colors that he normally found to be hideous were quite appealing in their own way. He knew a lot of this feeling came because they were his. Not the colors themselves, but what they were painted and pressed on. The walls and the floors, they were his. The room was his. All of the contents, everything was his.

Grabbing a small cup he scooped up some of the product and awkwardly tasted it. "This is almost as good as sex," it had been years since tasting a product like it. A shudder ran through him and goosebumps rose on his flesh. Taking another drink he savored the flavor. All of the familiarity. There was only one final thing left to do.

Unfortunately getting everything done exhausted him. Sitting down in a chair Simon thought he was just getitng comfortable. Before long he was asleep.

His hands went over the mint green vest slowly. Normally he would have hated the color. Instead it was growing on him, at least in this context. Grabbing the vest he slid it the white button up tux shirt, which tucked into black pants. Smiling he grabbed the black coat and looked at the pink lining, the material matched that of the vest. Everything was pristine, pressed, and custom.

"Normally I'd hate these colors. I think I've chided them, but Simon...you look good," he knowing the suit didn't look half bad. Bad colors it was all about making them accents with good colors. "The tophat would have been too much, but it worked for Willy," he eyed a black tophat that rested on a nearby table.

Every part of his body shook with excitement. Things were going well. Grabbing the hat Simon slipped it atop of his head. Nodding with approval, Simon tied back his hair. Bobbing up and down his body moved to a tuneless beat. Whistling the tune. Everything was looking to be aces.

Simon was alone in his apartment. His eyes kept going to the leather coat he had framed. The thing was riddled with bullet holes. "So, what happened? How did I go from that?" the man gestured to the coat then to himself, "to where I am now?" Thinking on it he remembered the pride Crissy felt for him that day. Probably the first and only bit of pride she felt for him ever.

Staring at his clothes he sighed. Thinking on it he remembered all the times his looks had changed. He was happiest wearing purple for some reason. Why purple? Because it was his favorite color. Looking at all of the black clothing made him feel serious. Sure the business had a big part to play.

Time slipped by and he stared at his clothes. Off went the coat. Seconds after that the vest fallowed suit. Every article hit the floor until Simon was in the buff. Gathering up the clothes he looked around his place. Winking out of existence with the clothes Simon appeared in another. The clothes were in a metal container.

Grabbing out an old zippo lighter he spread it over the clothes. Leaving some inside the lighter he flicked the flame to life. Watching it dance in the air he admired the flickering orange light. Then it was dropped on the fluid soaked clothes. Flames went up quickly.

Fading out and back into the room he was back with an acoustic guitar and a fire extinguisher. He needed to play a song. So he picked one from memory. There was nothing extra to it other than a song laced with pain and emotion. Picking a modified cover of Lead Belly's hit Simon preferred to use Nirvana's rendition because it removed any chance of being racist or bringing up racial tensions. The original had "Black" in the place of "My," and it was a brutal song. Even in the cover the brutality carried over.

"My girl, my girl, don't lie to me
Tell me where did you sleep last night

In the pines, in the pines
Where the sun don't ever shine
I would shiver the whole night through

My girl, my girl, where will you go
I'm going where the cold wind blows

In the pines, in the pines
Where the sun don't ever shine
I would shiver the whole night through

Her husband, was a hard working man
Just about a mile from here
His head was found in a driving wheel
But his body never was found

My girl, my girl, don't lie to me
Tell me where did you sleep last night

In the pines, in the pines
Where the sun don't ever shine
I would shiver the whole night through

My girl, my girl, where will you go
I'm going where the cold wind blows

In the pines, in the pines
Where the sun don't ever shine
I would shiver the whole night through

My girl, my girl, don't lie to me
Tell me where did you sleep last night

In the pines, in the pines
Where the sun don't ever shine
I would shiver the whole night through

My girl, my girl, where will you go
I'm going where the cold wind blows

In the pines, in the pines
Where the sun don't ever shine
I would shiver the whole night through

Every note was screamed and yelled with the same emphasis Kurt Cobain and Lead Belly put into the words. Strumming the notes Simon played the song and the fire kept burning. By the time he was done he just patiently placed down the guitar.

Fire retardant chemicals dosed the flames and smoke clouds plumed in the room. Sure it was reckless and stupid, but damn did it feel good. With this new sense of feeling good he faded out again. Back in his apartment, the one he called home, Simon began to pick out some new clothes.

Even before the idea of fire came about Simon knew what was going to be worn. In the back of his mind he just knew. Every time he felt it was time for a change Simon went with a new outfit. Sometimes he considered himself to be a less successful chameleon. Changing when something new or big happened. Now was one of those times.

Grabbing a black button up shirt and matching slacks he put them on. Smiling to himself he slicked back his hair, but didn't tie into a ponytail. From there he grabbed a purple three quarter jacket with a red lining. Placing on the coat he let out an "Ooooh," noise. Everything about this was feeling good and he just felt different in them. As the old saying went, "Clothes make the man."

Journal Entry:

A couple of days that's all I ask for. I've been fighting with her since the better part of October. Just wanted some time to mend wounds. She wanted me to hold her. As much as I would like to hold her I want to lick some wounds first. Not exactly a fan of hugging the person I've been fighting with for ages at least not until I heal up first.

She thinks I put people above her. The thing is I was present for an incident she sees as a big social fo-pah, no that's not how it's spelled. Fau-pah? Screw it, a social no-no. People were tired. It was late. I felt like they were falling asleep in their chairs and I don't blame them. Hell, I felt like I was about to myself. That's how I chalked everything up. She thinks otherwise. I tried to explain it to her it was late. There are two other incidents. I wasn't present for them. I always believe that social situations tend to by this: what person one said, what person two said, and so on and so forth. Somewhere in the middle is the truth. I know perception and belief can be truthful to that individual. She's just so damned adamant that it was a snub that first time.

Then I dealt with it. Said not cool. She wants to know why I dealt with it then and not when it first happened? Why did it take so long? I'm honest. I didn't see it as a snub. She still wants to know why.

It's getting to the point she and I can't lay in the bed without a fight with her. I wish it wasn't that way. As much as I'd love to hold her in my arms I just can't see the fighting stopping. I feel like if I make friends with someone else, unless it's pre-approved or something, my **** is going to get jumped on just as hard. So, I'm torn. I'm not going to back down from my stance. Hell, I tried to make things right and even said an apology is owed. However, how can you accept an apology if you're unwilling to talk to someone?

I need a drink. Hell, I need several right now.