Archive for April 15th, 2012

15th April
2012
written by amber

The Vampire’s Widow

Died on me finally. He had to. Immortality is all fine and good, but when you’re vulnerable to so many things, it’s ridiculous to call yourself immortal.

I mean, any one of us is immortal unless something kills us, aren’t we?

Oh, we had fun at first. I met him and I was smitten; I would have done anything he asked me. I thought he’d ask me to have sex on the first date or run away from home to be with him. I didn’t expect what he did ask of me.

I wasn’t a believer, then. I just thought he had a strange fetish, and a well-hidden one. Because he didn’t have one of those lean pale faces, he didn’t dress entirely in black. He looked like a football jock, muscular, ruddy-cheeked, robustly healthy. But when he sank his teeth into my neck and I felt the twin punctures followed by utter bliss, I knew he was exactly what he said he was.

We had many wonderful years together.

It was an open-relationship. It had to be – the lust for blood is the most powerful aphrodisiac of all. Jealousy isn’t why I wanted to kill him. It was boredom.

Three hundred twenty nine years is a long time.

At first, things were exciting. I was young and suddenly very powerful and the world was my oyster. But you go through phases. The first, I suppose, could be called psychopath. I killed with impunity. With enjoyment.

Later, I killed for what I convinced myself were moral reasons – I killed people who needed to be killed. Killers and rapists. Being a creature of the night, I saw what other creatures of the night were up to and I punished those who deserved it.

Next, I became a connoisseur. Like a mortal wine drinker, I convinced myself that different blood tasted differently. We thought the blood of a young virgin was best of all.

Meanwhile, the world became grey and hopeless. Resource shortages, a hostile climate, ravaging diseases meant that people stayed home, did little, had no fun. The dizzying rate of progress – technological changes almost daily – ceased. Things were the same, year after year, decade after decade.

I started trying to kill myself 44 years ago, and he’s stopped me every time. We don’t die immediately, but lie dormant for an hour or two, time enough for the silver bullet to be removed, the wooden stake extricated, the holy cross moved to a safe distance, or the sun-bathed body to be rolled into a dim crypt.

The blood we get these days does not seem as nourishing, and each attempt left me weaker and more determined to end this pointless existence.

For ten days now, I’ve risen from my coffin and dragged him into the daylight before lying down in the deadly illumination myself. And for ten days, his constitution has been stronger than mine and I’ve woken at dusk once again in my coffin, once again ‘alive.’

He should have left me, but I guess he loves me in his way. Today I woke with feeble strength flowing back into my body as the garish sunset faded, and I found him next to me, now as pale and emaciated as the fashion vampires of my youth. I stumbled away and found a deserted neighbourhood and the remnant of a picket fence.

It was surprisingly easy to plunge the stake into his chest. I didn’t bother with a cross or bullets, too weak to go in search of such things.

Now it’s time for my own stake, which I will fall upon like an ancient warrior.

The Story 365 project is a year-long marathon of short story writing, with a new story for every day of the year and posted on this website from May 1, 2011 – April 30, 2012. Stories must be a minimum of 200 words. Please help me by adding first line or topic suggestions in the Comment section of any story.

The first line of this story was suggested by my mother, Mary Bond, and is the first line of The Oldest Living Confederate Widow Tells All, a novel by Allan Gurganus.