AN: Yes, I am a morbid person. I wrote this for a couple of reasons but the main one is that I'm out of practice with writing. Work has taken up a lot of my time, but I'm on medical leave right now so I have time. Hopefully this is good, like I said, I haven't written in forever. All mistakes are mine and mine alone, I lost touch with my Beta Reader years ago and never thought to find another.
Comments/Reviews are most welcome by this author!
Dead Girls Don't Cry
Life is a funny thing. It seems like it will go on forever and ever, that you will have all the time in the world to do the things that just keep getting put off. Then, like a bolt out of the blue, you realize there's a time limit. Everything must come to an end, one way or another.
My wake-up call came in the form of my grandmother's sudden death. I guess if there's ever a way to go out, quiet would be nice. I went to her funeral, all dressed in black. I could only think about the fact that the shoes hurt my feet… My grandmother was in a coffin and I was thinking about aching feet.
It hit me later. She was gone. There would be no more Sunday brunches at her house, no more kisses leaving lipstick on my cheek. Grandma was actually gone. I cried more that night than ever before. I honestly thought it couldn't get any worse.
If I had known then, what I know now, I would have done everything so differently.
Life moved forward, the flow of time doesn't stop even if you think it should. Slowly, her memory became just that – a memory.
I moved on with my life, started high school, and fell back into that same pattern of thinking as before. That life moves on and I move with it.
By the time I hit my twenties I was back into the thinking that most young people have. I thought I was untouchable, that death itself would ignore me until I was old and grey - ready to die. It's kind of funny now that I think back to it.
That immortality complex hit an all-time high when I started hitting the clubs with a group of friends. College was in the past; I couldn't afford it, and didn't need it. My job sucked, my life sucked, about the only thing in life I actually enjoyed was going out and getting plastered.
The bar we went to on that night was located near the river and seemed… different. There was smoke in the air, and such a comfortable feel to it as we entered. Nobody really paid us any attention and that was perfectly alright. We drank, we smoked, we had a great time.
But then things changed. A young man had been sitting at the bar, watching us… watching me. He finally walked over and introduced himself –Collin- and I fell head over heels in love with his eyes. They were the color of my cat's eyes, a yellowish green, practically glowing in the dim lights of the bar.
He took my hand and asked me to dance with him. It didn't once cross my mind to tell him no. I took his hand and let him lead me to the dance floor. Minutes became hours, time meant nothing to me while I stared into those eyes. I think the world could have crashed down around me and I wouldn't have paid any attention to it.
The same way I didn't pay attention when Collin led me out of the bar and into the alley beside it. I let him push me against the wall, I let him put his mouth to my neck, kiss the sensitive skin. I didn't scream when his teeth sank into my flesh, I didn't struggle as my blood flowed into his mouth.
I would have gladly given him every last drop if he would never stop, never let me forget that pleasure. Death… that was what touched me that night. The hands of death brushed across my face and whispered sweet nothings in my ear as Collin drank me dry.
I slid down the wall, staring at nothing in particular, while he cleaned the blood off his mouth. It was only when my friends' began calling my name did he even look down at me, the strangest expression on his face; an emptiness in his eyes. He crouched down, placed his hand against my cool cheek, and smiled.
I felt the brush of his lips against mine as he slid his hand down my face, across my eyes, forcing them to close. "Sleep well." He mocked.
It was terrible. Though my body lost all sensation in the days that followed, I was still fully aware of what was going on around me. I couldn't move, couldn't speak, and could do nothing as my parents wept over my death. I could do nothing as strangers stripped me down and placed me in a dress I would never have worn myself, and I couldn't say a word of protest as they placed me inside the coffin and carried me into the church for the last time.
I lay there as the Priest gave those gathered a history of my life. I would have laughed had I been able. I was far from the saint they painted me out to be. I had been a terrible daughter, and a waste of space in my parents' lives. I had been a disappointment and still – they cried. They cried because I was gone. They cried because all the chances they had, that I had had, were gone.
I could only lay there dead and silent as the lid of the coffin closed and they placed me in the back of the hearse for the final drive to the cemetery. I listened to the final rites performed before my coffin was lowered in the ground. I will never forget the sound of that first thud of dirt landing. Soon the thuds became like a heartbeat, replacing the one that had been stolen from me.
The silence was what drove me mad. I wanted noise, I wanted life. I didn't want this to be how it ended, eternity in a box, aware of everything that was happening but unable to do a damn thing about it. The day passed, and night fell. I could feel the night wrap around me, like a warm embrace, waking the dead limbs from their slumber.
I wiggled my fingers, feeling the soft silk underneath. I wiggled my toes and slowly began to move my body around inside the cramped space of the coffin. Above me, I heard a strange scraping noise, a shovel breaking ground above.
It seemed like an eternity before the shovel connected with the lid of my coffin, and broke through. The moonlight stung my eyes, make them water like mad. When my vision cleared, I was looking at Collin. Fury filled me, a white hot fury. I wanted to kill him for what he had done.
"If I die, you'll never know what you are." He stated, reading the hatred in my eyes.
That was how I came to be with him. The man who took my life now owns it. I cannot leave him until I have the answers, and Collin… well, he likes his secrets. He teaches me, when it suits his needs. He teaches me how to hunt without getting caught, and how to insure that those I do bite don't wake as one of us.
Death is a funny thing. Ironic in the fact that there are creatures in this world that thrive off of it, live and breathe it… and have overcome it.
I'm dead. I know that every time I look in the mirror and see a face that has not changed in the last hundred years. I am no longer who I was, though I'm not quite sure what that makes me now. I remember my name, and the names of my family, but now I only see those names on the tombs in the graveyard, along with my own.
I stopped crying over them a long time ago, it's difficult for the dead to mourn the living. Humans are prey, that fact has been wrought into every fiber of my being. Collin is a good teacher, though sometimes I still think of killing him. I know that I would mourn his death. Some tiny part of me would miss him being around.
I asked him if there are more of us, and he just smiled. I'm sure there are, somewhere. Someone had to have created him, taught him everything he now teaches me. But, maybe like me, Collin craved the death of that someone and unlike me – he actually killed him.
I don't know. I know only my own existence and the flow of eternity. I don't age and very few things can kill me: Sunlight, my heart being taken or my head being chopped off, and lack of blood to keep my dead heart beating.
The dawn comes. I feel it in every fiber of my being. It's frightening, but I curl myself against Collin's still warm body, feel his arms slip around me, and I wait. That moment when the sun finally comes and lights the way for the living is the time when my death touches my face once more. He whispers in my ear and draws me away.
The sun's light is stopped by the thick shades and curtains the block it out of our apartment. I feel it press against me, and feel the sensation of my soul – if that is indeed what it still is – slip away. Collin's arm goes slack, and I'm gone.
Death is quiet…