Kindred: James Toulor: Part 9

January 1st, 1939,

I remember the events of 1776 quite clearly: Cyrilla and I had learned of the declaration that we were free of European tyranny and how horrid it was for a government to oppress its people.  I even recall the 1800's being a period of American isolationism.  However humorous both events were because the Europeans such as myself always found a way to take advantage of American stubbornness to cooperate with the rest of the world.  A month or two ago, however, I read of one of the most horrid things the Germans had done in a while and although it did not surprise me, I remember being slightly off-put by the way Americans reacted to "The night of broken glass."  For all nations of Europe this was the catalyst towards a great world war but the Americans seemed uninterested and even apathetic to the pain and suffering going on across the great puddle.

What arrogance it was to know that the world was fighting and we simply sat in our homes listening to the large talking box that would tell us tales of my own home being appalled by the aggression of its neighbor towards its own people.  Not like we French were really the type to be sympathetic but one does get concerned when the neighbors talk of imperialism...

December 25th, 1941,

At last the Americans have joined the effort and how appropriate I should make this entry on Christmas.  For the kindred, we would take the day off from the slaughter and I wanted very badly to go home to France to see the devastation to my lands.  Luckily for me, I had nobles who I had turned to keep my wealth and lands within Germany and France but never the less, the animals must have wreaked havoc on them to keep up appearances anyway.

Animals.

It always amuses me that the kind call kindred base and vile because we mercilessly slaughter them but war is like a time of play for us.  Human beings cause such destruction on their own that our feeding off them and even small amounts of death here and there become second to the atrocity they can claim as their own.  As a young man, I would experiment on villagers in great psychological experiments and even some medical experiments but the total coverage of the Nazis was so commendable that even I in my infinite cruelty could not have shook my little villagers with such vibrato!

I am but a simple killer, I have done things as a human being that were far crueler than any kindred could imagine and that includes myself but the Nazis, although foolish, were truly awe inspiring.  I hear they have created camps based entirely on slaughter of other humans like them.  In my wildest dreams I could not think of such a waste of blood.  I think their discrimination, though was also a bit naive.  Many of whom they killed would have been of greater use under torture or even slavery but killing them for  sport?  What unimaginable stupidity.

Well, I expect nothing less from mankind.  As a child, I scorned them and as a Kindred, I do not miss my connection to them.  On the dawn of this World War for America, I only hope that my brethren in Europe get to feast unmercifully on these impulsive quacks before the cowboys shred them to pieces.

I had a feeling it would be a while, however, before we got to Europe as a triumphant push.  It is not like a dead thing to show emotion and I usually do not but the cold in my bones stemmed from a foreign fear to the war.  The presence that teased me and taunted me with its proximity.

The war was no more than a scapegoat for a deeper fear and frustration.  I knew she was close.  I new she was near.  I was now sure of it, however, fiends of the undead were not like the walking monsters from horror stories who would haunt people short term before the abrupt climax like the human timeline; No.  The damned could haunt you forever and make you uncomfortable for centuries if they chose to.  If I were a human being she could have haunted me my entire short and miserable existence but since I am undead the "hair on the back of your neck feeling," based on close proximity of a nefarious demon lasted and lasted like a leaky faucet.  The frequency increase simply made it like a barn door slamming repeatedly in the winds of change.

I sat on the veranda of our chateau in Vermont and looked out on the valley as close to sunrise as I might get.  The evening frost glistened on my skin which quietly made a dead response and uneventfully I pondered embracing the sunlight.  Cyrilla appeared behind me like a wandering spirit and showed me her bleeding wrist while I took a quick drink.

"Come, my love.  The centuries make you weary but imagine the millennium.  Perhaps in thought of how long eternity truly is, you will rest well tonight."

We took rest in the cellar and all things large and small: feigning interest in the human world to have something to complain about that was not the Spanish dirt princess, her taunting of my weary existence, and simply existence its self; all seemed to fade to black and her bosom cradled me to wake in another 20 years.