Kindred: James Toulor: Part 10

December 25th, 1962,

It has been a year that I have been awake and the human world here in the states has begun a change that I believe will bring turbulence to every world and awaken a new spirit of humanity on all accounts.  We are kindred but our world has become fraught with escapists and "revolution" just as theirs has.

The spirit of the 1950's brought many new kindred into being.  A surge of sexual awakening for the kind has brought a surge of wannabe humans into our midst.  There are those now, who feed on human beings infected with drugs to vicariously live off the toxins in their blood and I find it vile.  To be an immortal means to transcend mortal indulgences and to truly exist on a higher plane within reality.

I observe more going into the light to extinguish their own souls based on "spiritual awakening" as if a spirit were even possible to one that cannot die.  The Bron I met centuries ago would be beside himself with glee.

On the positive, many culture shocks are being experienced within the Portuguese colonists in Africa and Spain is going through changes that grant be peace and tranquility as well.  Who knew that the detriment of the human species would haunt my skeletons as they haunted me.  I have felt little presence from my demons as if they had seceded to their own devices and gotten distracted from the ill will they bore me.

On the other hand, my own country had also struggled the conflict in Vietnam for a decade now with no looks towards a surrender of their foreign interests.  Money had gotten tight and my assets had become invaluable to me to feed my country's war effort.  They called it civil unrest but I knew it was their idea of bleeding the rich to feed the poor.

Socialism was, after all a growing popular idea in Europe and they had no idea how to tame it yet or even that it dawned on them like a full moon on the Mediterranean Ocean. I saw the coming of the late 20th century however and managed with my savvy to stay ahead of the idiots who payed close attention to an ephemeral mortal plane.

Cyrilla wished to engage in the freedom and feral nature of the 1960's but the 1920's still loomed over her like a boogie monster under a child's bed.  She kept careful watch over the human world and told me stories, as one tells a child stories of their grand exploits.  I followed their miserable existence myself and began to occupy myself with their chemistry.

In the winter of 1965, we moved back to Yazoo and sold our homes and luxury vacation spots around the country.  I set up a fairly successful pharmaceutical company and while I amused myself with human testing (the government occupied with protesters and sexual deviants and these "hippies" had no idea) my real doctors and researchers began to study practical methods to curing mundane illnesses or rather treating them (whichever kept me in a nice home living comfortably.)

Cyrilla became fascinated with newspapers and television and watched "movies" that brought her the great joy of assumed existence.  How lax we got in our little world.  We became willing participants in routine and enjoyed the breadth of freedom we were awarded during all the chaos. 

In 1969, we even watched broadcasts of a fairly talented black man playing guitar on a stage in a mud field.  These broadcasts gave me great joy because seeing the kind drenched in mud reminded me of what animals for slaughter mankind truly was.  It brought me peace to remember my darkness and why I so relished its pleasure.  The apathy of unchained destruction on their behalf reminded me of why I so enjoyed being alive; or rather, as alive as a kindred can feel due to the fact that our living circulates around their death.  Bitterness and hatred and overwhelming emotion without logic are human traits; as a kindred, we are dead and need to feel nothing we do not choose to feel.  Cyrilla brought out feelings in me because she was Kallisti and that's what her bloodline was born to do since ancient Greece but I felt nothing from the humans; not even remorse.

The great humor in this existence was that the era was such an era for mindless human passion that it awarded those of us who felt none great advantage over these mindless drones who conformed to our whims by being predictably non-conformist.  I could see a dirty mange on the street and almost guarantee he might say something like, "Peace in 'nam, man..."  To which, I would simply smile and nod and say, "sleep," as I drained him of his life force for sheer sport and pleasure.

The powerful blood in my veins was dependent on kindred blood however, and because of this, I researched ways of keeping myself stocked as I turned many and drained them into bottles like a fine Shiraz.  My ruthlessness got much skepticism from the kindred but for the most part it was kept low key enough to not attract too much attention.  Every once and a while, I had to go Al Capone on fellow kindred to keep my "experimentation" a secret.  It was nice, however, that due to the addictive substances many were drawn to, I could find willing participants from both kindred and kind; even if I did need to clean their blood for drinkability.

Yes, What years the 1960's were and even the 70's to a degree; I'd call them chaos at best but when the world and the politicians are in chaos, the level headed opportunists seem to blossom like dandelions in spring.  Cyrilla told me a quote once during the American Civil war, that, at the time, I believe it was intended as sarcasm but its truth rang out like the clang of our manufacturing line now, "all good things must come to an end."