The wayward Taylorian

Seeing her from across the room, her exquisite beauty moved me.  In forever, there is no beauty.  There is no pleasure or sin or pain.  I am nothing like the vampire of legend though: craven creatures who avoid death by stealing life.  Neither am I like the immortal master of magic who seeks immortality as a means to an ends.  Power, most of the time, being that end.

In any case, it amuses me what humanity thinks up to explain the immortal.  That we have to have some sort of driving force or reason to exist.  Sometimes, however, we do not. I could not describe to you the wisdom of the universe because you would never understand.  I could not describe to you what the feeling of being able to be everywhere at once feels like but as a literal part of what you call god, that is a piece of the knowledge I am imbued with. The burden, however is not the moments that I live as an angel: omni-present and part of a collective will that makes up existence itself; but the moments like now: where I sit on a crooked stool, in a seedy bar, staring across the room at a being they consider divine.

She has no idea, either. She came here as a being of pure light and energy and truncated to be in this form.  She sought a creature of the same strength and ability.  They both forfeit the existence they led, one on the path to experimentation, the other on the path to companionship.  A movie I once watched... or was it a show? Or a book perhaps? It doesn't matter. The media's character stated that sensory inputs can be adapted to what we expect to be true and in time, they are even missed.  That's the feeling an immortal feels for another as an, "angel." every once in a while, however, we get to be flesh and blood; which is the greatest gift and the most heavy burden.  So you can understand why I wanted to make the most of the time I had here.

Her flowing red hair was like fire in colors I'd never seen before. the curvature of her form was equally as impressive and enticing.  When you live among all creation you see patterns in the way of the universe and like fire or the fluctuating plasma of a living star, the human form is capable of such personality; especially in a vibrant woman of about 28 years of age.

The powers that be might punish me if they cared about such an encounter but I wanted to know her before I'd come here to do what I'd come here to do.  I moved across the room without a sound.  To be perfectly honest, I'd forgotten how to walk and so i surreptitiously floated across the floor to where I stood behind her and then sat down next to her.

She turned to me and looked me up and down.  In my human form, I was an echo of my angelic form in the best humanity had to offer.  I stood at around 6'5" and my musculature echoed someone who was bursting with vitality and health.  It is easier for an angel to put itself in a body that embodies perfection because it is what "god" designed angels to be.

She gazed up at me and said, "Well aren't you a tall drink of water?"

"Beg your pardon?" I responded.

"Well, there are 6 other empty stools at this bar and you happened to choose the one next to me. I don't think you are ashamed or looking for anyone or anything else," she said.

I let out a guttural seizure which I would later remember was a laugh, as I spoke, "No ma'am.  I am not looking for anyone else.  You are exactly the mo... person I am here to see."

She must not have noticed my slip because her eyes became hot with desire. "I am no easy ticket, mister.  I hope you know I won't go quietly."

"I wasn't expecting you to, my dear," I said. "Dolph."

"Karen," She responded. "Isn't Dolph one of those German names? Very abrupt and strong but to the ear it's almost offensive."

"I'd hate to offend you, Karen; However the consonance in the beginning of your name, could be construed to be just as perceivably vexing. To violate the human sense of dignity is rather simple in my humble opinion. One could even say that to assume the name that was more salacious, simply because of the advantage one would get from having it, is the work of psychopaths and sycophants."

"Easy tiger," She said, "you got the win.  No need to go in for the kill."

"Ah but the hunt always ends with the kill, doesn't it?"

She looked hard into my eyes and I may have used a bit of angelic power to put her racing mind at ease but as she settled back into her seat, she said, "well you are something special, ain't ya?"

The streets were empty when we left the bar and there was a warm fog rolling through the quarter.  It might have been a perfect hunting time for any preternatural beast of the night but I was no beast and I was not one they'd get anywhere near were they to choose to let themselves be known right now.  No trick in the movies, television shows or anything else matches the power of existence itself so I walked the slender street without fear.

When we got to her apartment I held her in my arms. Her green eyes beamed through the yellow street lamp outside her window and the vacillating colors of the various lights permeated the room like fireworks.  She attacked me like a hungry lion and I would bring the force right back. the sensation of her dress slipping to the floor, the sound it made as it slid off her body like covers tucking one into bed. The silken feel of her skin as my fingers felt pins and needles as they drew across it.  Not to mention there was the slight bit of floating just off the ground as I held her in my arms and kissed her body from every direction.

The great din of her passion was the loudest noise of the whole thing.  Her hot breath on my neck as we moved into each other like bantering Beatrice and Benedict, was more intoxicating than the whiskey I had sampled earlier that night. The undulating passion of the night and its glowing lights matched ours with such reverberation that it felt like a great win of some battle for true freedom. As we reached the climax of her pleasure and mine; as the world seemed fluorescent, I took her from the body she'd inhabited and let her slip away dignified into death.

The coroner would later determine it a heart attack but the spirit that left her would remember who it was as it had lived through many millennia of thoughts and experiences.  The unfair part of this death was that the person who she was as a human being was gone.  Everything that made her exciting and new was dead.  Immortality comes at a cost: immense knowledge and cosmic understanding but the trifles that make life so interesting: feelings and curiosity, fade away.  She was now the immortal that her race had become when they converted themselves to energy.  She would not die a human being but her "spirit" would grow and multiply in the form of energy and become as it was before she stole this human life: pure energy and the consciousness of a Taylorian.  That however, is someone else's story to tell.