Part III:
My soul is quiet
my body retaliates
yet, I feel nothing.
In my training, I have acquired certain skills that make me trained to kill with precision and indecision for the betterment of the empire of the sun. I will deny my existence to those who catch me and would rather die with honor than sell out my country. Therefore, in the eyes of the world, I work alone and with only myself to blame for the destruction I cause.
To kill someone in a tortuous way, one simply needs to cut the cerebellum from the nervous system at the bottom of the skull in the back. This can be accomplished with a swiss army knife but I would hardly debase my skills by using something so primitive. This is why my government has honored me with a physical upgrade, they call an ocular implant. All of a sudden I was able to move quicker and know the heartbeat of time and space myself...
In one beat of my own heart, my movements could match and overcome that of an inferior foe and everyone became inferior.
To initialize my story, I will tell you of my very first mission. As I said before, a small knife, inserted at the bottom of the neck and twisted will sever all nerves and cause instant paralysis as one begins to watch as their lungs and heart stop working. Depending on the point of insertion... But death is not the best choice for getting information. To do that, you want a similar instrument but less of an instrument of laceration and more for puncture. You want a nerve toxin.
The night was quiet as I remember and the sweet stink of cherry blossoms filled the air in Shinjuku park. He sat on the bench waiting nervously for a friend that he would never meet with. I waited in the shadow of a Himalayan Cedar for the best cover I could muster. As time ploded on like a Brahmin walking on coals, I realized the target would never show and with my enhancement, I calculated a trajectory that put my needle into his spine in a shorter time than it would have taken him to stand up.
As I dropped the plunger he did not have the time or sufficient power to scream before I pulled him back into the tree leaving an undisturbed vignette. The nerve toxin incapacitated him in a fraction of a second as it coursed directly into the CNS and PNS control center. He was not only paralysed but, as I had injected it close to the man's reticular formation, I imagine he instantly fell asleep.
We meander the quiet corridors of the blackened abyss and come to a light in the base of a dismal abode. I strap him to a chair and calculate pressure and amounts of pain a body can endure, determined in synaptic impulses, before he dies or loses consciousness. The equations are complex but I have been given the brain of a computer to complete the necessary details. It's so easy as I throw him in a rusted out shell and fill it with salt water.
"Eventually, you will die here Mr. Hisagi, but first you will tell me a few things. First, Why you wish to alert the Americans of our remilitarization? And second, why you are such a dishonored scum to betray your own people?"
"PLEASE! I..."
"黙れ 豚！."
He remains quiet as the ballet begins. In my mind, I hear the beauty of war; the sound of cannons, both musical and explosive, and the screams of people shouting "no," as my ancestors have bayonets rammed into their guts by white men who know nothing of honor.
"檜佐木さん," I continue, "You do not deserve the luxury of a true Japanese name, therefore, I will call you Mr. Smith."
He begins weeping like a little girl as I cut the first shallow slice into his skin with speed so swift and shadows so dark, it seems no more than a blur from the darkness to him. I see the room as clearly as day with my upgrade and ask him with condescension, "Mr Smith, who is your contact to the United states?"
"I don't know what you're talking about!"
"We know who you are and we know what you've taken."
"I took nothing! I am only a low level government employee. I serve papers but I never would observe anything!"
"A small concession. We're making progress!"
Swiftly I cut two more lacerations in his skin as the salt water begins to seep in and burn him with malevolence. The upgrade has given me the ability to be so far detached from the moral compass I used to have that I find it splendid for things like a quick torture case. For a second, my lesser faculties take hold and I ponder what the other superpowers would do with such technology, the Americans? Their old cold war rival, the Russians? This is surely the greatest technology to be achieved in an arms war since nuclear weapons were discovered and Japan is the victor, not those two arrogant fatheads.
As I circled him like a cloud circles earth waiting to send forth its lightening retribution.
"名前..."
"ごめんなさい！私は知らない！"
"You will tell me Hisagi san. You see? I can be kind if you let me. I give you your name back in exchange for hers."
"How did you know?"
"So it's a she?"
"NO! I misspoke! I know nothing."
Two strikes of lightning and the cloudy salt water in the tub tints red. I observe his facial fluctuations. I sense his pulse, I smell his fear and I begin to determine the answers I seek myself.
"So the girl, I assume she's close to you."
His pulse goes up and I hold my hand and dagger as I circle and determine his lies.
"...Very close?"
He gasps in a small, inaudible shock.
So, is she family? A girlfriend? a spouse?
All of a sudden, he goes calm and I can not read him. I sense that he is beginning to use the pain as a crutch.
[So you are surely Japanese] I think to myself.
I have figured it out, Mr. Hisagi, you are no longer needed. It is your wife, Mrs. Hisagi.
His pulse lifts and he begins to stir.
"...But how? How did you know? What kind of demon are you whose eye glows read and who moved with such speed and agility that even a ninja could only hope to imitate?"
"I knew because you just told me and beyond that? I knew it was someone close and even with your level of concentration and training, you are not impervious to lie detectors such as me. I see inside your head through your eyes and her image is imprinted in your brain to make you calm as well as the pain you use to enjoy your misery. The yin and the yang defense cannot be broken by human beings but I am Japan. I am her military now but I will give you one last courtesy for being strong as she has taught you to be."
Within an instant, my knife thrusts into his stomach and carves his chest open as my sword removes his head in one simple gesture. One series of movements that eliminates unnecessary steps to become one movement calculated to precision.
As I leave the dilapidated apartment building, I wipe my instruments clean as a chef cleans his knives of gristle. He died with honor. I gave him that. Now time to end his lineage with his Eve.
Thursday, May 16, 2013
Friday, April 26, 2013
Pain Case
Part II:
The raindrops fell like tears on the sad little town.
Really, it was pathetic. How would you treat a town thats soul purpose was to be a ghost?
June 12th, 1965,
It's been 13 days on base and I haven't seen bravo company faces or doctors anywhere. It's like they gave me a new toy and ran away to let me try it...
I'm not locked up so I guess it's nothing dangerous...
I walk the halls every day for a face, some sort of connection to this place that has 2 ice cream shops, a diner, a movie theater, a small hanger and bed and breakfasts but it's like everyone left for the season and forgot to leave me a way out.
The mountains loom over me like my teachers and parents in elementary school during PTA night... I can't believe I got left behind. They got to be here somewhere, just something's supposed to happen soon... right?
June 17th, 1965,
The ocean slithers in like a snake and all of a sudden, my eye is looking at the back of my eye lid... I seem to have gained a pillow in my sleep somehow and the technology to utilize infrared without opening my eyes, night vision when I do, and the ability to calculate precise equations without... well, for lack of better words, batting an eyelash.
Am I still Sergeant Moore or am I something more?
All of a sudden, it occurs to me, somebody's messed with my eyes. I run to the mirror and there isn't one. I run to the movie theater and there's people watching a movie. Where did they come from? I run to the stores and no mirror was present but people were shopping. I woke up and found myself in my bed with my wife. Did I imagine it all?
I go to the mirror in the bathroom and look at my face. It looks normal but something's a little off. My right eye looks a little droopy. The same eye looks too emplaced to be real. I touch it. It isn't real. In fact, nothing in this side of my face feels anything. They've replaced it all...
You took my face, you dirty mother fuckers. Sergeant Ronald Moore from Nome Alaska.
The raindrops fell like tears on the sad little town.
Really, it was pathetic. How would you treat a town thats soul purpose was to be a ghost?
June 12th, 1965,
It's been 13 days on base and I haven't seen bravo company faces or doctors anywhere. It's like they gave me a new toy and ran away to let me try it...
I'm not locked up so I guess it's nothing dangerous...
I walk the halls every day for a face, some sort of connection to this place that has 2 ice cream shops, a diner, a movie theater, a small hanger and bed and breakfasts but it's like everyone left for the season and forgot to leave me a way out.
The mountains loom over me like my teachers and parents in elementary school during PTA night... I can't believe I got left behind. They got to be here somewhere, just something's supposed to happen soon... right?
June 17th, 1965,
The ocean slithers in like a snake and all of a sudden, my eye is looking at the back of my eye lid... I seem to have gained a pillow in my sleep somehow and the technology to utilize infrared without opening my eyes, night vision when I do, and the ability to calculate precise equations without... well, for lack of better words, batting an eyelash.
Am I still Sergeant Moore or am I something more?
All of a sudden, it occurs to me, somebody's messed with my eyes. I run to the mirror and there isn't one. I run to the movie theater and there's people watching a movie. Where did they come from? I run to the stores and no mirror was present but people were shopping. I woke up and found myself in my bed with my wife. Did I imagine it all?
I go to the mirror in the bathroom and look at my face. It looks normal but something's a little off. My right eye looks a little droopy. The same eye looks too emplaced to be real. I touch it. It isn't real. In fact, nothing in this side of my face feels anything. They've replaced it all...
You took my face, you dirty mother fuckers. Sergeant Ronald Moore from Nome Alaska.
Pain Case
Part I: Introductions all around
When I was growing up, I wasn't much of anything. My mother provided us with rusted toys and coated them with fresh paint to make them look brand new. The paint did not cover up the toy when it crumbled.
We lived on a farm outside of Bryansk and for the most part, nobody came, nobody went, we strayed from any kind of attention we might attract. We had a suitable pond and a large field that I enjoyed playing in as a young child. If I got near to the house from my adventures crawling through the field shooting American rapists, I was in my command center which was a dumpy, old, green shed behind our house. It was in these moments, my mother so often said to me, "Сделайте что-нибудь с себя!" or "Do something with yourself!" When we could get our hands on them, my friends and I would smoke cigarettes and yell at little girls in the city; big girls too.
I often found myself calling names to a шлюха named Jesika. She would smile and tease me back every time, even when her eyes were black and blue like the turning of a Caribbean wave as it fades from blue to black in its deepest drops of the ocean floor. I had seen such wonders at the newspaper, for which my father worked. I dreamed of going there one day but we barely made enough money to keep our farm when all was said and done. Ironically, I had never seen my father at the newspaper but the people there seemed to know who I was.
During the winter of 1964, I watched as Jesika was brutally raped and murdered at the hands of her pimp. A year later, I watched as my mother, my brother and our cousin were murdered in front of my face after the gang that saw me watching Jesika being raped and murdered caught up to me. They weren't big time, they weren't really even recognized by any crime syndicate but they had wronged me and as they left me there, bleeding on the floor, I was sure I would die being not much of anything.
My father had different plans.
During the scuffle, my eye had been cut out by brutal gang members, in its place, my father had managed to install a test component called an "ocular implant." It made me able to see in infrared, night vision and even given me the ability to translate language, and solve complicated math problems; mostly related to probability.
For years, the deal was that I was given life and this enhancement along with others to serve a purpose: Mother Russia. Everyone knows the KGB but I was something different, something special. I was a project in not only the future of Mother Russia but the future of mankind. I suppose since the Cold War never really went so well for us, my comorads decided to evolve out of the necessity for war and become a better race that would render mankind obsolete. Their plan backfired. As was usual with my country, we did not think the whole thing through. Almost as if it were a karmic mirror to our blight of communism, individuality superseded the indoctrination and programing that was supposed to guide me towards a higher purpose.
Once they taught me how to use the hardware and what all my new functions were, I grabbed my military issue side arm and walked out into the streets of Bryansk...
It wasn't hard to find the Ослиный задницу and his gang. I picked up a hooker and beat her with the blunt end of a Five seveN until she told me "You're in trouble now!"
The петух присоски showed up just as planned: with 9 others and told me that I was going to die.
"Easy killer," I said while laughing down the barrel of his 38'. "I want to join your gang."
"Who are you to join us? You'll have to prove yourself first."
"What do I have to do?"
The conversation went on longer than needs to be told in story form suffice to say that it ended here:
"So you want me to rape and murder an innocent woman before I can join your gang?"
"Yes! This will prove you are hardcore gangster like us!"
"I have already incapacitated your сука and she is defenseless. Would not raping her and killing her be a waste of my time when she is bought and paid for with my money? And if it were an innocent woman, why would she have more courage than a hooker who never knows if her next John is a lunatic like me who will kill her? It seems to me, if this was your initiation you are all in need of a real test. Tell you what," I said, swinging my hand onto his side and removing his side arm to point it at his face, "why don't I just kill you instead?"
What fanfare! All nine idiots raised their guns to my head.
As I flipped his weapon back around to give it back to him, I laughed heartily and said, "Just kidding. If I did that, now where would I find employment?"
"Employment for what?" He said.
"So glad you asked..."
In a split second, I activated my synaptic reflexes and shot out the light. Ten shots rang out in the darkness before a single one of them had a chance to even grab their guns again from the last scare.
I struck a match and lit up a cigarette mixed with herbs as I held the match to the gang leader's face. The girl, whimpering and trying to scream in the background was getting on my nerves so I shot her in the face.
"Why would you do that?" said the gang leader.
"Your men are dead. You need medical treatment and I've just destroyed your product as well as perhaps relieved a shell of a suffering soul. I can't help this shit, they programmed me this way."
"You didn't kill me," he said.
I took out my cell phone and made a call.
"Да ... Мне нужно забрать ... Для города ... Да."
"What are you..."
"Заткнись, сука! Взрослые говорят."
As I hung up, I leaned in to look him in the eyes with my ocular implant illuminating his horrified gaze that now saw first hand the machine behind the fake face.
"Give it time, boy. As I have already stated to you, I hunt bigger game than women and children. Be cautious, however, because the next time we meet, I will give you death in a very slow way..."
I put out the cigarette on his forehead and I imagine the last thing he saw before I vanished was the glowing of my green eye that he had cut out years before...
When I was growing up, I wasn't much of anything. My mother provided us with rusted toys and coated them with fresh paint to make them look brand new. The paint did not cover up the toy when it crumbled.
We lived on a farm outside of Bryansk and for the most part, nobody came, nobody went, we strayed from any kind of attention we might attract. We had a suitable pond and a large field that I enjoyed playing in as a young child. If I got near to the house from my adventures crawling through the field shooting American rapists, I was in my command center which was a dumpy, old, green shed behind our house. It was in these moments, my mother so often said to me, "Сделайте что-нибудь с себя!" or "Do something with yourself!" When we could get our hands on them, my friends and I would smoke cigarettes and yell at little girls in the city; big girls too.
I often found myself calling names to a шлюха named Jesika. She would smile and tease me back every time, even when her eyes were black and blue like the turning of a Caribbean wave as it fades from blue to black in its deepest drops of the ocean floor. I had seen such wonders at the newspaper, for which my father worked. I dreamed of going there one day but we barely made enough money to keep our farm when all was said and done. Ironically, I had never seen my father at the newspaper but the people there seemed to know who I was.
During the winter of 1964, I watched as Jesika was brutally raped and murdered at the hands of her pimp. A year later, I watched as my mother, my brother and our cousin were murdered in front of my face after the gang that saw me watching Jesika being raped and murdered caught up to me. They weren't big time, they weren't really even recognized by any crime syndicate but they had wronged me and as they left me there, bleeding on the floor, I was sure I would die being not much of anything.
My father had different plans.
During the scuffle, my eye had been cut out by brutal gang members, in its place, my father had managed to install a test component called an "ocular implant." It made me able to see in infrared, night vision and even given me the ability to translate language, and solve complicated math problems; mostly related to probability.
For years, the deal was that I was given life and this enhancement along with others to serve a purpose: Mother Russia. Everyone knows the KGB but I was something different, something special. I was a project in not only the future of Mother Russia but the future of mankind. I suppose since the Cold War never really went so well for us, my comorads decided to evolve out of the necessity for war and become a better race that would render mankind obsolete. Their plan backfired. As was usual with my country, we did not think the whole thing through. Almost as if it were a karmic mirror to our blight of communism, individuality superseded the indoctrination and programing that was supposed to guide me towards a higher purpose.
Once they taught me how to use the hardware and what all my new functions were, I grabbed my military issue side arm and walked out into the streets of Bryansk...
It wasn't hard to find the Ослиный задницу and his gang. I picked up a hooker and beat her with the blunt end of a Five seveN until she told me "You're in trouble now!"
The петух присоски showed up just as planned: with 9 others and told me that I was going to die.
"Easy killer," I said while laughing down the barrel of his 38'. "I want to join your gang."
"Who are you to join us? You'll have to prove yourself first."
"What do I have to do?"
The conversation went on longer than needs to be told in story form suffice to say that it ended here:
"So you want me to rape and murder an innocent woman before I can join your gang?"
"Yes! This will prove you are hardcore gangster like us!"
"I have already incapacitated your сука and she is defenseless. Would not raping her and killing her be a waste of my time when she is bought and paid for with my money? And if it were an innocent woman, why would she have more courage than a hooker who never knows if her next John is a lunatic like me who will kill her? It seems to me, if this was your initiation you are all in need of a real test. Tell you what," I said, swinging my hand onto his side and removing his side arm to point it at his face, "why don't I just kill you instead?"
What fanfare! All nine idiots raised their guns to my head.
As I flipped his weapon back around to give it back to him, I laughed heartily and said, "Just kidding. If I did that, now where would I find employment?"
"Employment for what?" He said.
"So glad you asked..."
In a split second, I activated my synaptic reflexes and shot out the light. Ten shots rang out in the darkness before a single one of them had a chance to even grab their guns again from the last scare.
I struck a match and lit up a cigarette mixed with herbs as I held the match to the gang leader's face. The girl, whimpering and trying to scream in the background was getting on my nerves so I shot her in the face.
"Why would you do that?" said the gang leader.
"Your men are dead. You need medical treatment and I've just destroyed your product as well as perhaps relieved a shell of a suffering soul. I can't help this shit, they programmed me this way."
"You didn't kill me," he said.
I took out my cell phone and made a call.
"Да ... Мне нужно забрать ... Для города ... Да."
"What are you..."
"Заткнись, сука! Взрослые говорят."
As I hung up, I leaned in to look him in the eyes with my ocular implant illuminating his horrified gaze that now saw first hand the machine behind the fake face.
"Give it time, boy. As I have already stated to you, I hunt bigger game than women and children. Be cautious, however, because the next time we meet, I will give you death in a very slow way..."
I put out the cigarette on his forehead and I imagine the last thing he saw before I vanished was the glowing of my green eye that he had cut out years before...
Friday, February 15, 2013
Kindred: James Toulor: Part 12
December 31st 1999,
The entire world anticipates a new year and here I sit as paranoid as ever. During the last decade, I have built a compound to keep out the she wolf who, as I experienced in my youth, will be just as vicious as my "mother," and none as caring.
My father killed the wolf of my childhood and now I face the wild again. Cyrilla looks enraged that she can't go out on the town but I am convinced that the devil will show herself tonight.
"I have watched you over the centuries, darling. You've been a bad boy and have not waited for my return." I hear these words in my head and scream out, "NO!" but as no one else can hear them, my staff looks confused and terrified and Cyrilla simply looks obstinate.
"You fear me, little man. I have been coming for you for years since you broke my heart."
Regaining my composure, I try answering without talking.
"You left me, Arabella. You sent me away when you told me you would meet me again."
"YOU FOOLISH MORTAL MINDED DOG! You think in terms of ephemeral existence when you should have known that through the bite, we were connected. I needed my time to put together myself and you left and found yourself the harlot of ancient Greece. Look at the bitterness in the whore's eyes."
My heart dropped in my chest. I sensed her nearby but not so close that she could see my Cyrilla and definitely not so close that she could sense her mood. I heard her begin to laugh hysterically in my mind.
"Foolish boy. So powerful, DISCIPLINED and even experienced and yet you still don't know that I see through your eyes."
I immediately shut my eyes.
"Awww sweet darling, do you not wish to see me coming; to watch your aggressor take out her revenge?"
I said nothing, I thought nothing and after an hour or so of listing my centuries of mistakes, she was silent. The silence scared me more than the volume though. I felt her presence everywhere like the born again feels god. I held my breath and did everything I could to stop from screaming. Terrified by the overwhelming connection I felt to her, that it was almost romantic fear, if there is such a thing.
Confusion abounds as I look around the room and carefully analyze the faces around me for ones I may not recognize. Just as I think I know every one, the voice speaks but this time out loud and on my neck.
"You should have waited for me, we could have had such a beautiful requiem together. No matter, you brought me the Kallisti and she is valuable in ways you cannot even begin to understand, child."
I turn around and in her full glory dressed in war gear, there she stands. The beautiful and haunting Arabella DeGalle. Without warning, she grabs me and begins to drain my blood. I fight back and a battle unlike our world has ever known ensues.
Outside, the flood waters begin to roll in as I throw Arabella into a wall that breaks like it's been hit with a sledge hammer. Test tubes smash and the lightening can be heard hitting our building in sparse bouts of almost godlike fury.
From somewhere in the room, I hear Cyrilla crying and screaming and calling out my name. For the first time, as a Kindred, I experience more emotion than I'm accustomed to. I feel incredible fear. Flash bangs erupt in the room and soldiers of unknown origin come flooding in like the waters begin to do in Yazoo.
Gunfire erupts as Kindred and Kine fight on my side and hers and the clash brings the fury that is as real as sweat and rain water that begins to flood our bodies. The blood in the room runs thick and I feel bullets pierce my skin as the rage takes over me and I become blinded to a good fight. Arabella is far older than I and quickly takes the upper hand in our fight.
From the ceiling she reaches down and grabs me as I begin to notice an apprentice at her side. Just like the prissy princess to have the audience of my child during my last lament.
She picks me up off the ground and holds me by my head as my body goes limp from loss of blood.
"...And now, lover, time to die..."
I feel her fangs rip into my throat and from a TV somewhere nearby, I hear, "10... 9... 8... 7... 6... and then...
The entire world anticipates a new year and here I sit as paranoid as ever. During the last decade, I have built a compound to keep out the she wolf who, as I experienced in my youth, will be just as vicious as my "mother," and none as caring.
My father killed the wolf of my childhood and now I face the wild again. Cyrilla looks enraged that she can't go out on the town but I am convinced that the devil will show herself tonight.
"I have watched you over the centuries, darling. You've been a bad boy and have not waited for my return." I hear these words in my head and scream out, "NO!" but as no one else can hear them, my staff looks confused and terrified and Cyrilla simply looks obstinate.
"You fear me, little man. I have been coming for you for years since you broke my heart."
Regaining my composure, I try answering without talking.
"You left me, Arabella. You sent me away when you told me you would meet me again."
"YOU FOOLISH MORTAL MINDED DOG! You think in terms of ephemeral existence when you should have known that through the bite, we were connected. I needed my time to put together myself and you left and found yourself the harlot of ancient Greece. Look at the bitterness in the whore's eyes."
My heart dropped in my chest. I sensed her nearby but not so close that she could see my Cyrilla and definitely not so close that she could sense her mood. I heard her begin to laugh hysterically in my mind.
"Foolish boy. So powerful, DISCIPLINED and even experienced and yet you still don't know that I see through your eyes."
I immediately shut my eyes.
"Awww sweet darling, do you not wish to see me coming; to watch your aggressor take out her revenge?"
I said nothing, I thought nothing and after an hour or so of listing my centuries of mistakes, she was silent. The silence scared me more than the volume though. I felt her presence everywhere like the born again feels god. I held my breath and did everything I could to stop from screaming. Terrified by the overwhelming connection I felt to her, that it was almost romantic fear, if there is such a thing.
Confusion abounds as I look around the room and carefully analyze the faces around me for ones I may not recognize. Just as I think I know every one, the voice speaks but this time out loud and on my neck.
"You should have waited for me, we could have had such a beautiful requiem together. No matter, you brought me the Kallisti and she is valuable in ways you cannot even begin to understand, child."
I turn around and in her full glory dressed in war gear, there she stands. The beautiful and haunting Arabella DeGalle. Without warning, she grabs me and begins to drain my blood. I fight back and a battle unlike our world has ever known ensues.
Outside, the flood waters begin to roll in as I throw Arabella into a wall that breaks like it's been hit with a sledge hammer. Test tubes smash and the lightening can be heard hitting our building in sparse bouts of almost godlike fury.
From somewhere in the room, I hear Cyrilla crying and screaming and calling out my name. For the first time, as a Kindred, I experience more emotion than I'm accustomed to. I feel incredible fear. Flash bangs erupt in the room and soldiers of unknown origin come flooding in like the waters begin to do in Yazoo.
Gunfire erupts as Kindred and Kine fight on my side and hers and the clash brings the fury that is as real as sweat and rain water that begins to flood our bodies. The blood in the room runs thick and I feel bullets pierce my skin as the rage takes over me and I become blinded to a good fight. Arabella is far older than I and quickly takes the upper hand in our fight.
From the ceiling she reaches down and grabs me as I begin to notice an apprentice at her side. Just like the prissy princess to have the audience of my child during my last lament.
She picks me up off the ground and holds me by my head as my body goes limp from loss of blood.
"...And now, lover, time to die..."
I feel her fangs rip into my throat and from a TV somewhere nearby, I hear, "10... 9... 8... 7... 6... and then...
Thursday, February 14, 2013
Kindred: James Toulor: Part 11
November 9th, 1989,
As I sit in my little cottage outside Yazoo City limits, I watch the television with Cyrilla and we cannot believe our eyes. What we are watching is the wall that divided democracy and communism being torn down and I know that this marks the end of an era known as the Cold war. I also know that the stability that this will afford the Europeans will also bring back the demons who wish to destroy me and my companion. It is only a matter of time before they find me and I know the Spanish Harlot can probably feel me from whatever cesspool she exists in now.
Oh princess, do you come for me? I have had time to prepare. I have had time to build an army. I have had time to get ready to ruin your nights. In 1990, I feel your presence near to me.
You're here for me. Leave her out of this.
You know what she is?
You sense her presence too?
You will never take her from me. Do your bidding quickly because at the end of this night, you will be dead or I will.
As I sit in my little cottage outside Yazoo City limits, I watch the television with Cyrilla and we cannot believe our eyes. What we are watching is the wall that divided democracy and communism being torn down and I know that this marks the end of an era known as the Cold war. I also know that the stability that this will afford the Europeans will also bring back the demons who wish to destroy me and my companion. It is only a matter of time before they find me and I know the Spanish Harlot can probably feel me from whatever cesspool she exists in now.
Oh princess, do you come for me? I have had time to prepare. I have had time to build an army. I have had time to get ready to ruin your nights. In 1990, I feel your presence near to me.
You're here for me. Leave her out of this.
You know what she is?
You sense her presence too?
You will never take her from me. Do your bidding quickly because at the end of this night, you will be dead or I will.
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."
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."
Wednesday, January 16, 2013
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.
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.
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