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She’ll taste
lovely, I think.
I have
watched her every day since I woke. How long I slept in the dark, damp mustiness of that
cave I cannot surmise; my race does not continue aging once maturity is reached. All
I know is that during the seeming eons that passed during my hibernation, the world has
changed more than any of my extinct kind could have ever fathomed. The landscape was dark
and stony when I descended into the soil; upon returning to the surface I found bright,
resplendent surroundings bedazzled with lush green vegetation. Vines with brightly colored
foliage speckle the panorama as far as the eye can see; I would imagine that the nectar
contained in this foliage emits a pleasing fragrance as the aforementioned woman stops to
smell it frequently.
I believe I mentioned that I am the last
of my kind. Maybe not in so many words, but I believe intelligent life could have figured
that out from my previous statements. We were feared by the so-called civilized people of
our era; not very much of a surprise when you consider that our sustenance could be found
pumping through their veins. I guess if the truth could be found, it would be determined
that my kind decimated their race.
The warm ones taught their young that my people were evil—dwelling high in the
mountains waiting to launch nocturnal attacks because the sun would rot and burn and
destroy us. Consider their claims and then ask yourself—Is night not the best time to
stalk prey? Does the cover of darkness not provide you with the element of surprise you so
desperately need to capture quarry with the intelligence that the warm ones possessed?
This did not make us as devils; it simply proved that we were efficient hunters. For
thousands of generations, my people dwelt side by side with the warm ones. Our numbers
were kept in check as to not overpopulate and deplete our food supply. Their kind lived in
mortal fear, even sacrificing their beasts in an attempt to offer an alternate feeding
source that would curb our lust for their own blood. We found that the beast blood could
indeed sustain us, but its taste and aroma could by no means compare with that of the warm
ones. Without hesitation, we elected to continue feeding as was.
I both chuckle and tremble in sadness when I think of the only warm one to ever escape
capture. I giggle because it seems silly to me that one of their kind would even think
that escape was even an option; I cry because one of them not only thought, but did. And
in doing so, they brought the end of our food supply.
One of our young ones had reached full maturity, and according to our laws, his first kill
would be ceremonial and the prey brought back to our village. There, our people would
rejoice as the new adult enjoyed his first meal of his own capture. This particular young
one was of an impatient lot, and could not wait upon return to begin feeding. He
drained a small taste from the warm one he captured, a young female of their species, and
began the journey back from the valley that contained their community. During his pass
over the Doujonju River—the body of water that ironically supplied the warm ones with
their water supply—the woman broke the grasp of her captor and plunged into the icy
water. Our young one’s search proved futile--he returned to our village in disgrace
and was banished to live in exile.
During our hunts, we learned of the girl’s fate. She was pulled into a rowboat by two
fishermen and was taken to one of their places of healing. Their doctors could not pull
her from the coma into which she was sinking deeper and deeper. Though the population of
their village all suspected, none could prove that the young woman’s death was a
result of a botched attack on our part.
Shortly after the girl’s death, many of the warm ones began showing signs of fever.
Be it coincidence or not, the first to die from this new epidemic were the doctors that
had cared for the lady pulled from the river. The warm ones worked around the clock,
desperately trying to find the cause and hopefully a cure for this affliction that was
rapidly bringing them closer to the grinning jaws of extinction. My people looked on in
grim horror as the end of their food supply was beginning.
Within six years the scavenging had begun. The ranks of my kind had been separated in a
gruesome civil war with the only stakes being the few scattered surviving warm ones who
had somehow been immune to the “cold blood death”—a disease that I believe
was borne of a live warm one being infected by the salivary enzymes of one of my kind.
Even the dead of the warm populous were exhumed by my starving people in hopes of
finding even a trace of blood still left inside them. These hopes were often realized as
the warm ones had so hastily buried their dead that they neglected to drain and embalm
them. When the day arrived that the warm ones were a painful memory, my people turned to
the very beasts that we had scoffed at as sacrifice so long ago. Though the blood was
bitter and syrupy, it was preferable to the inevitable madness brought on by starvation.
Once the
survivors of my race had settled into their new existence, they were beset by a new
calamity—an assassin had appeared in their midst. With bold defiance, this betrayer
systematically killed his own people for one reason—the fewer of them there were to
feed, the longer the beasts would last to feed the survivors. With great precision this
traitor eventually wiped out his own race. All but him—
Ah, it
seems that I have given myself away, doesn’t it? No matter. After the insipid fools
banished me from my own civilization for losing the female I was driven so insane by
hatred that I would have killed them all anyway. The shortage of food simply provided my
conscious with an appropriate excuse. I went on to survive for hundreds of years.
Whenever I consumed the blood of the beasts, I thought that surely my system would reject
the vile substance and retch it away, never to be had again. But somehow, this never
happened. I continued to feed until disaster occurred—the beasts began dying just as
the warm ones had.
During my
time of exile, I stumbled into a temple of an order of beings that my people had never
mentioned—quite possibly due to ignorance of their existence. When I saw the magic
that this race was capable of, I immediately began study of it to use as revenge on my
people who had shamed me and driven me into madness. All these centuries later, however,
it seemed that this knowledge that I possessed would be used again—this time in hopes
of saving my tortured life.
I
returned to a cave where I had lived during the time between my banishment and when I
discovered the temple. The cave was deep—deep enough to hide me from any
unknown creatures that could otherwise stumble across me during the hibernation that I was
about to induce—a hibernation technique I learned from one of the thousands of books
that I read in the temple.
This
brings me to where I am now. I exited the cave five days ago. Judging the change in
the structure of the surrounding landscape, I guess I am fortunate that the cave was not
sealed, trapping me forever. The first thing I saw upon ascension was she. Her resemblance
to the warm ones astounded me—slightly taller, no clothing—but otherwise an
exact likeness. Yesterday I saw her mate—a young, strong, handsome male. It seems
that they are the only two of their kind—and judging their happiness, they are the
beginning of a race, not the end of one.
I know that
I cannot feed on them as I did the warm ones. They are only two, and to destroy them would
mean either returning to hibernation or feeding on the beasts that roam this new world. To
wait for them to reproduce and multiply would mean years of maddening starvation. I hope
the alternative that I learned in the temple will be sufficient.
According to the
inhabitants of the temple, the essence of a being with adequate intelligence could support
and feed a being much like my people. I tried this with the beasts, but being the
dull-witted creatures they were, they could not willingly part with the small fraction of
life-force that I attempted to seduce from them. This man and woman, however, seem very
intelligent. The man intimidates me—the males of the warm ones were the law and
policy makers, so this one may be able to resist my temptation.
I will wait until
my shapechanging is complete—another trick learned all those centuries
ago—before I attempt to feed. I have observed all of their beasts, and I think the
best one to imitate to get close to the woman is the one her and the male call
“serpent.” My hunger is insane—but since I cannot have her blood her soul
will have to do.
She seems to be
ready to return to where she and the male live. I should introduce myself before it’s
too late. I believe I heard the male call her “Eve.”
She’ll taste
lovely, I think.
©1995, 2001 Dee Brian C.
Dee Brian C. is
bassist for KCP Recording Artists M Francis Fester. Their official site is http://www.mfrancisfester.com
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