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individulsong

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It gives me displeasure that you still are very unaware of my existence. You are my child, the world and its contours is my home. I am all that I am in a world that is slowly becoming what it is not. Simplicity is as forgotten as old ages become forgotten testament of a time that no longer excites the mind. The ecstasy of something better, something other than blood. That’s what I crave. Life is a blessing, a gift that when used correctly, can seem so joyous and exuberant that nothing could ever place its experience. The life I speak of comes to me in the form of perfection. Do you understand, at least a little? I am not a monster. I am a being enthralled with a beauty of life that some how has been forgotten.

I do not expect you to understand completely. But my pain runs deep, and through the centuries that I have been wandering alone, watching as the world transforms into a disfigured sphere, I have realized that blood alone does not satisfy. It is the act of living, the act of being alive, the dream of living. That’s what excites me, having a beating heart instead of chest filled with a beating stone. But, alas, I am not what I wish to be. Just a fragment of what once was a beautiful being. That is why, against better judgment, against all values and mores, I had Olivia. And have her, I did.

She came that night, dressed in a wool dress, wearing a thick over coat and stockings. From a distance she looked like a helpless orphan child, chilled to the bone from the bitter cold, but up close her beauty radiated and you could lose yourself in the brilliance of it. Her hair was tucked beneath a hood, and her face was covered from view so as to hide her identity from suspicious eyes. All in all, it was a crude disguise, but it worked for her. I knew she was there before she spotted me with her eyes.

            “Hello, my child. How are you this evening?” Her head moved from side to side.

            “Mr. Vandoule?” She whispered into the air. I could hear the hint of fear. For a girl of her nature, this wasn’t something she usually did, risking her family’s safety, dignity, and fortune. But, I am not called charming for nothing. If she had really resisted, I still would have had her in my arms. I let her feel my warmth, but I did not respond. Instead, I filled my ears with the sound of her music. A rough melody, up and down, depressive but free: a longing for a new beginning, reaching for a silent dream. She stood in a dark archway leading to the river. I felt my self-shiver, despite the fact that I could feel no chill. She held my dead soul with all innocence and unfulfilled life. I wanted to feel what it was like to be next to her, to hold her, to feel her breath against my hardened skin. Without fear from her, I wanted her to kiss me, to touch me, to make me feel real. It is a longing I have felt more than once, but I have always thought it unwise to act on my feelings. But Olivia was a different case. The dance in her step, the song in her voice, the life in her body, it was too much for me, and it consumed me in all the glory of my darkness.

She shifted her body weight, holding the strap to her over coat close to her chest, trying to hold in the fear that riding her like a wild stallion.

            “I have your pink pointers, my dear. Do not be afraid. Come closer.” I could feel her resistance. Do not be afraid. I do not want to harm you. I am a friend. You are safe with me. I knew she received my message the minute she stepped out of the shadows. Her face was flush from the cold, her legs shaking, her hands bright red.

            “I am sorry I’m late, Sir.” Her voice shook. I took of my jacket and placed it around her shoulders as she came closer, touching the soft lockets of hair that played around her cheeks.

            “You’re here, that’s what is important. It’s time you let your dreams come true.” We walked side by side, passing the small shops and houses. I led her to a brightly lit tavern, where, sitting her down, I ordered her a cup of hot tea.

            “You’re too kind, Mr. Vandoule. I can’t thank you enough for what you’re doing for me.” I smiled as I sat across from her.

            “It is not what I am doing for you, it is what you will be doing for yourself. To be a dancer, you must believe that you are a dancer. You must visualize yourself in front of your audience, giving them a show. Can you do that?” I let my voice wash over her. She closed her eyes, and pushed her lips together until they turned white, her brow furrowing in concentration.

            “Yes, yes I can!” It was a sudden rejoice for her. Her eyes were filled with delight. I only nodded. This was just the beginning. “I told you I could visualize it! Why are you not happy for that?”

            “Visualizing is one thing. Now that you know you can do that, you must trust yourself to be able to do the action. See that stage to the left, put on your pointers and dance for me.” Like a punch from a fist I could feel her apprehension.

            “Sir, I am not sure that is a wise decision.” I pulled out a cigar and lit it with a match. I let the smoke fill my lungs and blew out large puffs of smoke. Amusing to a creature that does not feel the affects of it.

            “If you can not dance in front of me, you can not dance in front of anyone. You must conquer your fear in small steps, that way you will perform the dance as it should be, not as it shouldn’t.” She listened to my words intently, her left leg moving up and down under the small table. “Do not be afraid. It is only I for now. Feel free to experiment.” I flashed her a charming smile, and she returned me with a warm one of her own. She pulled of her shoes and put on the delicate ballet slippers. She waddled to the stage and climbed on top of it. She took a deep breath, and then, as if by magic, I felt her music fill the air. Her arms thrust out before her and her body swayed to the beat. Her legs rapped around her body and shot behind her. She twirled magnificently to the rhythm of her own music. Whether she could hear it, I thought it quite impossible. It is very rare when an individual is aware of the immense energy that is put forth into the atmosphere. She trusted herself, and her body flung itself this way and that, in time to the thundering symphony.

She was lost inside her own multitude of sudden expression. A soul trapped within a body without release holds too much inside, and when given the chance of release, sets forth to let loose all that was formerly demanded of them. The light delicately touched the shadows of her face, showing me the pain that for so long had been etched across her beautiful figure. I was in a trance, watching her liquid movement. I am not exaggerating when I say she was breath taking. I let the puffs of smoke curl at the tip of my mouth, blowing it out slowly, feeling the warmth of a substance I could not taste. My eyes watched Olivia’s body in earnest. I lusted for her, in more ways than one.

To be honest, I hoped she would see me with reborn eyes, that this experience would some how change her, and she would lose all fear that had been locked within her for quite some time. Is it wishful thinking, my dears? I suppose it could be considered that. There, before me, was a beauty, and I was a mere stranger. I do not enjoy toying with an individual’s emotions. A victim is different than a companion. A victim is lured to be a caught. A companion is lured to be taken.

            “My child.” She opened her eyes, breathing heavily. “That is exactly what you need in order to perform.” Olivia wiped away the sweat that that trickled down her flushed skin, tucking loose strands of hair behind her ears. As she spoke, her lungs heaved in and out.

            “Mr. Vandoule,” she gasped, “I’ve never done that before. I don’t know what came over me. It was as if I wasn’t myself. It was as if I was someone else, doing someone else’s dance.” I nodded my head in understanding. She was no one but herself, but as for dancing to the beat of a different tune, that she was.