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individulsong

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Bound together by molecular activity, I can only see one thing in my mind’s eye. I want what I want, and I expect what I expect. Truth is false if you don’t believe it. No one can ever tell someone not to believe in falsehood, if, to the individual, it is not falsehood at all. That’s something that’s wrong with human beings. They will easily be persuaded to drop anything they hold dear. It’s a sad thing, but not I. I will never let go of what I believe; never let go of what I want ultimately; hold close to me what I know is mine for always. Olivia has said it over and over that I am something that I wish I could behold. She is wrong, in so many ways, young too. She knows not of what she talks about. She is a beginning fledgling in the time of night. She thinks she knows of the life she is forced to live, but she is not well equipped to understand how I have made her. There is constant hatred towards me, but I know that she is just trying to scare me. I would never let her go, and she knows this. She WILL be with me forever, but still, she continues to continually tell me that I am a monster.

I AM NOT A MONSTER! You believe this, don’t you, my child? I am just the shell of a human, but no monster. I need what I need, want what I want. It’s not fair to judge me by the fact that I cannot help myself. Olivia throws words at me such as, crazy, abusive, insane, obsessive. I am none of these things! I am no different than a human; only, instead of warm flesh I have hallowed skin. You understand me, don’t you? I am not alone, am I? For, truth be told, my greatest fear is to be alone. Though I may be a creature of the night, I have not yet lost my ability to be frightened of what I am, or what I am becoming. I am nothing like a raging beast, am I?

Centuries have passed and us, as a populace, have been ignorant to the fact that we have always been oppressed by something that never felt right. We just walked along a path never knowing where it lead, hopelessly hanging on to someone else’s words because we didn’t know any better. We refused to listen to ourselves when we heard “stay away” or “you want something else”. Our minds have oppressed us, too, when we force ourselves to do the things we find exhausting and repetitive, torturous and incompetent. Can human life really hold the truth and the answers, or is it what I have become what is the higher righteousness? I never looked around me and noticed life as I do now, but it is a shame that I had to die in order to appreciate what I once had been.

Vandoule says that I am his child, his love, his perfection in a world that harbors evil. I know what he’s after, and I know who he is. I can’t believe I never saw it before. He’s a mad man, though he isn’t a man. He’s madness itself. Living so long as the undead can drive anyone to madness, wouldn’t you agree? It’s that longing to be close to human flesh, to have that be apart of you again. It will never happen. It’s virtually impossible. Once you are changed, you are walking in the mist of horror for eternity. But I wonder, if I am dead, why am I living? I’m wondering, that, if I can be alive while I am dead, then, surely, there is a part of me that is still alive. And, if there is a living part in me, such as my soul, or maybe even my mind, then I can kill it. Don’t you agree? Something that is alive can be killed, and if something is killed it is truly dead. I am not truly dead. How can I be, if I still walk, talk, mirror life as others see it?

Vandoule says he will have me forever, and no matter how hard I try to make him see, he always goes back to his own way. It’s as if he can only hear himself. Being alone for so long can do that to a mind, twist into something it isn’t. As a human, he was vague, but mysterious, and I, being so secluded from any form of life, found it intriguing. But now, now that I am versed in his ways, he is showing me his true colors. I was never meant to be a dancer. I was never meant to be a sensation. I am something that walks the streets at night and brings fear to multiple individuals while the people I thought I would be helping quietly morn my disappearance. I often sit and wonder how my mother is doing. I wonder if she’s doing well, if father can pay for the medical bills. There was so much that I wanted to help by becoming a dancer. Father warned me about this, though I am sure he didn’t realize quite what was in store for me. I wanted things to work out because, in my lifetime, I had always been taught that anything in the world was always going to be hurtful or scary. I was constantly under the impression that I was never good enough for my dreams. Obviously, this was not the case, for, being with Vandoule, I finally understood what it was that I had been longing for. I wanted that ecstasy to run through my muscles as I leapt around the stage, and I wanted eyes on me, taking me in as a wondrous thing of beauty. But those dreams are crushed now. Although I could dance if I wanted to, it would never be the same. I wouldn’t seem human to the eye. I can’t risk my identity, now.

Painful wonder. The thing that tortures me most is not that I am bound by night, by blood, by fright. Those things don’t matter. What hurts me the most is that I am longing for what I was, and I miss those I can longer see. I can’t see my dying mother, and I can’t tell my father how sorry I am. What was it that they were trying to do? Warm me! Tell me that I had no head on my shoulders! It was the truth, was it not? Look at me now. My soul is a hardened masquerade of the simplicity I used to understand. I thought Vandoule was going to be my escape and my savior. If I had not met Vandoule, who knows where I would be?

Forgive me! Forgive me, I plead and I beg. What more can I do? I am only human! Ah, but, here in lies the problem, I am not. But Olivia is mine. I made her. She is my love, my child, my toy. Nothing can take that away from me. Nothing.

So, don’t you see? Be stronger than the force of darkness. Listen to the words within you, instead of listening to the words without meaning. I am now only a mere fragment of importance to anything. This is not my life.