...is there any sin to this song...?
:c r e m a t i o n . m e l o d y:
...there's no sin to this song....
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"From a delicate thread made of silk, black waterdrops fall down...."
The thunder was loud enough to shake the house, and me inside it. I trembled, hidden underneath the thick quilts of his twin bed, trying hard not to touch the sleeping body next to me. It wasn't like that was the easiest thing in the world, either. Whenever I moved I felt his skin against mine, and it only served to replay the memories that I was trying so hard to block out, not that they were unpleasant memories or anything because they weren't.... Truthfully, I would forget in the morning what had happened to me, what I had done, and who with. But for now, while I was still very much awake and aware, the throbbing in my neck was more painful than the fear leaping inside me everytime a crack of thunder sounded across the sky like a whip on a horse's back.
I wasn't scared of him. There was no reason to be anymore. It was four in the morning and I was told to sleep soundly until first light came and then I could go home. I wanted to go home. I wanted so badly to go back to my mother who must have been worried sick; and then by the same token I wanted to stay here awake and wait to see what would happen. Of course, I felt light-headed, enough so that I could barely lift my head. The cause was loss of blood. There was no way I could fight the urge to let go, and I passed out.
When I awoke, he was gone, and I was alone. The storm had passed and daylight streamed through the lace curtains; I was uncertain of the time, but I still felt weak, despite the fact that I wanted so badly to get up and leave. Memories of the night before were in a blur, and I had completely forgotten about the wound in my neck. I hurried into my clothes, noticing the position of the sun in the sky and rushed out of the house as quickly as possible, heading straight for home, even though I knew I could still make it for my last few periods at school. I knew I'd better, with exams quickly approaching, but instead my feet would only carry me home to where my mother and step-father waited in the living room with a cop; my mother was in tears. Evidently, someone had found the backpack that I'd lost earlier along with copious amounts of my blood, but no body and no trace of one either.
I wanted to tell them where I'd been, but I couldn't remember how I'd gotten there, or who I'd been with.
Because there was nothing for me to report, and I had returned nearly unscathed, the case was dropped and my family went about life without a care in the world.
Four months later, I found myself just as happy and healthy as I'd been before, starting my first year of university just as any other young adult — scared out of my wits. I'd completely forgotten about what had happened, and I didn't particularily care, either. I was working nights at a bar that wasn't far from an apartment I was looking at renting, and still managing to keep my grades up. It was hard work, but I enjoyed it — I felt like I was going to become a contributing part of society someday, and that felt good.
Then... all at once... people began to go missing overnight, some of them turned up again, others didn't. I thought back to that time four months ago, and wondered if it was somehow connected. But... that's just stupid right...?
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:c r e m a t i o n . m e l o d y:
...there's no sin to this song....
-----------------------------------------------------------------
"From a delicate thread made of silk, black waterdrops fall down...."
The thunder was loud enough to shake the house, and me inside it. I trembled, hidden underneath the thick quilts of his twin bed, trying hard not to touch the sleeping body next to me. It wasn't like that was the easiest thing in the world, either. Whenever I moved I felt his skin against mine, and it only served to replay the memories that I was trying so hard to block out, not that they were unpleasant memories or anything because they weren't.... Truthfully, I would forget in the morning what had happened to me, what I had done, and who with. But for now, while I was still very much awake and aware, the throbbing in my neck was more painful than the fear leaping inside me everytime a crack of thunder sounded across the sky like a whip on a horse's back.
I wasn't scared of him. There was no reason to be anymore. It was four in the morning and I was told to sleep soundly until first light came and then I could go home. I wanted to go home. I wanted so badly to go back to my mother who must have been worried sick; and then by the same token I wanted to stay here awake and wait to see what would happen. Of course, I felt light-headed, enough so that I could barely lift my head. The cause was loss of blood. There was no way I could fight the urge to let go, and I passed out.
When I awoke, he was gone, and I was alone. The storm had passed and daylight streamed through the lace curtains; I was uncertain of the time, but I still felt weak, despite the fact that I wanted so badly to get up and leave. Memories of the night before were in a blur, and I had completely forgotten about the wound in my neck. I hurried into my clothes, noticing the position of the sun in the sky and rushed out of the house as quickly as possible, heading straight for home, even though I knew I could still make it for my last few periods at school. I knew I'd better, with exams quickly approaching, but instead my feet would only carry me home to where my mother and step-father waited in the living room with a cop; my mother was in tears. Evidently, someone had found the backpack that I'd lost earlier along with copious amounts of my blood, but no body and no trace of one either.
I wanted to tell them where I'd been, but I couldn't remember how I'd gotten there, or who I'd been with.
Because there was nothing for me to report, and I had returned nearly unscathed, the case was dropped and my family went about life without a care in the world.
Four months later, I found myself just as happy and healthy as I'd been before, starting my first year of university just as any other young adult — scared out of my wits. I'd completely forgotten about what had happened, and I didn't particularily care, either. I was working nights at a bar that wasn't far from an apartment I was looking at renting, and still managing to keep my grades up. It was hard work, but I enjoyed it — I felt like I was going to become a contributing part of society someday, and that felt good.
Then... all at once... people began to go missing overnight, some of them turned up again, others didn't. I thought back to that time four months ago, and wondered if it was somehow connected. But... that's just stupid right...?
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Okaaaayyy. Basically, all I have to say is that this is an advanced role-play for NON-TWILIGHT vampires. Seriously. Bram Stoker. Anne Rice. Anything else will be shot. Survivors will be shot again. LozerFanAnah will be my lovely co-GM, respect and love her, or I'll sic the dogs on you. Aaannnndd.... If I don't like you, I'll think up some violent way to end your life just cuz. No, I'm just kidding. But seriously, people who try to join that aren't at least semi-literate will be thrown into the ravine. That is your warning. You have heard it. You have been warned.
Good day, sir.
