John Abbott (john_abbott) wrote in v_nocturne_rpg, @ 2009-08-31 17:06:00 |
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Entry tags: | john abbott |
The Life Immortal
The Journal of John Abbott
August 31, 1891
It is mid-morning and sleep is beyond my reach. For hours, I have listened to rain striking the cobblestone, each droplet a wet finger tapping a piano key, the melody too muted to make out. At my desk two flights up, I smell the damp wool on passersby and the slick coats of carriage horses. It is a drab morning. The hours press down on me. Next door, a gentleman plays a recording of Vitali's "Chaconne" and the violin bow saws along my nerves.
I wonder which of my moods belong to me, and which are Celia's doing. It is said that vampires are tied to those who made us. One imagines such a link must be strong with a sister. When she is careless with her heart, when she goes on a lark only to find her hands grasping at empty air, does she know she is also careless with mine, and that I too am left grasping? Of course, if that connection exists, I could be blamed for similar crimes, and doubtless she has felt the sting of my want, the way I feel her wild elation and disappointment.
What a creature was she in life! Always in an uproar, fingers tugging at her hair, the hem of her dress ripped, a foot hammering the floor when she could not have her way. On the night she tore out my throat, death did not become her, and yet she was eager to have me join her in it. It is a poor destiny for both of us. We wear it like an ill-fitting costume.
I am often struck by the banality of immortality, and in particular, blood. I think that I could drink of a thousand throats and come no closer to being satisfied in the ways I want to be, for after the hunger pangs ease and I have had my fill, I feel no better for what I have done, no older and no wiser. There are times when it seems I only have clarity of mind when I haven't fed for days. Hunger narrows all senses and thoughts to a single pinpoint, a light to follow half-blind to the obvious conclusion of an open vein. And in that, I find the greatest paradox of life immortal. It is more satisfying to be empty than full.