Soft strains of soundless music echoed off the empty walls of the Hyperion Hotel. The building stood lonely and cold- its immenseness held no hopes for haven- safekeeping. An innocent passerby in the night trudging by the hotel might've thought it abandoned. For all it was worth- tonight it was. The stars shone brightly upon the tarred roof, blinking every so often, letting a tear drip down every so often, their mother the moon coming into hazy sight as soon as the ethereal clouds drifted softly overhead.
Contrary to belief- the Hyperion Hotel was not empty of bodies tonight.
Empty it looked.
One lone soul drifted its shroud in and out of the building's inner crevices, wandering without aim. The soul was empty- yet its presence was there inside the body. How humanly possible was it for that to happen was beyond anyone's imagination... For it wasn't.
An angel wafted in the building- humanly possible wasn't a word for it. It was more possible in the essence of presence- which made absolutely no sense. It would never make any sense to an angel to drift about Hyperion Hotel, never in a thousand trillion years.
But it made sense to the vampire sitting hunched over on a wooden chair- it made complete sense for an angel to lounge about on his bed or sitting on the spiked gates covering the heart of Hyperion, its wrists bleeding a dark crimson, its long hair dusting its back and its green eyes shimmering just at him in the darkness. Through the walls, those emerald eyes would look into the very black of his core and forgive him for what he had done and what he would ever do.
That angel hadn't come yet. Maybe it would never come to him and place a golden hand on his shoulder and lead him away from the life that he led. That life that seemed a life of honor and goodness to that innocent passerby that would keep on thinking the hotel abandoned. It would never be a life of honor and goodness to him. He'd keep on saving lives and innocent passerbys and that angel would never come to him.
So the vampire kept on sitting, stooped on the scratchy wooden chair in the emptiest room in the Hyperion Hotel. The emptiest room in the emptiest hotel in the most vacant city. It was the only place he could think without hearing the screams of past wrongs in the other rooms. This space was bare of the humming persitance that laughed in his ears each and every day, taunting the demon inside him.
Maybe tomorrow his angel would come. It never hurt to hope. It hurt every time he didn't.
The room was quiet when a tiny hand pressed down softly down on his shoulder. The golden hand.
The vampire looked up- expecting to see his vision vanish.
It didn't. The dark brown eyes looked into emerald green ones, coaxing the-the-beautiful angel thing that looked down at him sadly to speak- to maybe make the vision stay.
"Hey."
"You're back."
"Yeah."
The angel delicately sat down in his lap, looking deep into the vampire's eyes and wrapping her soft little glowing angel arms around the vampire's neck and pressing her glowing self against his chest while the cold arms encircled her middle and left a burning in his throat as the small angel lay there, warm and shining against his dark self.
All was right with the world for the next seven minutes, where the angel and the vampire sat like that while the stars kept on blinking and tearing and the moon flashed in and out of focus for the one hundreth and forty seventh night that solstice. It was warm and it was dark and it was all the vampire needed.
The angel slowly dimished out of his arms on the seventh minute, leaving the vampire alone again with the stars and the moon and the innocent passerby- and only the wafting ghost of the angel to keep his soul company for the one hundreth and forty-seventh night.
end.
Contrary to belief- the Hyperion Hotel was not empty of bodies tonight.
Empty it looked.
One lone soul drifted its shroud in and out of the building's inner crevices, wandering without aim. The soul was empty- yet its presence was there inside the body. How humanly possible was it for that to happen was beyond anyone's imagination... For it wasn't.
An angel wafted in the building- humanly possible wasn't a word for it. It was more possible in the essence of presence- which made absolutely no sense. It would never make any sense to an angel to drift about Hyperion Hotel, never in a thousand trillion years.
But it made sense to the vampire sitting hunched over on a wooden chair- it made complete sense for an angel to lounge about on his bed or sitting on the spiked gates covering the heart of Hyperion, its wrists bleeding a dark crimson, its long hair dusting its back and its green eyes shimmering just at him in the darkness. Through the walls, those emerald eyes would look into the very black of his core and forgive him for what he had done and what he would ever do.
That angel hadn't come yet. Maybe it would never come to him and place a golden hand on his shoulder and lead him away from the life that he led. That life that seemed a life of honor and goodness to that innocent passerby that would keep on thinking the hotel abandoned. It would never be a life of honor and goodness to him. He'd keep on saving lives and innocent passerbys and that angel would never come to him.
So the vampire kept on sitting, stooped on the scratchy wooden chair in the emptiest room in the Hyperion Hotel. The emptiest room in the emptiest hotel in the most vacant city. It was the only place he could think without hearing the screams of past wrongs in the other rooms. This space was bare of the humming persitance that laughed in his ears each and every day, taunting the demon inside him.
Maybe tomorrow his angel would come. It never hurt to hope. It hurt every time he didn't.
The room was quiet when a tiny hand pressed down softly down on his shoulder. The golden hand.
The vampire looked up- expecting to see his vision vanish.
It didn't. The dark brown eyes looked into emerald green ones, coaxing the-the-beautiful angel thing that looked down at him sadly to speak- to maybe make the vision stay.
"Hey."
"You're back."
"Yeah."
The angel delicately sat down in his lap, looking deep into the vampire's eyes and wrapping her soft little glowing angel arms around the vampire's neck and pressing her glowing self against his chest while the cold arms encircled her middle and left a burning in his throat as the small angel lay there, warm and shining against his dark self.
All was right with the world for the next seven minutes, where the angel and the vampire sat like that while the stars kept on blinking and tearing and the moon flashed in and out of focus for the one hundreth and forty seventh night that solstice. It was warm and it was dark and it was all the vampire needed.
The angel slowly dimished out of his arms on the seventh minute, leaving the vampire alone again with the stars and the moon and the innocent passerby- and only the wafting ghost of the angel to keep his soul company for the one hundreth and forty-seventh night.
end.