It's cold. I know it's cold; I can see the icicles form on my fingers. It's
interesting watching my skin freeze. It seems vampires can't get frostbite.
It's a shame; I want to watch my hands turn to white frozen death, then
black and rotting. It turns out I can't. Vampire blood works like anti-
freeze. Besides, my hands are already white death. They don't need to
freeze solid to become that. You just can't see the rot.
I can - now.
I put the rot into myself. I did it twice. I took a demon into my heart, and now it's worth only dust. I took a soul into myself, and it's turned all the joy I ever had to ashes. Now the rot is all that I am, all that I'll ever be.
I don't remember too much how I got here. I should. I should remember the transcendent experiences of my existence. I do remember the pain. The trials hurt, but they were the sweetest kiss I ever had compared to the moment my soul kicked its way back into the driving seat. That made me scream - nothing else Lurky did to me had.
I do know that I lay there in that dank cave for what seemed like forever. The broken bones, the burns, and the unclean feeling from the bugs, were like nothing compared to the torment inside. The physical pain was welcome. It was the only thing that forced me out of the anguish and remorse long enough to get out of there.
Before, I meant to go home. The soul soon made me realise that was one of my more stupid plans - and that's out of so many to chose from. I didn't eat. I couldn't. The scent of blood used to be one of the most wonderful things in the world: better than sex, better than the finest whisky, better than anything. Now it makes me sick. This is unfortunate since I'm still a vampire, I'm still dead, and I still need to drink blood. But starvation is an interesting option. It hurts, and it keeps me here. It gives me something to focus on other than the continual screaming in my head.
I know that I got out of that cave and just walked.
Walking had the advantage of allowing me to exhaust myself. That let me get a little sleep before the nightmares started. It never takes them long to start, so I haven't exactly slept much. Walking let me focus on just taking that one little step in front of me. It let me watch the world change as I left the cave, and the sand of the lake, for the forest and the blood red mud of the road.
So much blood soaked into my skin.
I couldn't face the road in the end. There were too many people, too many over-laden trucks, with too kind drivers offering a lift to the white nutter stumbling along the path. I don't deserve to be around people. After what I've done for all those years, I didn't deserve the ease of following a road. I left it for the forest. It was full of food, none of which I could face even trying to eat. Full of little monkeys. I'm not thick - I should know what they were called. I don't. I wasted my brain and all that telly-watching. What's new? I used my brain to hurt people for over one hundred and twenty years. I used my teeth and hands to actually do it - but it was me that decided. It's me paying for it now. It's me that hurts.
It should hurt. I deserve to be hurt. I deserve to be in pain. I deserve to be freezing my arse off in denim long since worn to the bone.
Bones, so many bones.
The crunch of bones grinding beneath my fingers. The crack of necks snapping in filthy subway cars. Playing crazy golf with femurs and eyeballs. Painting Dru's face with the marrow of the kiddies she wanted. Driving spikes through skulls, to make myself feel better, and to impress Dru. The shattering of the bones I swept out of the way because they were in my way in making my tomb all posh. It's so high up here that I crunch the snow with each step. Each crunch: another victim. There's so many in my head, and they won't stop screaming.
I see them in everything. I had to climb through deep rainforest to get here. The vines were entrails. I got my foot caught, and I'm still not sure whether it was the vines or the intestines of a smug banker that I pulled out with his own golf clubs one time, because I wanted his E-Type Jag and he annoyed me. I got covered in mud. His Savile Row suit got covered in blood and guts.
A vampire, even one with a soul, climbing mountains -- that's nuts. But as I got higher and higher into the mountains, it got colder and wetter. It felt like home. I don't deserve a home, and I haven't got one anymore, I know that. It hurts, but I know it's true. My old home's no more. I miss my Mum, but she's been gone for over a century. I miss Joyce, but she's gone, and she'd past clock me with an axe if she was still here. The Hellmouth was home. But I've lost the right to call it that, and I don't know where to go.
So I climbed the Mountains of the Moon.
I'd say I nearly drowned doing it - but vampires can't drown. The pouring rain did cover the sun once I got out of the forest though. If the clouds had cleared and fried me I'd not have been unhappy. What's the phrase - merciful release? There's no mercy for me - there never has been.
I climbed above the clouds at night, burying myself in the bogs and the filth of my own past by day, until I reached the snow line. Then I slept frozen in snow during the day, with only my victims for company. At night I talked to the stars - Dru would have been proud... well, probably not about the soul. I talked over what to do next with the moon. My fellow Victorians named these mountains after the moon. I remember reading the tales of Burton and the great explorers as a young man. I never expected to see those places for myself, then again, I never expected to become an evil bloodsucking thing either.
Now I'm here in the snow-peak. I've got the choice. I can stay here. I like the cold, it feels like home, but it numbs everything, especially the pain. I can play peek-a-boo with the tropical sun until it burns far more than my palm, stuck out of the snow to jolt me out of flashbacks of what I did in Pamplona. Blood and Sangria mixed with broken bottles and broken people. I can leave, and try and live with what I've done to myself and others. I can go back and try and to make some kind of amends, even if that's impossible. I get that now, like so much else.
The moon's a very good listener. It's one of the very few listeners I've ever had in fact. I guess Dru was onto something after all.
I've come to a decision.
I know what I need to do. I know I've got to try and do something. It's all I can possibly do. It's not in me to just give up, even if it's so appealing. I know exactly who is the only being on the planet that can help me with this. I hate this. I hate him. He'll probably stake me, but at least I'll have tried. I know he doesn't owe me a thing - especially after what happened last time we saw each other, but I also know he's the only one that can help me, and that I need help.
That's the first step isn't it? Admitting that you need help and can't do it on your own, even if I've always been alone really. Guess it's time to descend. Wonder if I'll lose any toe-nails doing it? They hurt on the down bits of the way up the mountains, being in tight, sodden DMs. Should be interesting anyway.
Being here's helped; I can see things more clearly now. I can see so far that I can see clarity. I can see some hope, even if right now that seems as far away as the stars. The old explorers I read about as a boy navigated by the heavens, and a compass. I've got the compass now. I know what my guiding star is. I just need some help in working out how to use them.
**************************************************************************** *******
For a view of where Spike is go to http://www.visituganda.com/nationalparks/rwenzorimountains.htm
This is a companion piece to Lori's wonderful Mirror in the Bathroom, and Magpie's Wonderful Permafrost - both of which can be found here http://www.myarseisnotpansy.co.uk/blog/
As you'll be able to see from that link, these are a precurser to a wonderful collaberative project coming soon to a computer screen near you.
I can - now.
I put the rot into myself. I did it twice. I took a demon into my heart, and now it's worth only dust. I took a soul into myself, and it's turned all the joy I ever had to ashes. Now the rot is all that I am, all that I'll ever be.
I don't remember too much how I got here. I should. I should remember the transcendent experiences of my existence. I do remember the pain. The trials hurt, but they were the sweetest kiss I ever had compared to the moment my soul kicked its way back into the driving seat. That made me scream - nothing else Lurky did to me had.
I do know that I lay there in that dank cave for what seemed like forever. The broken bones, the burns, and the unclean feeling from the bugs, were like nothing compared to the torment inside. The physical pain was welcome. It was the only thing that forced me out of the anguish and remorse long enough to get out of there.
Before, I meant to go home. The soul soon made me realise that was one of my more stupid plans - and that's out of so many to chose from. I didn't eat. I couldn't. The scent of blood used to be one of the most wonderful things in the world: better than sex, better than the finest whisky, better than anything. Now it makes me sick. This is unfortunate since I'm still a vampire, I'm still dead, and I still need to drink blood. But starvation is an interesting option. It hurts, and it keeps me here. It gives me something to focus on other than the continual screaming in my head.
I know that I got out of that cave and just walked.
Walking had the advantage of allowing me to exhaust myself. That let me get a little sleep before the nightmares started. It never takes them long to start, so I haven't exactly slept much. Walking let me focus on just taking that one little step in front of me. It let me watch the world change as I left the cave, and the sand of the lake, for the forest and the blood red mud of the road.
So much blood soaked into my skin.
I couldn't face the road in the end. There were too many people, too many over-laden trucks, with too kind drivers offering a lift to the white nutter stumbling along the path. I don't deserve to be around people. After what I've done for all those years, I didn't deserve the ease of following a road. I left it for the forest. It was full of food, none of which I could face even trying to eat. Full of little monkeys. I'm not thick - I should know what they were called. I don't. I wasted my brain and all that telly-watching. What's new? I used my brain to hurt people for over one hundred and twenty years. I used my teeth and hands to actually do it - but it was me that decided. It's me paying for it now. It's me that hurts.
It should hurt. I deserve to be hurt. I deserve to be in pain. I deserve to be freezing my arse off in denim long since worn to the bone.
Bones, so many bones.
The crunch of bones grinding beneath my fingers. The crack of necks snapping in filthy subway cars. Playing crazy golf with femurs and eyeballs. Painting Dru's face with the marrow of the kiddies she wanted. Driving spikes through skulls, to make myself feel better, and to impress Dru. The shattering of the bones I swept out of the way because they were in my way in making my tomb all posh. It's so high up here that I crunch the snow with each step. Each crunch: another victim. There's so many in my head, and they won't stop screaming.
I see them in everything. I had to climb through deep rainforest to get here. The vines were entrails. I got my foot caught, and I'm still not sure whether it was the vines or the intestines of a smug banker that I pulled out with his own golf clubs one time, because I wanted his E-Type Jag and he annoyed me. I got covered in mud. His Savile Row suit got covered in blood and guts.
A vampire, even one with a soul, climbing mountains -- that's nuts. But as I got higher and higher into the mountains, it got colder and wetter. It felt like home. I don't deserve a home, and I haven't got one anymore, I know that. It hurts, but I know it's true. My old home's no more. I miss my Mum, but she's been gone for over a century. I miss Joyce, but she's gone, and she'd past clock me with an axe if she was still here. The Hellmouth was home. But I've lost the right to call it that, and I don't know where to go.
So I climbed the Mountains of the Moon.
I'd say I nearly drowned doing it - but vampires can't drown. The pouring rain did cover the sun once I got out of the forest though. If the clouds had cleared and fried me I'd not have been unhappy. What's the phrase - merciful release? There's no mercy for me - there never has been.
I climbed above the clouds at night, burying myself in the bogs and the filth of my own past by day, until I reached the snow line. Then I slept frozen in snow during the day, with only my victims for company. At night I talked to the stars - Dru would have been proud... well, probably not about the soul. I talked over what to do next with the moon. My fellow Victorians named these mountains after the moon. I remember reading the tales of Burton and the great explorers as a young man. I never expected to see those places for myself, then again, I never expected to become an evil bloodsucking thing either.
Now I'm here in the snow-peak. I've got the choice. I can stay here. I like the cold, it feels like home, but it numbs everything, especially the pain. I can play peek-a-boo with the tropical sun until it burns far more than my palm, stuck out of the snow to jolt me out of flashbacks of what I did in Pamplona. Blood and Sangria mixed with broken bottles and broken people. I can leave, and try and live with what I've done to myself and others. I can go back and try and to make some kind of amends, even if that's impossible. I get that now, like so much else.
The moon's a very good listener. It's one of the very few listeners I've ever had in fact. I guess Dru was onto something after all.
I've come to a decision.
I know what I need to do. I know I've got to try and do something. It's all I can possibly do. It's not in me to just give up, even if it's so appealing. I know exactly who is the only being on the planet that can help me with this. I hate this. I hate him. He'll probably stake me, but at least I'll have tried. I know he doesn't owe me a thing - especially after what happened last time we saw each other, but I also know he's the only one that can help me, and that I need help.
That's the first step isn't it? Admitting that you need help and can't do it on your own, even if I've always been alone really. Guess it's time to descend. Wonder if I'll lose any toe-nails doing it? They hurt on the down bits of the way up the mountains, being in tight, sodden DMs. Should be interesting anyway.
Being here's helped; I can see things more clearly now. I can see so far that I can see clarity. I can see some hope, even if right now that seems as far away as the stars. The old explorers I read about as a boy navigated by the heavens, and a compass. I've got the compass now. I know what my guiding star is. I just need some help in working out how to use them.
**************************************************************************** *******
For a view of where Spike is go to http://www.visituganda.com/nationalparks/rwenzorimountains.htm
This is a companion piece to Lori's wonderful Mirror in the Bathroom, and Magpie's Wonderful Permafrost - both of which can be found here http://www.myarseisnotpansy.co.uk/blog/
As you'll be able to see from that link, these are a precurser to a wonderful collaberative project coming soon to a computer screen near you.