~This is the story nobody wished to hear because it would lead understanding, and blind hatred is much easier. This is the tale everybody chose to forget because it has no happy ending, it has not yet come to its end. And most of all, they wished it to end, because only then, they say, they will gain freedom.~ The Seventh Host.
ALIVE
By Sickle Sword
Episode related: Children Of The Gods
This is the story that is destined to be lost by the hands of time, and only when its time arrives, thousands of years from now, an errant man who once sought freedom will find it. And just like everything else, this finding will be dismissed as unnecessary item. For it brings no fortune.
So why I write it nevertheless?
Because it's easier. Because sometimes to hold inside me everything that I had experienced and seen, touched and lost, sometimes this is too much. And I don't have a living soul to lay my troubles on. So I have found comfort in the written word, for it has neither mouth to cry on my weakness nor devilish eyes to glare in wander at my heresy thoughts.
Somehow, this is comforting, having something of my own. Something that is only mine since it was not touched by any blood, impurity and death. Death that I have inflicted over others or others had tried but failed. Like many others I had bathed in blood and tasted it more than once like the mythological creature humans invented to fear from. I am the one mistaken as a Vampire in their legends- a monster with constant hunger for human sacrifices. My heart is cold, they say. But they do not know that deep inside, blood frightens me. I seek revenge from the universe as my life was stolen from the moment I was first produced, just another mean to dominate the world in the bigger scheme. I was taught to believe in nothing and feel nothing- compassion's a weakness, and I must not be weak.
Sometimes I can hear the human telling himself stories about his homeworld far away. About his hopes for futile freedom. He deceives himself with these thoughts, and once in a while he is gathering enough strength in attempt to deceive me as well. He thinks he can make me abandon my ways, to help others. Help? Nobody ever helped me. Nobody ever told me "help" exists. Why should I help them?
He tries to encourage me that even life deserves to be given a second chance. I close my heart then. I do not wish to hear. He tells me that there are alternatives, other way that will eventually lead the same end- obedience. By respect. His words are poisoning my soul with temptation, I wish to believe them more than everything. But then reality strikes- his offers are from those who lived. I forgot long ago how to do that- now, I am just a corpse. A living dead.
He does not understand the simplest thing. This is not about him or me, or the bigger plan for that matter. It is simply about staying alive. This is a matter of survival..
The human glares at what he writes, what I write, and warm tears trickling over this page. He feels the ache growing in his chest as the pain just wouldn't go away. He sees images of empty promises that were shattered and trust that was given to those who weren't worthy their position. Things were harsh in my life- I had slaughtered without hesitation and slit minds and lives of young and old alike. It made no difference to me. I hope it never will.
He sees much treacherousness trough my eyes, and I dare to hope, even for a tiny moment, that he will understand. This is far easier to hate me, declaring me as evil that needs to be eliminated for the greater good. This is easier to follow those whose hands never touched a knife, desecrating lost memories of battles that once took place in forsaken lands. But what of those who battled when there was no other choice? What of those who sacrificed their own happiness, to their people, to let them live?
As slaves? One may ask, and the only answer will be- yes. Living is far batter than not. It is as simple as that. And by doing what I am doing now, no matter how I abhor the task nor how much I will hate myself in the future for doing my job, I will keep my people alive. I am providing them a queen- someone that when my time will be over, her time will begin.
Humans say that the young ones often mistake passion for love. And they do foolish deeds in the name of that eroding desire. As did I. I have taken a pure soul and inhabited it in something that was never supposed to be in it. Humans often think that their way of life is much superior comparing to the rest of the living beings. I can understand that. Having your own body is something that gives you power, but we were born in the way we were. So we are forced to take that power from them. Or we won't survive. This isn't a mere fight of winning or losing- this is the war for our survival. We never chose, me and my kind, to be able to live only as parasites, fate chose it for us. And as much as I can understand their loathing against this way of life- this is the only one we know. We accept the way humans live. They can't accept ours. And this woman, she is just another innocent in the war.
I am not trying to make excuses for my life, no matter how this may sound. This is only piece of thoughts, straight from my so called heart, a desperate plea to the one that I am now taking as a wife, from the one who made her his life mate without her agreement.
Before, she was lying motionless on the table, her beautiful skin paling from the horror that was about to be made. By me. Unable to move even if she had wanted to .There was stillness in that night. I can still feel the anxiety I've felt when I knew this was happening again, knew that the power was taking over me once again. I hate to do it but I know I had no other choice. I don't know whether to be happy that now I won't be forced to repeat that process again, or grieve that now that I have made my queen's wished come true, having a real body again, she does not need me anymore. She can just walk away now, take half of my empire and most of my heart with her.
Now, she's as still as before. Silently, I'm extracting my hand to touch her curls, and can't help but to feel helpless. I only did what I had to but even I know that no one else will see it that way- they will only see me as a murderer. *I* will only see me as a murderer. Maybe because this is who I am.
I can hear ancient screams, the same angst that is always lying in my head and threatening to take over, growing louder. I see more women, like this one, not moving as well, and pray for forgiveness for what I had done. 'Fear is unacceptable' I hear the voice of the woman I called Mother when I was young, 'fear is only an excuse for weak people. But you are strong'. Even while swimming peacefully I knew that someday the peace won't be anymore. And I was right. Not long after, I was taken away and trained to be what I am today.
I open my eyes. In fear that my voice will betray me, I nod my head to the one who stands near me to bring me some water. He is loyal to me, I can sense it, a slave. And yet he is free. More free than I will ever be since he believes in what he does, he knows he is right. While I am trapped in tradition, thoughts and doubts and dreams I can't fulfill. I am trapped because my head is forever exploding from my past..
My queen, the love of my life, chose the one who is lying near me. I can only hope this was a smart choice, or we're doomed. I forcefully hold back the guilt. I should have stopped her, to prevent that innocence to be lost. I should have picked another woman, maybe, someone who has demons in her eyes, not dreams.
Or maybe this is simply the human, and by now I am so accustomed to him, that some of his thoughts invaded mine.
But I am too late now- my queen had chosen this woman to be her body. Leaving it, will only cause death.
She is yawning. Her lashes are being opened to embrace the new world. The world she will now dominate as its queen. But something isn't right here, I can feel it. She is not half happy as bride should be. It is supposed to be the day or our rejoining, celebrating the bond that was never meant to be broken.
But we can't rejoice in this day, we both know that fate took us apart once. It can do it again.
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I owe my deep gratitude for the anonymous reviewer (Anonymeer) who enlightened me how subjective my stories were, and made me sit days and nights struggling with this chapter in trial to understand that sometimes that are two sides to every story.