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Sunrise - 10/2/2009 8:30:14 AM

nubianmuscle

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This is a short story that I wrote quite a long time ago. I hope it is appropriate for this section:

SUNRISE

He stood there, watching her in the soft moonlight streaming through the window and was amazed. Even just standing there, in a simple little hospital gown, with her back to him, she was the most beautiful thing that he had ever seen. She stood there barefoot (she hated wearing shoes) her calves straining as she stood on her toes, leaning on the windowsill and staring at the moon. It had been a long time since she had been able to see anything and they were both elated that the operation had succeeded. She said that there were two things that she was going to do as soon as she had her sight back. One was to watch the sunrise and the other was to finally see his face.

Her hair was down - a bushy mane of curly, wavy hair that came halfway down her back. She hated it. “It’s too wild”, she would say; but he loved it. He cherished running his fingers through it as her head lay on his chest and smelling it when she rested her head on his shoulder. He adored the way it framed the pecan colored skin of her round little face.

He remembered the first time he had seen her. He was at a book signing, bored with all the fawning women who told him how much they loved his writing and how much more handsome he was than the picture on the book jacket. How they felt that they knew him from his writing; how deeply he touched them and had reached them way down inside. Every last one of them was full of it, whether they knew it or not. They hadn’t been touched by either him or his writing. They had been touched by what they imagined him to be, by what they wanted in their own lives. Most were frustrated housewives and career women who constantly compared the men in their lives to the heroes in his books and, as a result, were more often disappointed than not. Or they were lonely schoolgirls who wanted a melancholy Prince Charming who would take them away and make everything right, be it in real life or in the pages of one of his sappy vampire novels. And that’s exactly what he gave them. A vampire didn’t live thousands of years without being able to know what women wanted. That’s how his breed survived. He had tasted the blood of queens and princesses, faithful wives and wanton harlots, actresses and singers, dancers and musicians, models and girls-next-door, but after awhile, they all became the same. They were simply a means to an end. His survival was the end and their blood provided the means. Some were even foolish enough to ask him to make them his so they could stay with him forever, but he never did. In the end, they were all groupies and sycophants, who were in love with what they thought he was and were really afraid to die.

He had always hoped to find someone he would want to spend eternity with, but now, he began to wonder, was the search even worth it? Sure, turning his memoirs and diaries into a series of books had made him rich (they were calling him Anne Rice with testosterone) and he had access to more women than he would ever need, but he wondered if making his life an open book was such a good decision. That’s when he saw her.

He stopped, halfway through writing his signature inside some fawning ninny’s copy of his latest book, Dark Messiah, when he saw her. His mouth hung open and he looked like a moony schoolboy. She was about 5 or 6 people back in line. She stood there, clasping his book tightly to her chest, a warm radiant smile on her lips. She wasn’t tall at all; kind of short and a little on the heavy side in fact, but there was something about her that would have made his heart beat faster in his chest, if it had still worked. He quickly signed the books of those in front of him (To Jan. Thanks for your support; Rebecca, Glad you like the book; Debbie it was such a pleasure to meet you, etc. You know, standard cookie cutter publicity drivel.) It was uncharacteristic of him, as he usually took the time to get to know enough about each fan to personalize his signature, but the only thing on is mind was: Who is this woman? He glanced up each time he signed a book just to catch a glimpse of her.

He was so smitten, that he didn’t even notice that she was blind; until he saw the cane in her hand and that she carried a Braille edition of his book.
When she spoke, her voice was sweet as honey: “Hello, my name is Julia. I’m very pleased to meet you.” Her lips formed this cute little crooked smile that let him know she was a woman that was truly happy with herself.

“Nice to meet you, too, Julia.” It was amazing how beautiful an ordinary name can sound when it was given to the right woman.

Their fingertips brushed as he took his book from her hand. She felt a chill go up her spine. And he actually felt a tingle. He looked up into the softest brown eyes he had ever seen and he knew, that even with her blindness, she could look into his soul and that she was the one he was meant to spend forever with.

He signed her book and asked her to have a cup of coffee with him. He heard the gasps of jealousy of the other women standing around the table. Any of them would have given her soul to be in Julia’s place. He told the bookstore manager that he was going to take a 15-minute break. He never came back. Sandy, his agent called him up the next day to cuss him out, but that one lapse in judgment made him even more mysterious and romantic to his fans. As soon as word got out that the Lord of Dark Romance had started to act like one of the mysterious protagonists in his books, his book sales doubled.

Julia turned around to face him and looked up into his eyes. Just like him, she thought, they were dark and mysterious – so pain-filled, yet beautiful at the same time. To finally be able to see him was amazing. She’d felt his face with her fingers a million times before. So much so that she knew its every wrinkle, it’s every crease, its every bump and curve, but it was special to actually be able to see it as she felt it beneath her fingertips.
This was new. This was different. She grasped his strong, proud chin between her thumb and forefinger and gave it a little squeeze. He grinned a little and she rubbed her fingertips across his, full soft lips; the ones that made her quiver whenever he kissed her. She stroked the corners of his mouth, where his cheeks and lips met. Then she stroked his cheeks, first the right and then the left, feeling the stubble of his 5 o’clock shadow and the softness of his smooth skin underneath. She stroked the soft, black hair of his mustache and goatee and pinched his broad nose until he smirked. She gently touched his closed eyelids and then she stood up on her toes and gently kissed his forehead.

“You don’t have to put this face on to please me,” she said. “I want to see your true face.”

“But…”

“Let me see it,” she commanded. “After tomorrow night, I’m going to be looking at it forever, so why can’t I see it, now?”

He recognized that tone in her voice. It was the same one she had used the night she had gotten him to admit to her what he was. He tried to deny it, but he couldn’t use his eyes to hypnotize, like he could with a sighted woman. And despite how sensitive her sense of smell was, she resisted his pheromones. Besides, he knew Julia wasn’t stupid. It didn’t take her long to figure it out - why he only saw her at night and left before dawn; why when they went out to eat, even though she could hear his eating utensils clanking on his plate and smell the food, she never heard him swallow or chew; why he never seemed to mind the cold; why he would speak of people long gone, like Benjamin Banneker or Mark Twain like he had actually known them. That along with her fascination with night stalkers had led her to an “obvious conclusion”, as she called it. She hadn’t asked him if he was one of the undead. She had told him. And that was that, no arguing; no excuses. “But,” she told him, “I still love you.”

Knowing that this was not an argument he could win, he let the façade drop. He felt the bones sliding beneath the skin of his face. His gums itched at his teeth sharpened and grew. He felt his lips stretch and grow thin as his mouth widened and his chin became sharper and pointed. He had thought that his true appearance would frighten her, but true to form, she looked inside of him and saw who he was, not what he was. She smiled at him and he realized he hadn’t had to keep his fangs retracted or make his ears stay round instead of pointed.

As if to prove her point, she touched his face as she stared directly into his eyes. She grasped his chin and kissed it. She ran her fingers along his, now, thin lips and rubbed the sharp edges of his fangs. She felt the sharpness of his cheekbones and kissed the tip of his nose, now thin and shrew like. Julia reached up and ran her hand along the knotty ridge of his forehead. He stared at her in silence as she rubbed his ears and pulled his face towards her, his woolly mane of locked hair dangling and brushing her face, and pecked him delicately on his lips.

“I love you,” she whispered. “You’re beautiful.”

He didn’t say anything, he just hugged her and felt the warmth of her body and smelled her hair as they stood, their embracing silhouettes framed by the open window, bathed in

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RE: Sunrise - 10/2/2009 8:33:39 AM

nubianmuscle

Posts: 318
Joined: 1/9/2007
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the illumination of the pre-dawn horizon. They would have stood that way forever, if they could, but he slowly and reluctantly unwrapped his arms from around her.

“I’ve got to go, now,” he said. “It will be daylight soon.”

“I know.”

“You will keep your promise to me, right?”

“Yes, I will.”

“And you’ll remember it’s every detail and tell me about it?”

“Of course,” she said with a touch of melancholy in her voice.

He bent down to plant a delicate kiss on her forehead, which instinctively made her close her eyes. She then felt him kiss her right eyelid and then her left. She called them his butterflies. When she opened her eyes, he was gone.

When the vampire walked in the front door of the old mansion, Warrenton was waiting for him, his wizened old face sad and cheerless. He was sitting at the bottom of the spiral staircase that led upstairs, just beyond the foyer. Good old Warrenton. He had served his Master for over a hundred years, just as each of Warrenton’s ancestors had before him, dating back to the Roman centurion who nailed Christ on the cross. Servitude was the price the men in Warrenton’s family paid to have supernaturally long lives, but then, everyone had their price, didn’t they?

The servant stood up and walked to his master. “So it’s done then is it, Sir?”

“Yes , Warrenton- my friend. It is.”

Warrenton stood there, as his Master looked at his watch.

“4:10 am. Another 43 minutes,” the Master said.

“Anything you need, sir?”

“Actually Warrenton, there is.” He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out an envelope with a letter in it. He then removed the gold band he wore on his right hand. It had a plain beauty about it with its onyx stone surrounded by small diamonds. Its simplicity belied its value in both emotional and monetary terms. It was nearly as old as him, which made it a priceless relic, but his wife had also given it to him, back when he walked among people as a man of compassion and honor and had no fear of the sun.
He slipped the ring into the envelope and sealed it.

“Here.” He handed the envelope to Warrenton. “Remember to give her this.”

“I will Master.” Warrenton turned and began to walk away when his Master spoke. “Warrenton?”

He stopped and turned around – shoulders stooped and for the first time showing a sign of his 100 plus years. “Yes?”

“Please make sure nothing happens to her.”

“I will, Master.”

“No Warrenton not Master any longer...” And then the ancient vampire told Warrenton his real name. That’s when he realized that his Master was completely resolved to his fate. A vampire only used his true name, the one he received when he crossed over on two occasions, when he pledged fealty to his blood sire and when he was ready to die. Warrenton quickly turned as he felt his eyes tear. He then shuffled down the gloomy hallway and made a left, disappearing into the kitchen. There was the rattle of dishes as he attempted to cover his sobs.

The vampire walked into his study and looked around its clutter, letting the objects he saw spark long ignored memories. This was the room that told the tale of his life. It was filled with souvenirs - a testament to a creature whose life had spanned countless centuries.

He rubbed his palm on the ancient rough surface of the painting that hung inside the empty closet in his study - the one that he had never let Julia see. It was a painting of him and his first love Fatima. They were dressed in the finest silks and linens and smiled back blissfully. That was when he was an honored and respected ruler. He had a beautiful wife and fat little babies that loved him even more than his subjects, but somewhere along the line, he began to think of himself more than others and let a strange and mysterious temptress named Lillith steal his heart, his soul and his life. She was Satan’s bride and had enticed him with the false beauty of a dark and ancient evil that would let him live forever. He watched as Lillith drained his beautiful Fatima of life and tossed her body off of the palace balcony. He had seen his fat babies grow into old men and women and pass away and fade to dust while he was forced to hide and watch from the shadows.

He took the Nigerian sword from the mantelpiece above the fireplace and removed it from its sheath. He thrust it at an invisible enemy, remembering the bravery of the warrior he had slain to obtain it.

He picked up an ancient, leather bound copy of the Koran and felt its cool surface, worn smooth over the centuries from much handling and the oil of many hands. Mohammed himself had bound it.

He gripped the broken spear with its silver tip tinted orange with ancient blood, used in a war fought so long ago that he was the only one that knew of it.

He looked at the desk and chair in his study that he had received as a gift from Abraham Lincoln himself. A piece of the cross upon which Jesus had been crucified lay atop it, next to an original copy of the King James Bible. He found it ironic that a demon like him possessed such significant religious artifacts. He even had pieces of the tablets upon which God had written the Ten Commandments in a glass case in the corner.

He picked up the spyglass that Columbus had used when he “discovered” America and raised it to his eye. Its lens was cracked and it was no longer good for anything, but it was one of his favorites.

He went to the bookcase that occupied one entire wall of the room from floor to ceiling. It was filled with parchment and reams of paper – some brand new, some old and yellow and brittle with age. These were his memoirs and diaries – the source of all his tales. On the same shelf were all the unpublished manuscripts he had written. He would leave all these for Julia. Through his memoirs and diaries, she could read all of the things about him that he didn’t have time to say. And every so often, Warrenton would send Sandy a manuscript to be published, so that the bank accounts he left to Julia would stay full.

He looked at his watch. 4:50. Three minutes. He opened the doors that led to the back patio and stepped out. He stood there, looking out at the horizon and felt an ice-cold tear roll down his cheek. He could not remember the last time he had cried. Inside he was a maelstrom of conflicting emotions – fear and courage; happiness and sadness; uneasiness at stepping into the unknown and peace at doing the right thing.

He closed his eyes and thought of all he had seen and done in his life and realized that for the first time in a long time, he had no regrets. There were dreams and goals he still had not achieved, but that did not matter. He thought of the good he had done, sometimes in spite of himself, and the change that he had experienced this past year of his life.

He sniffed deeply and smelled the dew on the grass. The early morning mist began to fade and he could see the hilltop in the distance rimmed with an orange glow as the sun made its appearance. He looked down at his watch. 4:53. Right on the nose.

This time of year, it rose quickly. He could feel the warmth of its rays as it caressed his exposed skin. There was a pleasant itching on his face and neck, on his hands, his eyes. It wasn’t what he expected at all, he thought it would be more painful. Warm tears began to roll from the corners of his eye and he could smell his skin begin to pop and burn. It was beautiful sight. He had not seen the sun for so long he had forgotten its brilliance. It hurt his eyes and for just a second he was tempted to turn and flee, but he began to laugh at himself. Flames were rising from his skin now and he could no longer see. His clothes were aflame also. Skin fell off in great sloughs that faded to dust and blew away in the morning breeze before they could hit the ground. His last thought was of Julia as his body disintegrated and turned to a pile of dust. Warrenton stood in the doorway to his

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RE: Sunrise - 10/2/2009 8:35:26 AM

nubianmuscle

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master’s study staring at the mound of powder on the balcony until the morning wind blew it away.

Later that morning, Julia sat in the hospital lobby, clutching her small bag of clothes, a giddy look on her lovely round face. Her stomach and heart was all aflutter. Today, tonight she was going to start a new life with her love.

She was wearing a colorful sundress and some sandals. He had told her that he liked lots of colors, even though he always wore something dark and conservative. She kept looking at herself in the mirror on the wall. The way she looked and the vibrant colors of the dress amazed her. She had forgotten how gorgeous all the different colors looked.

She saw an old white man approach her and could tell by the sound of his shuffling gait that it was Warrenton. She stood up smiling, but her face turned to a frown as he silently handed her the envelope his master had given him. She could tell that it was not good news. Julia took out the ring and opened the letter. Hesitantly, she began to read:

My Darling Julia,

Please know that as I write this to you I am both saddened to the point of tears, but I am also overjoyed. This is the most difficult thing that I have had to write and yet it is the easiest, for I do it with a loving and caring heart.

By the time you get this you will have found out that I am gone, but please know that I am always with you.

I have left you all that I possessed in my “life” so that you should never want for anything. The cars, the house, the valuable items, the money – they are all yours. Warrenton has even agreed to stay on as your assistant for as long as you need him, so that you need not feel lost as you adjust to your new life. And please be aware that he is doing this of his own accord, not because I have asked him to do so. He is a good man, Julia, and will look after you as I would.

I did not come by my decision easily, but after much thought and rumination I realized that it was the best that I could do and I hope that you can understand. I did what I did because of three simple words that mean so much. “I love you.” I did what I did because I love you, Julia. I truly and deeply love you. I realized that for the first time since I became this monster, that I could love someone- that I do love someone. There have been many women who have kept me company during these gloomy and lonely centuries, but you are the only one that I have ever loved.

Whenever I see your smile or hear your voice, I know what it is to love. Whenever you raise my spirits or get me to do something silly and not care what others may think, I know what it is to love. Whenever I hear your laugh or feel your touch, I know what it is to love. Because of you, I know what it feels like to truly live again and I cannot take that away from you. I know that you always said that you were willing to spend eternity with me – to share my forlorn, twilight existence. It always sounds so romantic and grand in books and movies when they speak of eternal life, but the reality is much different. Do you know what it is like, knowing that you will never feel the warmth of the sun on your face? To no longer be able to experience the sweet perfume of dew on the grass on a summer morning? To feel the burning hunger for blood in your gut and feel sadness and guilt each time you must take the life of another to satisfy it? To outlive everything and everyone you will ever know – your family, your friends? To know that you can never have a child?

To bring you into such a mockery of life would be selfish. And for the first time in over two thousand years, I am thinking of someone other than myself. Your love for me might blind you to how selfish I truly am, but I know the truth. Selfishness made me a coward and convinced me to accept my Mistress’ bite so long ago. Selfishness allowed me to watch her take the life of my wife. Selfishness allowed me to live off the life’s blood of others for centuries with no remorse. Selfishness prevented me from shedding a tear or feeling sorrow when all those around me that I said I cared about died. And bringing you into my world, no matter how much you truly wanted it, would be one more selfish act by a self-centered and horrible mockery of a man.

When you first asked to share my curse with me, I relented, saying that I did not want you to spend eternity without sight, but I would gladly do so if you could see. And at the time, I meant it. Then, we found out it was possible for you to see again and I was overjoyed. My love would be able to stay with me forever and I would finally be content.

However, I began to think about all the conversations we had had in the past. You told me all the things that you missed since you lost your sight. Marveling at the colors of flowers as they bloomed in spring. Seeing the smiles on children’s faces as they laughed and played in the summer sun. Watching the splendor of the leaves changing in fall. Seeing the beauty of clean, undisturbed snow as it lay on the ground. But, do you remember what you said you missed most of all? The one thing that you missed most of all was waking just before dawn and standing on the beach, watching the sunrise. You told me that that was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.

That’s when I realized that I could not damn you to an eternity with me. You would live forever, but you could never see another sunrise. Please don’t be angry with me, but I decided that I just couldn’t do that to you.

I know that you got up to watch the sunrise this morning because you promised me you would and you always keep your promises. Just know that at the same time you were watching the sunrise, I was too.

I saw the sunrise, my love. And it was beautiful.

Julia folded the well-worn letter back up and delicately slipped it into its old tattered envelope. It was at that weird hour right between dawn and sunrise when the world is all purple and gray; when there’s just enough light to read and see by, but still dark enough not to be noticed. You know, when everything’s still and quiet and you can be happy and content in your solitude.

She could feel the wet sand between her toes and the water as it lapped about her ankles. There was a subtle chill in the air that caused her to pull her woolen blanket tighter about her. The weather lady had said that it was going to be in the 80’s, today, but out here on the edge of the sea, it was always just a bit cooler. This is where she came to relax and to just be. No Warrenton, no agents or publishers clamoring for another manuscript, no reporters wanting to get another interview about her romance with the writer who disappeared and left it all to her – nothing, just heselfr, her thoughts and the lazy splash of the waves.

Gradually, off in the distance, right where the ocean and the horizon meet, she could see a line of light begin to break the gray of the early morning sky. At first, she used to come here everyday, but as she grew stronger, she came less and less. Everyday became once a week. Once a week became once month. Once a month became a few times a year. And eventually, a few times a year even stopped. But she came here every year on the anniversary of his leaving.

She fingered the onyx ring that now hung about the necklace he had given her that last and first night she had seen him and her lips began to tremble. The streak of light on the horizon was now becoming round at the top as the sun began to rise up out of the water and make its formal appearance.

She could feel the tears as they streamed down her cheeks, but she didn’t try to wipe them away. She just gripped the ring tightly. So tight that it hurt. So tight that she would have those funny little indentations from it in the palm of her hand.

The sun was now exactly halfway in, halfway out of the sea – a bright yellow dome that had chased away the gray of early morning and replaced it with its warm rays and magnificent radiance. The seagulls were stirring now and she could see them begin to fly in the distance and hear their squeals.

Despite her tears, Julia began to smile and laugh to herself. She laughed because she had finally been able to see his face. She laughed because he had loved her enough to sacrifice. She laughed because she still loved him and always would. She laughed because she could see the sunrise. And it was beautiful.

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