Work Text:
Senseless and Dreadful
Bland. Once again, the sun rose to another plain morning. Our lovely home filled with the dreary gray reminiscent of a giant rain-cloud. I had a dream that past night about being in a liminal space. I had felt more estranged in this house than ever before. Lestat had been growing dry, like the plants on the windowsill.
I awoke that same night with a tinge of distress and anxiety gnawing through my veins. A growing knot in my stomach swelled more than usual. This was no mere hunger pain, more apprehensive panic wavered in my mind. One almost similar to the feeling of waking up during a hangover, unaware of your surroundings, disoriented. Walking around our household plantation in delirium, screams of a familiar, debonair voice echoed through the walls in horror. My friend, unbecoming as he was, was lost in a dark chamber of peril.
Almost tripping myself in the process multiple times, I ran down the lengthy set of stairs to go figure out what was wrong. The troubled part of myself that assumed the worst, feared Claudia’s plans had come to play. Plans that I had no will to believe she would truly partake in. An empty promise. Substantially common in this household for years, yet I refused to believe them.
What came before me shook me to the core. My heartbeat faded away into slithers as it desperately tried to corrupt my body into leaving my soul. Claudia had been planning this for a while now, therefore I shouldn’t have been as surprised as I was.
Lestat was on the floor, bleeding out as though the blood he’d drank for centuries did nothing to sustain him. He must’ve been calling out to me many times with his mouth agape. I didn’t hear a single word from either he or Claudia, only the sounds of ringing and whispers from the deep. How could he? Over those excruciating sounds that transitioned into painful spasms all over his body.
He laid pathetically on the floor, sprawled out as he hardly kept himself propped on his elbows to crawl away from the vicious slitting of her knife. Blue eyes faded into a reflection of a clouded solstice, blocking out the light of kids' dreams. Ethereal, unblemished skin paled over into a nasty, bruised grotesque version of his former self. I almost cringed in disgust seeing the sight of him, so helpless. Blood was repeatedly drying over his clothes, only to wetten itself as more blood gushed from his slit neck.
Bloodied sweat clung to his forehead, sticking his matted hair to it. I wanted to cry, scream, and laugh all at the same time. A very confused mix of agony and hilarity. The sweet fragrance of death that had lingered for so long has been weakened.
Not only was the intense smell of death gone, a large weight was lifted off my shoulder. I felt like a new man. Finding myself in new shoes, I quickly rushed to his bedroom. Walking down my grand hallway with the iconic creaks of the floor and froze in silence as I walked upon a single object I’ve only seen hundreds of years ago!
Standing before me on the dresser, was a flower. This was the exact flower that my wife gave me before she passed away. Two bluish-gray scorpion grasses, wrapped in gold lined ribbons. Alongside them, I picked up a small note written in exquisite cursive handwriting. Instead of opening the card, I let it fall to the floor and ran back to my room and went to sleep. I didn’t wake up the next night.
I cherished this little gift for my next 5 years of life. Always protecting them, flowering, and everything possible to keep them alive. It took me months to open the card, yet his gesture never left my mind. Once again, another year had passed, when I saw my lovely forget-me-nots start to lose their life. Day by day, the lovely petals turned into the tears of a mourning cloud bursting through the joy. It had lived a good colorful life, so it had not gone to waste. But it felt like a blip, gone in an instant. A connection through the sorrow.
I woke up the next morning in a sad pity for myself and my ever-declining mental health. I was going insane from the loneliness of being a vampire. Nobody to relate to, no fun mondays, and everything feeling joyous or gay anymore.
My mind was deteriorating. I found myself humoring the possibility of habromania, losing yet again another soul. Behind my eyes was a catacomb of nothingness, a rotting of precious gold and wisdom. I began to see things. Illusions, pleading that one day, something will return.
Every night, I would awake feeling like a fool. Faceless ghosts of my past were laughing at me throughout the appeals to a prison that was my own mind.
It got to the point where I began to take joy in pain. It was better than feeling nothing for the rest of time.
There was a knock at my door. “Louis. Open the door.”
“What? Lestat? Weren’t you dead?”
“You silly fool, I need no pity. Just open the door.” My heart fluttered for a moment as I stood behind the door, anticipating turning the lock.
I ran over to open the door, but was only greeted to the death of another petal. I dropped to the floor on my knees. My sadness was draining my ability to feel alive. This was a common occurrence now, my mind was no longer part of me. Another burning speck of dust in the void of nothing.
There was another knock at the door, this time coming from inside the room. This sound led me to my window. Hardly lifting myself on my feet again, I stumbled to where the sound was emitting. A thud found it’s way to my ears. Something was leading me outside.
A lone peek is all it took to being me joy again, the whole yard was filled with pink forget-me-nots. I never forgot. I will never forget. I forgot.
I ran out to my backyard, and was greeted with another note. If only it was that simple.