Where there is a spark…

Back then in 1790, the last sounds I heard were my brother’s whispers and sighs. With each passing moment, I fell deeper and deeper into an imprisoning darkness.

My last bit of senses began to deteriorate rapidly despite the blood of my brother until they disappeared entirely. It was like my surrounding was suddenly gone. I did not feel any more. It might have been that Horatio touched my cheeks or arms, but even if that was the case, I didn’t notice it. And even if Horatio might have talked to me or in the presence of my physical body, I did not notice much more than probably with luck a slight whispering of seemingly ghostly strange voice far away. I did not smell anything any longer. I did not see anything else than darkness. I felt like I got trapped into a heavy stone statue which was put into dark chamber thousands of miles away from any vibrancies, thirty feet under. I would have certainly appreciated to push up the daisies from there. But there was nothing but featureless and smothering darkness. For a very long time there was not anything else. It did feel like a whole age was passing, I quickly lost any sense of time in the mixture of black with black. I was not even really thinking of anything, the darkness was too suppressing with its timeless gravity, that it made me unable to. I couldn’t help myself but to keep on looking straight into blackness.

Then on one unsuspected day a heavy greyish door with beautiful ornaments appeared in front of me. I wondered if I was able to move and examine it. Slowly I attempted to move my toes. I felt some life in my small toe and it would actually obey me and move as intended. Lucky, as I felt, I continued with my legs. Carefully, I tried to bend my knees. The right one at first and once it would also listen to my will, I did the same with my left one. My legs appeared to move again. I went ahead with my hands and eagerly tried to move my fingers, then carefully my hand and afterwards I slowly raised my arm. I was truly excited I was able to move again, so I began to lift my arms up and down like a tin soldier. It worked and so did my legs.

Hesitatingly, I walked towards to the door with caution, watching each of my steps, that felt still unstable after all for which I staggered more. As I finally reached the mysterious door, I examined it more thoroughly. It had very beautiful floral ornaments decorated from top to bottom. There was like an arc made of Celtic floral ornaments on the outlines, mending in with further flower and plant-like garnishments towards the middle, creating a maze-like pattern. Strangely, some questionable sticky, but thick, greenish substance dripped through the striations. I decided to try to open that door. In the end of the day, what else could happen to me at worst other than being in another dark room? Or would I enter purgatory? Was I in purgatory? I laughed to myself about these silly fearful questions I asked myself, however, I started to wonder in fact, if there was a Devourer of the Dead waiting for me on the other side. I decided to open the door after, there was nothing much left to lose for me, as one might be able to imagine.

Carefully, I opened the door and I found myself in another dark room, almost as I expected. The door closed behind me. It was another dark and silent chamber which just allowed the glimpse of heavy brick walls that were covered with long desiccated branches. Suddenly, out of nowhere in a flash images appeared in front of my eyes. At first they were like flashes of the last things I had seen. At the beginning, it was only these few images, if it was not the plain good old darkness again. With more time passing, further horrifying experiences I ever witnessed added themselves and the images turned into fractions of a kind of motion pictures like of a mad mind and I was even pulled back into the arising scenes and had to watch myself like a time-travelling observant.

I couldn’t believe I was trapped in an old dark brick chamber. I threw myself desperately against the walls, shouting and crying for help. I scratched the walls with my fingers, hoping those old mouldy bricks might give in. But instead, my fingernails chipped up to the last quarter of my nail beds. Cold blood ran down from my fingertips.

I tiredly leant against the walls of the chamber. Agonised by a dreadfully stinging pain of thirst in my throat, on the one hand, I was also utterly worn out due to the deprivation of any opportunity to rest. I was numb and unable to refuse to see what was inevitably presented in front of my distressed eyes. I did not know how much time I had spent in that dark chamber, which had nothing else to entertain me with than repetitive horrid images and motion pictures of the last devastating events I experienced. There was nothing where I could have been able to see a reflecting image of myself, but I could tell my skin was wrapped around my bones like thin sheets of paper as the only mere substance which just held my limbs at their place. It felt like a piece of papyrus was thinly wrapped around a sharp-edged stone, through which you could see and feel every roughness in its detail. If the horrible never-ending motion pictures were not dragging me back into movements, I have not been able to move or yet alone stand on my feet with my own legs. I could barely keep my eyes open, left alone as I was without any hopeful perspective for a change for the better. The forlornness drove me to the brink of plain madness.

Even though there appeared to be no hope, a tiny little spark remained to reside deep inside of me. It was the spark of survival which let me hold on to my life like I clenched to a thin piece of grass. That is what surviving is about, it is not about the survival of the fittest. To be fair, the only thing stronger than you humans and also than us vampyres is nature. Nature has the strongest streak to survive. Unfortunately, there are quite a few humans out there who believe they were superior to others and lightheartedly judge about the life or death of other humans, creating own paradigms with a strong mislead instinct of survival choosing whose lives are worthy and whose are not.

– Layla.

PS: Would you like to know how my memory continued? Read it in our first book ‘The Vampyre Memoirs – Bohemian Rhapsodies’ can now be obtained at Blurb, Amazon and CreateSpace as a print version and at the Kindle Store or Smashwords as an ebook 🙂

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