Paradise?

the illuminated face of an old man's loneness shows us the madness we keep inside. He mocks me and tells me he is pleased at my ill and hopes that I will never take succor from the pleasant moments in life. I let him have his monthly dues and stick out my tongue as a child-like stance to allow him the knowledge that I will smile and my will is not defeated but for the moment. It is his day, rather night and I will leave him this night and resign myself to my bed sheets and fan and comforter and suffer the sun's company at dawn if only to keep peace.

The light he brings this eve is of no use to me or mine. Most all us lay creatures cower from the sight of his lit face away into the dark crevasse of a rocky crag to keep hidden and live longer. I challenged him last evening and I pay, fully, as he stabs my wounds when my eyes have closed and withdrew him a blackened and bloody blade and slid it across his lips to taste the forbidden. He knows there will be a time when we will have to finally accept a fate and face one another, alone and duel out the aggression and loathing we have held onto so dear for one another. But tonight...alas...he owns this night...

Crawls her damaged body into the cool cotton woven sheets striped like a candy cane. Stares up at the ceiling knowing tomorrow will be a different kind of pain, the searing heat of thermonuclear combustion causing her to cry out and hide but never effectively as she has appointments. A sigh escapes from her chest as the weight of her bossom presses in a little heavier with each short and painful breath. The feel of her lungs giving in and the rotted nutrients in her stomach is enough to make her cry but she won't, she did this. She forgot in her madness to take better care of herself, so she will endure and pray for death to release her or the torment to end. The pale body rolls to her right side and faces the wall wishing sleep would come. At least when she is sleeping she can dream of greater battles and chalk up any discomfort to the happily gained wounds of some great feat. But sleep won't come and the human chemicals coursing in her body won't release the inflammation from her decaying process. To be Wamphyrii is a truly great gift in all that you are above others in physical abilities. But to endure the doorway of death over and over and the putrification of one's own flesh as you rot from the inside out...the things one must endure for everlasting youth and great strength. No crying tonight or any other night except the cries of battles held in the final end. Only one single tear to stain and dry upon her cheek as she lay their helpless to her self-induced folly waiting for the sun's scorching heat to torment her more into awakening. She will need to fast and to keep alert through more than a day to rectify the damage and the time to get back on track...finally...sleep comes...~mobe's love to her all and her all to her love.