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Everthing should have a Beginning... (Prequal to Broke, Blind, Or Bedlam)

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Everthing should have a Beginning...                       (Prequal to Broke, Blind, Or Bedlam) Empty Everthing should have a Beginning... (Prequal to Broke, Blind, Or Bedlam)

Post by bisted on Thu Apr 21, 2011 11:06 am

Everything should have a Beginning...'s mine.

I had a name once, long ago. I had a family too. I even had a life. But all that was ripped away from me, in the blink of an eye.

I was born on 19th October 1779, in Yorktown, Virginia, halfway through the American War of Independence, the only child to happily married parents. My father was a prominent Royalist in a country that was slowly going Republican, and fought for the British against his countrymen.

The War continued for my family until the day of my third birthday, when Yorktown surrendered to George Washington. Washington refused to ratify Article 10 of the Articles of Capitulation, which stated that American Loyalists would receive immunity if they surrendered. My father was forced instead to flee with his family, taking us to the relief fleet sent by the British, which evacuated us to England.

Before the next year was out a Peace Treaty had been signed, ceding most of the modern day United States to the rebels. My family no longer had a home to return to, but this was not to our detriment. For his services in the war my father had been noticed by the British Government, and he was rewarded with a title and property in England. He quickly became a successful businessman, and rose high in society, fraternising with the highest elements of the nobility.

It was in this environment that I grew up, surrounded by the wealthy and powerful of the land. I was lucky that my father held the liberal ideas of his home country enough to have me educated; I was sent to a prominent girls’ public school where I was taught a basic understanding of mathematics and language, along with the more traditional female subjects of cooking, housework, and how generally to be a good wife. I was raised with the intention that I would consort in the same circles as my father, meet and marry a promising businessman or military officer, and give birth to new members of the family.

I followed my father’s wishes, dancing around the upper-class social circles, until one day I met Jerry.

Captain Jeremy Andrew Knightingale. He was charming, tall, handsome, and mine. We courted for several months until, on my twenty-first Birthday, after requesting and receiving my father's permission, he asked for my hand in marriage, and I agreed to give it to him.

I should have seen the signs then, the supposed meetings at the Gentlemen's Club he had to attend at seemingly irregular times once a month, the pallid look that seemed to overtake him before these meetings, the occasional twig or leaf in his hair or on his clothing when he returned, but I simply assumed that he had been hunting with his friends on those occasions, never suspected the truth.

The wedding was beautiful, one of the society highlights of the year, taking place in early May with many prominent businessmen and nobles present, and my mother weeping in the front row. I remember walking up the aisle and smiling at my beloved, before we stood at the altar and took our vows. I haven't been to a church since, and have no desire to.

It was three months into our married life that everything changed. My husband burst in through the door, slamming and barring it behind him, his fine clothing in shreds, and dived over to the sideboard, where he wrenched a drawer open and began searching within, a haunted look upon his face. Seconds later I heard footsteps outside the door, and watched, terrified, as the handle turned. Sweat dripped down my back as loud crashed sounded, and the door began to splinter under the strength of the figures behind it kicking it down.

Jerry finally drew out what he had been searching for, his service revolver. I had stood, staring at the door, rooted to the spot, until he grabbed me and dragged me down the hallway through the doorway of our bedroom, with its heavy, lockable door, and stood in the doorway pointing his revolver down the hall. The front door finally came crashing down, and malicious laughter boiled through the house.

"We're coming to get you, doggy!" A sneering voice rang through the house, as two men, each in military uniform, came crashing through the broken doorway. I would wonder, later on, how they were able to cross the threshold given the limitations of their, of our kind, but I eventually discovered my husband had extended the right of to enter our house to all British soldiers, believing they would all be loyal comrades-in-arms.

I remember Jerry standing his ground, finally looking calm, and firing 5 shots, three into the first man to come through, two more into the second. They staggered, and the first soldier fell to the ground. My breath caught in my throat, as the remaining figure's eyes locked onto mine, and slowly turned black as a moonless night.

He smiled cruelly. "Well, looks like the dog has claws. But then he's got a pretty chew toy here for us, so it all evens out." His companion stood up, the three gaping holes in his chest barely bleeding.

"After treatment like that a tasty snack is in order, then we'll be right as rain." The two began striding towards the doorway where Jerry still stood; looking shocked at the survival of both his adversaries. In my terror I grabbed his collar, and pulled him into the room, shutting and bolting the door as the figures approached.

"Have you got any shots left for that?" I asked, gesturing at the revolver in his hand.

"Just one." The lines on his face hardened "And I'm saving that in case I have to prevent them harming you."

I stared at him, wide-eyed "You would do it?"

"If it was a choice between that or letting them do to you what they have planned, yes." His eyes looked scared, but determined. I knew that at least when the end came, it would be quick, not the slow death I suspected these men had planned for me.

Crash! The door shook in it's frame, as the first of the men or, as I began to think of them then, the creatures, slammed their body against the sturdy oak door, but with metal supports it held in its frame.

As the door began to shake under their onslaught, and the bolts securing it from into the wall began to come out, I remember looking into my lover's eyes for the last time, and seeing the fear vanish into resolve.

He stepped forward and turned, bracing his back against the door in an attempt to delay them, and raised his revolver. I watched as the barrel swung into line with my forehead, felt my fear crystallise in my gut. I remember thinking; I guess this is it.

The muzzle flashed as the greatest crash of all occurred, smashing down the door. The bullet struck me in the heart, the barrel having been jogged as the door crashed in. Shock registered on his face just before a pair of hands reached through the splintered doorway, gripped his head, and savagely turned it.

In my dying moments the Crack! resounded across the room, his body crumpled to the floor, and the first creature stepped into the room. He stood over me, his eyes still black, and as he crouched down, I watched as long fangs extended over his bottom lip.

"It looks like your pet tried to cheat us out of a meal." The words came out as a hiss around the teeth "He really should have known better. Now, we've had to punish him. And after all that work we're hungry, and you'll certainly make a nice bite."

I was sobbing as I died, and he placed a hand over my mouth, silencing me. "Shhhhh now, it'll all be over in seconds."

I tried to scream as he bent his face down to my neck, but with blood pouring out of my heart and darkness pushing in at the edges of my vision, I was able to do nothing to resist as his fangs sank into my neck. The pain was incredible, just sheer white-hot agony, and as the world finally went black, I felt my teeth clamp down on the object covering them out of reflex.

The last thing I thought, as I dimly heard him swear and yank his dripping hand from my mouth, was that blood should never be cold.

I thought my death in 1801 was the end. But it turned out it was just the beginning.

Posts : 2329
Join date : 2011-03-30
Age : 26
Location : I am the glimpse in the corner of your eye, the movement in the mirror, the disturbance in the shadows...

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