Post by CAIN ADAMS on Mar 1, 2010 14:19:17 GMT -5
we used to talk for hours,
and i sure could use, what you used to do…
[/b][/color]and i sure could use, what you used to do…
CAIN[/size][/b]
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His eyes were closed and he inhaled the scents in the fresh air. He could smell many different types of flowers, plants, the smell of freshly cut grass, and the gently sweetness on the air. It was a great thing that it didn’t usually snow here—otherwise he would have found himself taking in the draw, damp scent of snow and this great place wouldn’t be worth a pinch of his time—even if he had plenty of it to give. The scents were part of the reason he was here.
Cain had learned early on to listen to his nose. Some of the most amazing experiences he had were to do with the many smells in a place. Of course, some of the worst evils had that same effect. For example, the smaller towns in England in the earlier years where they just dumped their fecal matter into gutters on the street. That had been one of the most disgusting scents Cain could recall in his old mind.
But part of the reason the flowers and grass were especially fresh to Cain is even in his human life, he had an affiliation with the land. He was the cultivator of the land in life, prior to his killing of Abel. And even in his afterlife he adored gardening. Taking time to weed, water, plant, and just sit and watch the plants—it was enjoyable to him. Perhaps part of it was that plants took time and it was something he had more than enough of. Hell, he had been alive since just after creation—he didn’t care about time and took his sweet time doing everything, and the plants were like him. They didn’t speed things up for anyone and took their time and did things their way.
Today, Cain was dressed in a loose black t-shirt sporting a design for a concert that ACDC had played. He had taken it from a victim a few weeks ago. He had a pair of black jeans on and a pair of expensive running shoes—the only sign that he was more than your average teenager—but with the way people were these days, maybe it made him look more like one. No one would ever suspect this normal looking teenager of being Cain—the first murderer. Then again, he had that air to him, his eyes displayed knowledge that were beyond the years of a teenager, a cynicism un-match by even the most downcast teenagers—not to mention humans naturally felt something was off about him. Throw into that—he was sitting in a garden instead of drinking and partying—No, humans wouldn’t mistaken him as a teenager—not instinctively at least.
Cain was doing what he usually did—bumming around waiting for something to happen. He was ancient, beyond ancient, and had nothing to do, no expectations of him and no one to answer to. What did you do when you had nothing to do? Honestly, Cain still wasn’t completely sure seeing as over the years his choice had changed so many times—but he wasn’t ever content until he had a friend or person to talk to. Being alone wasn’t very fulfilling, even for him. But he had also spent centuries alone…and he had really felt the loneliness. No one was as old as he was—and even the oldest of vampires, his children, didn’t spend the time with him that he wished they would. Cain felt like the abandoned grandfather at times, left at the old folks home because of his senile nature. Not to say that Cain was senile…he was perfectly mentally capable—but his children had seen him as horrible. He had received apologies over the years as they discovered the same circumstance as he was in—but they never really came back to him. Cain had yet to have a vampire accompany him for an extended period of time.
It was a huge deal to him. For all time he had been alone—with no true companion for more than ten years at a time…though the occasional person was longer—like Michelangelo for example. Cain was sick of being lonely. Seeing and scenting these beauties meant nothing if there was no one to share it with or to tell about it. If not for the letters he frequently sent to his three children—he wouldn’t be sane today. But evne then, many of those letters never found his children—and he couldn’t be truly expressive. Imagine the reaction if a human had got their hands on a letter clearly spelling out vampire or immortality.
Cain’s eyes snapped open and his head moved at a natural speed to see a human had entered the area, unusual considering the moon was high in the sky. He went back to looking about, as he had been before just smelling the air and the human passed by. Cain was lonely—old and lonely. He was the forgotten grandfather of the vampires and he was really getting sick of that circumstance…he waited the human had moved on and went back to scenting the air with closed eyes—it was a good thing he wasn’t hungry tonight—or that poor person wouldn’t have left this garden, though hiding a body was becoming increasingly difficult as the years went by…
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[/color][/color]•• Tag • Open ••
•• Words • 889 ••
•• Lyrics • "What He Used to Do" Tara Lyn Hart ••
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