Post by CAIN ADAMS on Mar 1, 2010 15:19:51 GMT -5
someone finds salvation in everyone, another only pain,
someone tries to hide himself,
down inside himself it prays …
[/b][/color]someone tries to hide himself,
down inside himself it prays …
CAIN[/size][/b]
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Cain’s booted feet were dragging along the ground and through a thick layer of mud coating the cemetery ground. It was now so caked on his boots they had practically turned brown. His black jeans also had a thick layer of mud on the bottoms and if he hadn’t been undead—he would have found his legs were unusually heavy. His loose black band t-shirt had had Tokio Hotel written on it in red and black lettering with a android looking person—from their new album Humanoid.
Cain’s eyes glided over headstone after headstone, taking in names and not taking more than a moment to register them. He didn’t care what names were on the head stones, but was more concerned with what was in the ground around him. Cain hadn’t been in the greatest mood lately—being around all these vampires made him feel many things. However, at the top of the list—surprisingly enough was dead. He felt old and worn—like he should just be dead. So here he was, with his fellow dead.
Cain never understood or liked the idea of burying the dead. Why waste the space to burry a body that would just pollute the soil—especially when there was only so much space and the dead piled up. They didn’t just disappear when you left a stone and a plot for them. What happened when the world was out of space to burry them? But today he felt some comfort in the cemetery—oddly enough.
Cain, being the original vampire, had been alone a long time and had adjusted to being alone. Sometimes, humans just couldn’t fill his need to talk to someone—especially because he couldn’t tell them everything. Too many humans would freak out if he suddenly sprouted fangs and ranted about immortality. But the dead—they didn’t speak unless they were created by him and his children or grandchildren—etc. So when he needed to vent or rant he would select an individual in a graveyard and spend his time talking to them about the problems that had been bothering him.
Okay—maybe Cain had a bit of an issue mentally—but he did this to remain mentally sound. When all your children deserted you and left to make their own children only to be deserted themselves—he really had learned from the experience. He hadn’t created any after his third and final child—Cleopatra. She had left just like the two males before her had—and Cain had given up on making others. Lately he had been tempted to make another vampire to try to get another companion but he knew better. People’s values had changed and all the world was much more flaky. The chances of him finding someone who would stand by him was unlikely.
Annabelle Marie Johnson! The name jumped out at him as he had spoken to her before several times. He found himself standing at the foot of her stone. It was plain and had only casual lettering on it and not a single item on it to mark her as a loved one of the living. That might have been because of the year—She was from the 1800s. It was likely no one she knew in life was alive any longer.
He found himself just…speaking to her. ”Hello Annabelle. Still finding it dirty in there? Feels pretty dirty out here too…or at least I feel dirty. I started quite a mess—it would be so nice to just be placed dead in a coffin like you were—but It will never be an option for me. I love life—or afterlife as it were. But Lamia Latro—the ones I told you about last time, they are apparently here. Throw the witches in and yes I feel at fault. Abel had it coming but I do kind of regret killing him—not that I would change things. Its too late for me to fix things as my children continue the mistake I made—causing more to succumb to the curse. But I felt lonely—and who could blame me. But it seems I caused all this for nothing—as they don’t pay me any mind anyhow…Hope you don’t mind my company and bitching again today, sometimes it is nice to have someone to talk to who can’t tell my secr—“ His head swung around as he scented the air, having heard something.
It was only a short few moments and a car went buy—he sighed and looked back at the grave. It was the middle of the night and he was in a graveyard and yet he still felt he shouldn’t speak his secrets out loud. It was normal though—as it had happened many times before and he had been here many times before.
He lowered himself to sit down on the grave and continued talking in a hushed whisper so he could hear himself but no one approaching would hear him before he heard them. He was oblivious to the thick layers of mud not attached to his jeans or the chill the night caused the wetness—he was dead, what did he have to worry about? Catching a cold?
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