Becky's Dreams

"I can hear the heartbeat of the man in the next room; it thumps not unlike a distant wind-up alarm clock. I am surrounded by smells and sounds that sicken, yet tantalize me. Sweat and body odor permeate the air. Try as I might, I can't seem to shut out the loud and boisterous bumping and crashing in the rooms around me. A crew of workers from some oilfield company blowing off steam or teenagers having a wild and reckless party, their noise invades my mind and disrupts my thoughts. Now and then a beer bottle falls and crashes against the ground outside of my room. Prostitutes climb the stairs to the jeering catcalls of men lost in the moment and oblivious to those around them.

"I can feel the raw and chaotic energy being pumped into the night by testosterone driven partiers. I feel their excitement, the animal desire and their reckless abandon. The energy they are emitting combines with my own and the furnace within me rages even hotter. Fear; I smell fear from the shifty-eyed salesman cowering in the room next to me. I smell the stale cigarettes and whiskey of the man passed out in alcoholic stupor in the room on the other side of me. I stand in my doorway and try to breath in the night air and allow my mind time to settle and as I do so, a young girl walks by and smiles at me in a somewhat brazen manner.

"She glances up at me, eyes bleary, dim and blurred. Wan some cumpny darlin'?

"She could almost be the same girl, one century to the next. Her voice is raspy and rattles; I can't help but wonder if she is aware of the cancer slowly devouring her throat and lungs. I don't speak to her, but look at her in a way that causes her to avert her eyes and shuffle quickly away. Not for long, though. Soon another girl just like her will make the same proposition with the same unhealthy sounding voice and identical behavior.

"Always the same, night after night, I re-live this endless cycle time and time again. Though it is tempting, I won't feed on any of these imbeciles I speak of. Their alcohol laden blood gives me a headache the next morning and the drugs that flow through them so freely make my mind swirl and loose control. Loosing control for one gifted with my powers is not a good thing; it isn't good for me and it certainly isn't good for the humans that I shelter myself amongst.

"There is an odd stewardship, a sort of responsibility between an immortal such as I and the humans he dwells among. It sounds cruel and unjust, but in many ways they are a crop to be tended and cared for. Yes, crops are harvested, but great care must be taken not to destroy the seed upon which my survival depends in the long run. To put it in human terms, a hunter can't go out into the woods and murder every deer in the forest, he must exercise control and cultivate certain ones, leaving the breeding population to grow and prosper. A prosperous herd is well worth the extra care and restraint that goes in being a good steward. It also insures your own survival and maximizes the benefits you reap.

"Stewardship; that is the reason I can not simply give in to every urge I have and pillage everything around me. It is what keeps me from going out and causing mayhem and destruction, much as the idea appeals to me. I must be honest though, it is more than just self control and restraint. The sickness that tends to run rampant in the sort of people I find myself surrounded by in the pitiful hotels I hide away in, turns me stomach. Just as a human would shy away from rancid meat or soured milk, I avoid feeding on the dregs of human society as much as possible. A pity, in all actuality, were I to feed more on the lower life forms and forgotten souls, I might provide a better service to the crop. I do, in quite a few situations, tend the herd and cull undesirables, but that is another matter. I perform that service for the good of all, for the welfare of my crop and largely because they simply piss me off.

"Nothing tastes sweeter in my throat than the torrential gush of blood pouring from the ragged gash ripped into the neck of a pedophile or a rapist. I am not particularly fond of most humans, but there are those among them that are not even worthy of being referred to as a person. They are subhuman. Even their blood is tainted; I don't drink it, but spit it back upon the ground after draining it from them. There is no sweetness in their blood. Rather it is the sweetness of righting a wrong, avenging the innocent and stopping the horror from happening again. That sweetness is intoxicating and I indulge in it, time to time.

"For the most part, I am much like any other hunter. I seek the perfect prey. I seek the perfect setting. I am after not only fulfillment, but am also mindful of my immediate and long term welfare. When I feed, I must admit I prefer to dine on the fine and delicate bouquet of a woman. Men will do and I suppose I take that route most of the time, but for a truly tasty treat, I hunt the streets in search of a woman. There is food and then there are delicacies. Drinking the blood from some dockworker or truck driver will keep me alive and most times I am satisfied with them, but there are times, oh there are times when I crave something a bit more exotic.

"Sometimes it is the joy of toying with my meal that pleases me more then the sustenance itself. Sometimes it is the rarity of it."

Becky looked at him and could see the pain and anguish in his eyes as he re-counted the days of his life. Always the same he said, throughout the centuries only the clothing and surroundings changed, never the people.

"I walk through life alone, as I have for ages. Mortals think that immortality would be divine, but I assure you it is not always such a thing to be envied. The saying sounds foolish, but it is hauntingly true—forever is a long time.

"It is a long time to be alone, to stand on the fringes of the living and watch without truly being able to become a participant and to watch unobserved as life passes you by. It's a long time to stand outside a window looking in."

*****

What a sad and lonely life, Becky thinks to herself.

She gazes up at her Master, though he has promised not to take her away from her son, she will forever feel that he claims her as his own and that she—in some strange way—belongs to him. Her arms ache to wrap around him, to pull him to her and she longs to give him comfort. She is saddened to know that he will awaken in the same world tomorrow as he went to sleep in today and that it will go one that way for him, every day a repeat of the one before.

As she considers her own life—seemingly mundane and boring before—the thought comes to her that she is blessed. Immortality might be OK in a dream world, but the reality of it was not so glorious as one assumed. Thinking of watching her son grow into a man, of seeing and participating in his life and even the scary prospects of growing old, she realizes life really isn't all that bad.

"Will you just leave without ever seeing me again," she asks her Master? "Have the past weeks been frolic and nothing more?"

"No little one," he answers in a hoarse and emotional whisper. I will be here. I will watch as you are your son age. I will watch the joy of your life as an outsider peeking in through a window, until such a time as you wish me to go away. When you no longer desire to have me having lurking around, you have but to ask it and I will vanish into your memories.

"I will be here as your friend and your confidant until such as time as you no longer need me and trust me, there will be a time when you no longer have room for me in your life. You will come to a place in your life when you are ready to move on and when someone such as I am nothing but a hindrance. For you to truly live your life, you will need to pursue things in which I can not be a part of, dreams that I would only be a stumbling block for. When such a time has come, then I will leave taking nothing but joyous memories with me."

With those last words, he vanished into thin air. She knew the pain had been to much for him to bear, but she also knew she would see him again someday.

She finds tears welling in her eyes and spilling down each cheek, the sheer sadness of what he said overwhelms her. The image of him going on his way, shoulders hunched against the torments of immortality, was almost too much to bear. She can't help herself, but to imagine countless years without love and without being a part of anything, always being an outsider.

I will love you, Master, forever and always. As long as I breath, I will give of myself to you, what I can. I will live my life, cherish my son and watch him grow. Then someday, who knows? Maybe, just maybe I will join my Master and walk beside you. Maybe I can illuminate the shadows that engulf you and bring you joy and happiness and most of all, love.