Dark Heart

I see her there, against the wall.  My dark one, my lifeblood.  She does not see me; I don’t want her to.  Not yet, at least.

     She stands alone, set apart and adrift in this sea of humans, swimming through the smoke that fills the room.  Loud music could be heard, punching from the massive speakers lined up on all sides.  Over them the babble of the people.  Through all the noise, however, I can hear her heart beating, pounding in her chest.

     She is beautiful, long hair flowing gracefully across her face, though I can see a scar playing over her cheek.  I wonder what must have happened to cause it, then file it away, perhaps to pull it out later for closer inspection.  For now, there are other things I need.

     I drift closer, feeling a longing in me as I get nearer.  Though I walk in the open, she still does not see that I come.  Her eyes focus on the wash of people before her.  I am able to creep upon her, near enough to smell her scent as it wafts from her hair.

     I can see the deep vein in her neck, pulsing with the beat of her heart, and I notice that, oddly, it thrums with the rhythm coming from the speakers.  It brings a smile to my dry lips.

     Nearer still I draw, until I notice that she can sense me near.  She is not worried about it; I come to her as a simple twinge in the back of her mind.  I am close enough to be able to touch her without stretching.  I place a thought in her head, and, at my urging, she begins to sway with the music.

     Her body, serpentine, writhes slowly, and with every movement, I can feel the need increasing within myself.  It is a need I have felt so often in the past, all these endless years of hunting and haunting.

     And still she moves, her body and heart pushing in time with the music.
Ah, my dark one, my lifeblood, do you know the pain I feel as I stare at you? Do you understand the longing to both run and stay?

     Do you know what would happen if I do either?

     But how could you? To you, I am nothing more than a walking, waking dream, something that you can laugh off and go about your day.  So many others have stood where you stand, my dark one; so many others have been in my eye, and from each of them, after I have taken my fill, I also took something else, something wondrous.  All of them dance their way across the dream-stage of my memory.  All of them bright shining as the sun I never see.  I miss them all, all of my dark angels.

     Again, you begin to sense me near.  Ah, old fool that I am, I let my guard down for a moment, as those from my heart played out their dance.

     Another thought placed into your mind, and again you begin to move.  My need grows, forever increasing.  I grow impatient with myself, angry, and, as always, I wonder if I should go through with it.  Why must I either torment, or be tormented in return? How long has it been going on? And will it never end? I have often wondered what would happen if I stop, and never again go through with the hunt? Will I die? Or will I simply go on as usual, with a hunger beyond redemption? I will never know, because I cannot let myself get to that point.  The need becomes too great and I must, no matter what, have what I need.

     You sway ever closer to me, and I cannot hold myself back much longer.  Every time you come near, it grows, attracting me to you like a magnet.  It is too much to bear, my dark one, my heart, my angel.

     I bend down, and I know you can feel my lips upon your neck.  I sense the change.  But it feels like a breath of wind, nothing more, and so, you do not draw back.

     As I crush in, the precious flow begins, and once again I take.  Once again, another spirit comes to light in the tapestry of my dreams.  Once again, my appetite becomes sated.

     But I pull back before the flow of your life can end.  I do not wish the glow to fade from your eyes.

     I let you drift to the floor, my angel.  Your wings are broken, but, given time, you will fly again.  Given time, all things flow back to their beginnings.

     As I flow away from this sea of humans, it occurs to me that, just as all time slips back to front, I must once again feel the need.  The hunger will grow again, and I will begin the hunt anew.  

     Looking always for my dark one, my lifeblood.