Half Life
Sunday 7th June 2009
The good Doctor and Jonathan tried everything to restore my humanity: spells, curses, potions, medicines... Nothing would work. Some, even made my life sucking hunger worse. On several occasions, both of them came perilously close to death by my hands.
I was deeply ashamed and horrified of myself. The bags of blood Doctor Van Helsing brought me from the hospital did almost nothing to quench the never ending thirst. Many nights I had to be chained down to prevent a blood-thirsty rampage as my self-control broke. Sometimes I did not even recognise my own husband through the red haze.
It was Abraham that suggested dilation to rid me of the curse. He warned that it would leave me sightless, but I could not face hurting Jonathan. The needle hurt, each time a greater ache than the last. It stopped the hunger, yes, but the vampiric blood that we drained was replenished and all aging stopped. My husband grew older without me.
A solem vow was made, never to let any other person suffer my fate. Abraham Van Helsing could often be found running the streets of London at night, a gun full of silver bullets or perhaps a wooden stake in his hand. For many years, both Jonathan and I were his archivists.
Somehow I had found that my sight was not the great loss I had thought it would be... Another sense had taken it's place. I knew where every flagstone was, without the need for vision. I knew exactly what colour the world was without my eyes.
The visions were late in coming. Almost a year after my encounter with the spawn of Satan, I began to see histories through my fingers, moments trapped in time. Still more disturbing were the ones I could not identify, that seemed alien and new. The future, was not always a pleasant place.
It was during my pregnany that I foresaw Jonathan's death. The railings outside parliament, the howling, the blood flowing in the street, whilst I stood helpless.
I never did tell Jonathan. That is my greatest regret in life that perhaps, had I told him not to run with Van Helsing that night when the werewolves attacked, perhaps I might have saved him. But alas, it seems that my most accurate visions are nearly always unpreventable.
It was only two days after his death that my son asked why his Father was not attendind his seventh birthday dinner. I didn't have the strength to tell him that night. It would be 1918 before he finally understood.
I was deeply ashamed and horrified of myself. The bags of blood Doctor Van Helsing brought me from the hospital did almost nothing to quench the never ending thirst. Many nights I had to be chained down to prevent a blood-thirsty rampage as my self-control broke. Sometimes I did not even recognise my own husband through the red haze.
It was Abraham that suggested dilation to rid me of the curse. He warned that it would leave me sightless, but I could not face hurting Jonathan. The needle hurt, each time a greater ache than the last. It stopped the hunger, yes, but the vampiric blood that we drained was replenished and all aging stopped. My husband grew older without me.
A solem vow was made, never to let any other person suffer my fate. Abraham Van Helsing could often be found running the streets of London at night, a gun full of silver bullets or perhaps a wooden stake in his hand. For many years, both Jonathan and I were his archivists.
Somehow I had found that my sight was not the great loss I had thought it would be... Another sense had taken it's place. I knew where every flagstone was, without the need for vision. I knew exactly what colour the world was without my eyes.
The visions were late in coming. Almost a year after my encounter with the spawn of Satan, I began to see histories through my fingers, moments trapped in time. Still more disturbing were the ones I could not identify, that seemed alien and new. The future, was not always a pleasant place.
It was during my pregnany that I foresaw Jonathan's death. The railings outside parliament, the howling, the blood flowing in the street, whilst I stood helpless.
I never did tell Jonathan. That is my greatest regret in life that perhaps, had I told him not to run with Van Helsing that night when the werewolves attacked, perhaps I might have saved him. But alas, it seems that my most accurate visions are nearly always unpreventable.
It was only two days after his death that my son asked why his Father was not attendind his seventh birthday dinner. I didn't have the strength to tell him that night. It would be 1918 before he finally understood.