Well, this is it. I have been saving the last three prompts from my Final Portfolio for Creative Writing for a day when I really didn’t have time to blog, and this is it.

I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I enjoyed writing them.

Oh, and just so you know, Ididn’t follow all the prompts exactly. Sometimes, I changed bits around so they would be more fun.

Prompt 2 – Monster Under The Bed

When you were little, you could swear there was a monster under your bed–but no one believed you. On the eve of your 30th birthday, you hear noises coming from under your bed once again. The monster is back and has an important message to deliver to you.

The night before my fifth birthday, the monster under my bed started talking to me.

He’d never said anything before. All he’d done was making strange noises that sounded like someone turning their radio dial back and forth over and over again. Little bits of what might be words, but what also might be nearly anything else. It was impossible to tell.

And of course, I tried telling people about him, and of course, nobody believed me. But I didn’t really mind. It just made me feel like he was my monster and nobody else’s.

I didn’t really want to share him with anyone anyhow. I liked going to sleep listening to the sounds he made. It was soothing, and it gave me the best dreams.

But then, that night, he started using words. Small words all by themselves at first, but then bigger words, then sentences, and then he was making sense just like anyone else.

He said “Good, good, we’re finally making contact! Ahem…. ATTENTION EARTH LIFEFORM. I am Telepathy Engineer Stratus-5-ELBO. It is my sad duty to inform you that within seven hundred orbital rotations of your life-rock, your planet will be bombarded with a form of radiation as yet unknown to your knowledge-field. The effects of this radiation are unpredictable, but it is known to cause insanity, rage, uncontrollable lust, and a powerful desire to destroy. This radiation has been known to destroy entire civilizations, and it is imperative that your people be warned of the danger in time to build the necessary shelters and protect yourselves before it’s too late! If you understand what I am saying, please indicate this by thinking a clear affirmative!”

I said, “Uh….. what does affirmative mean? “

He said “You mean to say you don’t know what an affirmative is?”

I nodded and said “and I don’t know what imperative means either. Or lust. “

He said “It can’t be…. the knowledges clearly state that no life-instance of insufficient mental complexity can even interpret…. wait. EARTH LIFEFORM. Please state your maturation status!”

My what? “I’m five!” I said proudly. I was only lying by a day. That didn’t count.

He said “And approximately how many of your solar orbits does…. I am being told that you are unlikely to understand that question. Switching protocols. Young maleform, do you know how old your progen…. um, Daddy is?”

I knew this one!” He is thir-ty years old!” I had just learned to count past ten, and I was extremely proud of the fact.

He said “Let’s see, that means the reproduction maturation process must take twenty five solar orbits. IMMATURE MALEFORM. We will contact you again in twenty five sola…. um…. ye-ars? Years! We will contact you in twenty five years. BE PREPARED!”

And now those twenty five years have passed. It’s the eve of my thirtieth birthday, and I am looking back at all the years in between, where I learned what imperative and affirmative and lust – especially lust- meant, and the series of relationships that always ended the same way, with someone telling me that they couldn’t stay with someone who never seemed to be really present, who they could never truly get close to, who always seemed to have something else on his mind.

They never understood (because I knew better than to try to explain) that everything I did was to be ready for the next message. All my schoolwork, the university I chose, the doctorate in exotic radiation I completed in record time… all was to prepare myself for the big moment.

And that moment is tonight.

I just hope they haven’t forgotten all about me.

Prompt 3 – Valentine’s Day

You bump into an ex-lover on Valentine’s Day—the one whom you often call “The One That Got Away.” What happens?

I can’t believe it. I can’t believe it. What are the odds? What are the freaking odds? What are the odds that I would bump into the man of my dreams (that I let slip through my fingers, goddamn it) on any day, let alone Valentine’s day?

And in some random A&P in upper Michigan, no less. A place I had never been to before and will never be to again. I’m just innocently driving to see a friend who lives in Windsor when I decide I need more Dove bars, candy corn, and Mandarin Slice (food eaten on road trips doesn’t count, okay?), so I pull into literally the first place I see that looks like it will have those things, and there he is.

Ray Traviato, looking angelic and perfect as always, subbing for a cashier who got into a car accident on the way to work (nothing serious, more of an insurance thing than anything else), and managing to make being a cashier seem noble, fulfilling, and fun.

Turns out he manages the store. Of course. People trust him implicitly on sight (I sure as hell did) and he never lets them down. There’s something about him that makes people eager to turn over the kingdom to him, and he is far too gentle and kind to ever say no.

Was that all I ever was to him? Someone who had asked him to be her boyfriend, and he was too kind to say no? Or was the problem me?

Because I know why I sabotaged the relationship like I did, being all petty and demanding and mercurial and impossible to deal with.

I did it because I couldn’t make myself believe he actually liked me. I mean, seriously. What could a demigod like him possibly see in flat-chested sports-obsessed little nutjob like me? The girl with the super high grades and a discipline record thick as a phone book? The tomboy punk in the leather pants, jean jacket covered in spikes, and earrings so big you could use them as anchors? The girl who couldn’t sit still, never stopped talking, and didn’t pay attention? The girl everyone assumed was a dyke (I disappointed so many butch girls back then) and everyone knew was a basket case who was sure to self-destruct at any minute?

What could a demigod like him possibly see in a girl like me? It had to be some kind of trick. It had to be pity, or a dare, or something like that.

So I ended up driving him away. And the sad part is that when he dumped me (very gently, of course), I actually felt relieved. Hell, I felt great. Finally, the world made sense again.

It was two whole weeks before I realized just what I had lost. And by then it was too late. He had transferred to a school in the city, my parents practically had me under house arrest, and there was no way we were ever going to see each other again.

Until today. Until fucking Valeltine’s Day. In the middle of nowhere. Completely by accident.

I mean, fuck me, right?

So I get my stuff (they didn’t have my Slice, but they had orange Faygo, which it turns out is pretty good) and nonchalantly get into his line and then when I see him, I am all “Oh, hey, imagine meeting you here, hey, how ya doin’?”

Like I hadn’t recognized him the instant I walked in the door and hadn’t been freaking out about what I was going to say to him the whole time I was shopping.

We must have talked for half an hour. Nothing major, just the usual boring catching-up bullshit people who only have the past in common do when they meet. But we kept getting interrupted by this guy who worked for him, some stockboy or something, who kept coming to him with what seemed like totally bullshit questions about bananas or pallets or something, and they would trade insults in a lighthearted way, and then that would be it.

And every time this happened, it would bother me more. Who was this asshole, anyway, and what right did he have to keep hovering around and interrupting us and joshing around with my former boyfriend and acting like a jealous love….

And that’s when I got it. That’s when it all made sense. Why I was the only girl in high school he had ever shown the slightest interest in. Why he had always seemed so unattainable. Why I had always felt maddeningly safe around him.

It was simple. He was gay. And I was the most boyish straight girl in Ellen Landers High School.

After that, everything was cool. I was super relaxed and we talked like we had been friends forever. Jason backed off, and we ended up hugging and promising to stay in contact with each other.

And you know what? I think we actually will.

Prompt 4 : Wrong Printer

You’re at work and you print something personal (and sensitive). Unfortunately, you’ve sent it to the wrong printer and, by the time you realize it, someone else already scooped it up.

To the person known to their beloved as “Nookums” :

If you are wondering what happened to that rather extraordinarily personal missive you decided to print out at work (no doubt for private enjoyment), I can tell you :

It printed out on my desktop printer.

And I am afraid to give you further bad news, but I read the whole thing. Normally, I would not dream of being so intrusive or indiscreet, and indeed, I would have normally stopped reading the moment I divined the extremely intimate nature of the document.

But in my defence, it was a very slow day in Receiving. And you have to admit, objectively speaking, that there are aspects of the – narrative, shall we say? – that make it unusually compelling.

Still, I felt compelled to write this building-wide memo to assure you that your secrets are safe with me. I have discussed the contents of your email with only one person, my husband, and he neither works here nor knows anyone who does, excluding, of course, myself.

Even then, I was careful not to include anything identifying. He has not read it, and he never will. He has only heard my account of the highlights, and that was only for the purposes of the sort of stimulation and novelty all long term relationships need now and then.

Thank you, by the way. It was quite an evening.

I do feel compelled to offer some advice, however. The activity the document described involving the fine bristled brush and a length of medical tubing is very inventive, but please make sure that all surfaces involved are thoroughly cleaned before and after, and that you take things slowly at first in order to give everyone involved time to adjust.

Also, as a lawyer, I must advise against the activity proposed involving the entity referred to only as “Pappy”. While I confess I am a corporate lawyer and therefore not up to date on the criminal bylaws and statues of this particular jurisdiction, I can say with certainty that such things are at least a misdemeanour in most places on this side of the Atlantic, and even if they weren’t, there are certain activities where no amount of privacy and discretion can possibly be enough.

Still, thanks to you, I now know what a capybara is. So there’s that.

Anyhow, rest assured that your myriad proclivities will remain our little secret indefinitely.

Unless it’s you, Dave, in which case, fuck you.

Ancient Caterpillar (AC) woke up for the fifth time that day, and decided that this time, he would have to get up and do something, at least until he had tired himself out enough to go back to sleep.

As he got up and methodically destroyed last night’s unfinished cocoon (a once-rebellious act that he now did so automatically that he was barely conscious of it), he tried to remember what it was he was supposed to do today. He was pretty sure there was something. Something involving Crooked Giant (CG) and an act of kindness of some sort. Was it the big guy’s birthday, maybe? Or did he owe CG a favour? It was hard to imagine what sort of favour CG could do for him that would require repayment. Still, it was definitely something.

After a few moments heavily labored strategic thinking(generally, he didn’t like to think that hard, and only did so when it seemed like it might save him work), he decided that he would call CG and ask him if he wanted AC to come over. That seemed like a pretty safe bet. Odds are that CG would say no out of shyness, and then AC wouldn’t have to go, while still having technically done the right thing.

AC loved that kind of technicality, and collected them with the loving care of a lover gathering flowers for their beloved.

Turned out, though, that CG was feeling brave and bold and said yes, he’d love AC to come over. So now he had to do it. In retrospect, it had been a strategic error to say “Do you remember if there is anything we are supposed to do today?”. That had given CG too much confidence. Next time, he would know to keep it bland and neutral, like usual.

AC was glad that CG hadn’t bothered to ask AC if AC would be bringing their “friend”, Oldest Tadpole (OT), along, because CG new that no matter what AC said, and no matter how fervently he swore to it, he would bring OT along anyway, knowing CG was too softhearted to turn them away at the door.

AC felt bad about that, but not bad enough to stop doing it. He told himself that he couldn’t help himself, that he had to bring OT everywhere he went when he bothered to leave the house, and that was true in a sense, because stopping himself would have taken effort, and AC had never been keen on effort. It had always seemed like too much work.

As he made his way along the streets and paths of Pond Lake Island, his childhood (and adulthood, such as it was) home, he tried to ignore how little he had to think about or even pay attention to the route to OT’s house. Thinking about it only made him more depressed, and he had enough to deal with already, what with mentally preparing himself for OT’s company and all.

As usual, Mrs. Delta Frog, OT’s silent and long-suffering mother, was hovering around her kitchen with no apparent purpose when AC knocked on the door. Once he’d made eye contact with her, he let himself in.

“Hi there Mrs. Frog! ” said AC, trying, for her sake, to seem at least a little cheerful.

Mrs. Frog looked deeply into AC’s eyes with so much silent pleading that AC actually gasped softly. Mrs Frog might not have a lot to say, but those big wet bulbous eyes of hers could speak enough volumes to complete an encyclopedia. Finally, a single word bubbled up from the depths of her squat, fat body. “Leaving?” The word hung in their air, trembling with desperation and hope.

Maybe this was why he couldn’t stop himself from taking OT with him everywhere. He was this woman’s only escape. He knew that Mrs. Frog was far too devoted and dutiful a mother to hire a stranger to care for her misfit son, but if her son chose to go somewhere with a friend…. well, who was she to stand in the way of his happiness?

“We sure are, Mrs. Frog! I’m just here to pick up your son and take him to our friend’s place for, oh, I don’t know, maybe the whole afternoon!” And there it was, the light of hope in the old frog’s eyes that kept AC coming back despite the consequences.

AC could tell that OT was only pretending to sleep when he went to the tadpole’s room and disconnected OT’s tiny bowl from the very expensive machinery that kept the tadpole alive most of the time, but played along when OT pretended to be woken out of a sound sleep so he could yell “What? Who’s that? I’ll rip your fucking tonsils out with my tail if you fuck with me, pal!” then pretend to calm down, and say “Oh, it’s only you, Fatty. For a minute, I thought it might be someone I should care about. ”

AC smiled weakly as he picked up OT’s bowl and balanced it on the hump between leg-pairs eleven and twelve, as usual. “Nope. It’s just me, Tad. ”

“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that, you fat fucking scum-eater? I swear, you have to be the stupidest, ugliest, most useless piece of shit to ever get squirted out of… ”

OT continued on in this vein for several minutes, but AC ignored him. In fact, the only reason he had called OT “Tad” was to get him too mad to do anything to screw up AC’s balancing act until AC was up to full speed, all legs in motion, when the ride would smooth out naturally.

All the way to CG’s house, OT’s tirade continued unabated. “It’s people like you that abandoned me when I told everyone that I wasn’t going to sell out and become a frog like the rest of my brothers and sisters. Oh, the rest of them had talked up not undergoing metamorphosis, but I was the only one who had the self-respect and integrity to actually go through with it! And now they are all off carrying a hundred tadpoles on their backs and talking about mortgages and tax breaks, and I’m still the same angry rebel as always! I’ll never sell out! I’ll never surrender! I will keep fighting for my freedom and independence until the day I.. *gack* *cough* *gurgle* ”

As usual, at the crescendo of his speech, OT had violently crapped himself, and AC knew he only had a couple of minutes to save OT from choking on his own shit. Luckily, there was a stream nearby, so it didn’t take long for AC to scrape the crap out of the little guy’s gills, change the water in the bowl, then rinse him off and put him back in his tiny bowl, which was barely bigger than he was.

The moment he was back in his bowl, OT cleared his throat, and said “Like I was saying… I don’t need anyone’s help…. ”

CG met them a block from his place. Wow, he must really want my company, AC thought, with the usual mixture of happiness (that SOMEONE needed him) , pity (that someone needed HIM), and dread (that someone NEEDED him). He must really be desperate.

As they passed the bus stop near CG’s house, AC noted, with a long and weary sigh, some very familiar looking splotches of chitin and what smelled like formic acid in a neat line emanating from the bus pole. He turned to CG, who cringed.

“You tried to wait for the bus like a normal person again, didn’t you. ” said AC flatly.

“No!” said CD. “I mean, maybe…. look, I was just doing the same thing everyone else was doing!”

“But you can’t do what everyone else is doing….. you’re a giant!”

“No I’m not!”

“Yes, you are. You’re over twenty feet tall!”

“No I’m not!” CG insisted. “I mean…. okay, maybe I’m a giant in strictly height sense…. but really, I am just like the rest of you animals!”

“No, you’re not!” shouted AC. His head felt like someone was shining a bright light directly between his temples. Arguing with CG always got him all worked up. “You’re a giant! You will always be a giant! And if you don’t start acting like a giant – a proper giant – soon, things like this are going to keep happening, and if you keep killing the Ant kids, eventually their parents are going to notice! ”

“Look, I didn’t ask you over to get all mad at me!” whined CG.

“I…. I know. I’m sorry, CG. ” said AC, hating himself for feeling guilty. “So what are we supposed to be doing anyway?”

It turned out that it wasn’t CG’s birthday, it was his cousin’s birthday, and CG had wanted AC to come over for emotional support while CG’s cousin and all his rowdy giant friends took over CG’s place. But CG had been wrong about when it was, and by the time AC arrived, the party was already over, and now CG’s parents needed him to clean everything up.

Sensing there was no more point in hanging around, they went home instead.

(Writer’s note : this is just a raw first draft.)

Got an assignment today for those same three flash stories, revised. Here they are.

Two girls. They were still friends, that was the main thing. The “thing” that had happened “that night” hadn’t ruined their friendship. Not yet, anyway. Two bottles of wine, split between them. Two tabs of ecstasy, one each. Their embrace. Their kiss. Their… lips. Under the influence of Aunt Molly, they had been two halves of the same magnificent sexual whole. But now, in the light of morning, they were just two girls. Shopping.

“What say you?” “They are not ready. ” “No progress?” “On the contrary, they have progressed well. When last I came, the humans were children telling stories and forming gangs. Now they are adolescents, growing rapidly in power and wisdom, full of optimism and doubt.Their souls grow restless and yearn for something more than this shallow material life. They are on the cusp of adulthood. My next visit will be in 200 years, not 2000. ”

Nope. Nuh-uh. I won’t do it. So shut up, Bad Man In My Head. If we do it again they’ll put us back in the Home and we don’t need the Home. We’re not bad people any more. We have a job, a girlfriend, and people like us and some of them even know what we did to that girl. And we don’t want to hurt anyone ever again. Ever. So SHUT. UP. BAD. MAN.

You know, I am going to miss you guys when the pills kick in.

I am serious. You all have been the best bunch of hallucinations a fella could ask for, and that’s not just the Xanax talking. I know we’ve had our differences in the past and our relationship has always been…. complicated… but I just want to let you all know that, all in all, I could not have asked for a better group of delusional manifestations of my tortured psyche trying to make sense of the world despite a head full of bad wiring and emotional trauma.

And I mean it!

Yes, I am talking about you, Inside Out Face. Sure, you’ve scared the hell out of me since I was a little girl. Heck, you’re the reason I ended up in this mental hospital in the first place. I was doing a great job of pretending to be sane before you started appearing and trying to eat my head.

Despite my best efforts, I could not control my screaming. And there’s only so many times you can say “acid flashback” or “I swear I saw a spider” before your co-workers at Chipotle begin to get suspicious.

Not to mention the customers. Yikes.

But I am perfectly happy to let bygones be bygones. It’s nice here at Greenhaven. And truth be told, there was times when I wanted you to show up and give me a fright so I had an excuse to go home for the day.

After all, that’s where you live, Amorous Italian Rhinoceros.

I guess I can admit it now… you’ve always been my favorite. Your charm, your wit, your generous affection, the stylish way you paint your hooves… you are everything I have ever wanted in a mammal. Whenever I skip my meds, it’s you I am thinking of. I would face a whole army of Inside Out Faces and Poop Popes and even Molester Moles if it meant I got to spend another minute in your strong, rough-skinned embrace.

Doctor Finkelman says that makes your my most dangerous delusion of all, and I suppose he’s right. After all, you are the reason I held up that bank. I could never say no to that sad yet dignified look in your eyes. When you told me that you needed fifty thousand dollars to keep the Space Ark from crashing into the sun, that’s all I needed to hear.

Now, even with the reduced sentence, there’s very little chance of us getting out of Greenhaven any time soon. But you know I can’t stay mad at you. Not for long. And you know it, you handsome old rogue you. No matter how many times you get me into trouble, I will always come back to you in the end. I just can’t stay away, no matter how many times you trick me into taking off all my clothes in public.

Doctor Finkelman also calls our relationship bestiality, but that’s just silly. After all, you can talk!

And speaking of nudity, don’t think I have forgotten you, Naked Dickensian Waif. Sometimes you are a girl and sometimes you are a boy, but you have always been my friend. As long as you were around, I didn’t feel so bad about myself. Without the need to constantly bathe you (you’re such a dirty little ragamuffin, always getting into trouble!), I would have gone crazy.

Well, crazier. Whatever. You know what I mean.

I don’t see why Doctor Finkelman gets so upset when I talk about you. Apart from that one time where I tried to make that boy I stole into you, my relationship with you has always been as normal and healthy as it could be.

After all, everyone loves a good bath, right? So why put clothes on you? With how dirty you tend to get, putting clothes on you would just mean having to bathe you AND do your laundry. Much easier to just let you run around naked.

Besides, little kids don’t need clothes because they don’t have anything to hide yet. Uncle Donny taught us that!

Oh dear, I feel the medication starting to kick in, and I have so many more of you to thank. Already you are all getting a little blurry. I’d better pick up the pace.

I will always have a soft spot in my heart for you, Man Made Of Penises. I could never understand what you were saying, and you always smelled weird, but Doctor Finkelman said you did a really good job of representing my deep struggle against the world of men and maleness, and that I should be grateful my subconscious chose such an obvious manifestation and that you were super keen and lovely and wonderful.

Or something like that.

Um, um…. oh, Kissing Flower! Doctor Finkelman called you obvious too, but he didn’t seem happy about it. I don’t know what his problem is. I always loved how you would kiss me all over. I don’t know why Doctor Finkelman is so obsessed with finding out “who you really are”.

Maybe he just doesn’t like flowers.

Oh, and of course I can’t forget (at least till these meds kick in all the way) you, Ghost of Jesus. Whenever life truly had me down and not even pictures of dying clowns could cheer me up, you were always there to put your arms around my shoulders and make fun of my vagina.

You have no idea how much that meant to me.

Well, I guess this is it. You are all just grey blurs to me now, and soon, I will be back in reality for the first time since I was a little girl with “troubling” imaginary friends.

I had so much more to say, but for some reason, I can’t remember any of it now. I guess all I can say is… thanks for the company, folks. I guess I will never see you again.

In fact, the whole thing is starting to seem a little weird.

I have an assigned due Thursday where I have to write three ultrashort stories of 75 words each based on some images the prof gave us. I figured I might as well do them here so they will be saved for all posterity and, of course, to help me keep track of the word count.

Two girls. They were still friends, that was the main thing. The “thing” that had happened “that night” hadn’t ruined their friendship. Not yet, anyway. Two bottles of wine, one each of them. Two tabs of ecstasy, one each. Their embrace. Their kiss. Their… lips. Under the influence of Aunt Molly, they had been two halves of the same magnificently sexual whole. But now, in the light of morning, they were just two girls. Shopping.

“What do you say?” “They are not ready. ” “No progress?” “On the contrary, they have progressed well. When last I came, they were children telling stories and forming gangs. Now they are adolescents, growing rapidly in power and wisdom, sometimes full of optimism and bravado, other times harrowed by self doubt. The gangs remain but grow larger and more stable. They are on the cusp of adulthood. My next visit will be in 200 years, not 2000. ”

No. Nuh-uh. I’m not gunna do it. So shut up, Man in my Head. If I do it again they will put us back in the Home and we don’t need the Home any more. We have a job, and a girlfriend, and people who like us and some of them even know what we did to that girl. And we don’t want to hurt people anybody any more. Ever. So SHUT. UP. BAD. MAN.

I also have to write 150-ish words about a flash fiction story I like. I would post it here but it’s 1000 words^[1] plus I don’t want to step on anyone’s copyright toes.

So I have linked to it here.

I chose this story out of the five under consideration because I was impressed with how it wove together emotion and near-future science fiction. I also like how you don’t know what exactly the protagonist means by having her data locked down so thoroughly. And then she mentions that all others see is her name. This sort of science fiction works best when you establish a normal seeming world before you layer in the science fictional element. That way the reader can identify with the protagonist and get themselves situated before they realize something weird is going on. The sentimental message is a trifle “on the nose” and cliche, but very warm and intimate as well. How many of us have wished we could reach into someone else’s life and give them the one thing we wish we had received when we were in their shoes? It’s very heartening to read of technology being used to make that happen, when so often it feels like it pushes us apart.

It is so glorious to feed.

I wish I could put it in terms you mortals could understand. It is like drinking the finest wine times eating the most sumptuous of meals raisef to the power of the best sex you have ever had. To feed is to tap into a river of golden, honeyed light that fills you with such joy and vitality that you feel like you are living a thousand lives all at once.

It is the best of all possible highs, and every vampire is addicted to it.

That is all we truly are, in the end : blood junkies. It is Mister Jones, not any inherent need, that drives us to feed. All our theatrics, all our menace, all our talk of The Hunger… it is all the desperate deception of dirty little addicts trying to romanticize their weakness.

After all, we are immortal. Why would we need anything at all to sustain us?

So if you are junkies, I hear you ask, does that mean you can quit? Kick the habit, as the junkies say?

The answer is yes. Of course we can. One of my oldest and dearest friends did so over one hundred years ago. She traveled to a cave deep in the driest of deserts, collapsed the entrance, and spend two months of blazing hot madness in there. She quickly lost all sense of time in a darkness deep enough to foil even a vampire’s eyes. She had cleared out all the rocks and such from the cave before closing it off, so there was nothing there but sand. She says she spent so long in tortured dreams of rivers of blood and beings made of sunlight chasing her through Hell that she forgot she had ever known any other kind of life.

But after those two months of insanity, the fire in her mind began to cool, and eventually, she returned to her senses. She says that, on that first day of lucidity, she felt better than she had ever felt before in her long, long life. The fever was gone, the hunger was gone, and she was at peace.

She still stays well away from humanity as much as she can, because as any junkie will tell you, getting the junk out of your system does not erase the memory of how good it made you feel. And she claims that when she does deal with human beings, she is increasingly able to open her heart to them and see them as noble and good, if not exactly equals.

Myself, I am not nearly so noble.

Which reminds me. Some of you have been asking, quite insistently, what I think of human beings and, for a long time now, I have evaded the question because I did not know how to phrase my response in sufficiently diplomatic terms suitable to a lady such as I, gentle of mien and tender of soul.

But I will no longer evade. I understand why this is an important question for you, my readers, and I feel the relationship we have developed will be put in serious jeopardy if I do not resolve this.

And you have to believe me when I say that our relationship is the most precious thing in my unlife right now.

So here is the story : I love humanity. I truly do. But not the way humans love humanity. And not, as you might suppose, how a predator loves their prey either.

It most closely resembles the affection an animal lover has for their pets. I am sorry if that offends you, but it is the best way I have to describe it. You might very well love your cat like it’s a member of the family. But it’s still a cat and you are still a human. The relationship simply cannot be equal.

And as with pets, the difference is more than a simple one of intellect. I would say that, on average, my fellow vampires are only a little more intelligent than the average human. We have our savants and our idiots (and our idiot savants) just like human beings do, but overall, our intellectual advantage is moderate at best.

But you must understand that, once we cross over from your world to ours, we awake to a world so vast and deep that it is like waking from a dream. All our senses are heightened. Living things shine with golden light. Moonlight is like sunlight and stars shine like little moons in the sky. You are faster, stronger, have better reflexes, and can think more clearly than any human has ever done, and that is just the tip of the iceberg.

This is why we cannot ever see you as equals, and for that I apologize. But for those of us not yet too ancient to remember our human life, the difference between then and now is like the difference between adulthood and infancy.

Or like the difference between you and your cat. I find that to be a less distasteful and more accurate analogy.

In fact, the comparison with animals is very apt. Humanity views some animals as friends, some as food, and the rest as unimportant except for the occasional hunter.

That is how my people view humanity. Some of us hunt, although by no means the majority. Some of us are “vegetarians” who get our fix from nonhuman animals. Some of us are even “vegans”, who do not partake of blood at all.

But most of us are somewhere in between. We have almost as many ways of acquiring blood as humans have of acquiring food, and for the most part, they are financial, and not lethal. In the large cities with well established vampire communities, acquiring enough blood to fill your needs as a vampire is about as dramatic and dark as a trip to the liquor store.

I hope that answers the question, dear readers. Know that I love you all, and the fact that I do not consider us equals does not, in any way, keep me from considering you my friends.

Your Friend In The Shadows,
Nadia Delilah

Somehow, Devan wasn’t surprised when the long shadow of the mighty minotaur he’d called Tsop (after a son who had died of plague) was cast upon the freshly plowed earth of Devon’s farm.

“So you’re back, then. ” said Devan without looking up.

“Yup. ” said Tsop.

Devan thought about he crude hoe in his hands. It had a sharp edge, and the hard muscle that comes from a lifetime of farming to swing it pretty hard. But he instinctively knew that it would be useless against Tsop. It would be like trying to kill a wild boar by throwing pennies at it.

“Before we go any further, there’s a few things I’d like to know. ” said Devan, playing for time

“Ask away. ” said Tsop amiably. But Devan could tell he had moved closer.

“How did you get the money to buy your freedom?” asked Devan. He heard the massive creature moving behind him. He heard a long low scraping sound. But still he did not turn.

“By losing sleep. ” said Tsop, with a laugh. “I would get up before dawn and go do odd jobs for the locals. I wouldn’t get much pay. Folks around here have never had much use for money. But it added up over time. It took me ten years to do it, but I got my slave price together. It was worth it just to see the look on your face. ”

“So that’s why you were always asleep when I needed you. ” said Devan. “I spent all that time I was calling you lazy and no good, and you were working harder than I was. ”

“More or less, yeah. ”

The eight foot tall beast was closer still now. Devan could hear Tsop breathe, hot and heavy. and smell the beast’s musk. Devan had stopped noticing that smell two weeks after he had bought him, but now it came back to him with razor sharpness. It was, in its deep rich earthiness, a clearer picture of Tsop than you could ever get by looking at him.

But Devan could not turn to look at Tsop. Because, he had to admit to himself, he was too damned scared. Not for his own life, he told himself. But none of his sons were old enough to take over the farm yet, and it scared him to think of all the mouths that would go hungry if he died.

“What have you been doing since you left?” he asked Tsop. Maybe he could outrun the massive beast. He knew Tsop could run fast, but he accelerated slowly and didn’t change directions too well. It might work, if he could get his aging body moving.

Then he could run into town, get those idiot guards from the Market Block to protect him. After all, they’d both sold Tsop to him and then taken their cut from the slave price. That meant they owed Devan some protection for their… fauntly merchandise.

“Well, for a long time, I didn’t do much of anything. ” said Tsop. “I wandered the countryside, happy to be free, not caring too much what happened to me. But a fella can only get by on grazing for so long, and pretty soon I realized I needed money for food and whatnot. So I became a wandering labourer. I would make my way for a while, till I ran out of money, and then I would stop and work a while, then off I would go again. It was a pretty good life, Devan. ”

How dare you use my name, thought an old part of Devan. I’m Master or Boss to you, and don’t you forget it. But there was no fire in it any more. The fellow he’d been back then seemed like a stranger. Why had he been so damned angry all the time? He couldn’t remember.

Devan tried to think of how to say what he had to say without angering the bull. But he was not a man of words, so it still came out “Well if everything was so great, why did you come back?”

Devan heard a metallic clanking and clicking behind him, and his heart leapt into his throat. What was that monster up to behind him up to? He had never felt so frail and helpless. He prayed Tsop’s revenge for years of brutal treatment would be swift and painless, at least.

Was that the creature’s hot breath Devan felt on the back of his neck? He willed himself to at least turn to face his fate like a man. But he was frozen in place.

“I got bored. ” said Tsop. “That kind of life was fine for a while. I got to see a lot of the world that way, and even found more of my kind, ones that weren’t slaves. They taught me the history of our people, and showed me that there were other ways to live than just master and slave. They taught me to be truly free. And that’s why I am back. Now I have a question for you. ”

Tsop walked in front of Devan, and Devan was shocked to see that the minotaur had, of his own accord, harnessed himself to the plow he’d served for many a long year. He smiled at Devon, and said “Do you still need help?”

“But you…. you’re… after the way I treated you… you didn’t come back to kill me? I thought you hated me!”

“No, I don’t hate you, Devan. ” said the bull. “Maybe I did once, but that was a long time ago. You’re not a bad man, Devan. You were always mad, but you were always fair. When you’d yell at me, I would just smile and wait for you to tell me what to do. I knew you didn’t mean much by it, it was just your way. And I saw the love you had for your wife and your kids. So I ignored the insults and the pushing and the cracking of the whip, and concentrated on doing my job.

So sure, I left for a while. I had to, I needed to be free. But I always knew I would be back. I told you that much the day I left this farm. I told you I’d be back. ”

“I guess I thought that meant… something else. ” said Devan. Could he really have been so blind for so long? Could it be that all the time he’d thought he had a slave, he had really had… a friend?

Suddenly Devan felt ashamed. Ashamed of how he’d treated Tsop, ashamed of every bad thought he’d ever had about this gentle creature, and especially ashamed of how he had shouted down his wife and children when they had complained that they missed Tsop.

He was only a slave, a thing, he had told them. Not a person. Those words now stung like poison in Devan’s soul.

Devan felt Tsop’s huge, gentle hand on his shoulder. “So what do you say, Devan? Do you still need someone to help out around here? Pull the plow, carry the bales, keep an eye on the kids?”

Devan smiled and says “You’re damned right I do. It just hasn’t been the same without you, old friend. I do what I can, but… well, it’s great that you’re back. ”

“It’s great to be back… friend. ” said the mighty bull, smiling back at Devan. “Of course, there’s one thing that is going to have to change around here. ”

“Oh? What’s that?”

“From now on, you’re going to have to pay me for my work. ”

Devan laughed. “That’s alright. I still have all the money I got from your slave price!”

And with that, the two friends enjoyed a good long laugh, then put their backs into the day’s work.

Ledat’s pulse pounded in his ears and his throat as he approached General Ungar’s tent. He was trembling like a cart on cobblestones, and his hands were hot and itchy.

The summons to the General’s tent had been as sudden as it was terrifying. He had been minding his own business, doing his training exercises in his personal tent (one of the few privileges of being in officer training) when one of the General’s inscrutable adjutants had walked in, told him to go to the General’s tent, and left, without ceremony.

As Ledat climbed the rocky path to the General’s tent, his mind boiled with possible reasons he might have been summoned. Had he made some terrible mistake? Were these his last moments as an officer in training? Or as a soldier at all? The thought of returning to his home village in disgrace made Ledat nauseous with dread.

Ledat entered the General’s tent, and paused in the antechamber to try to collect his wits. It’s probably nothing, he assured himself. Just some routine adjustment to his training. Or bad news about a relative. Something harmless like that.

Thus reassured, Ledat steadied himself, put his sword in the basket beside the flap to the inner sanctum, and entered.

Inside, Ledat could, at first, see nothing because of how dimly lit the room was. But soon his eyes adjusted and he could see that the room, like its resident, was large, spare, simple, and extremely tidy.

And apparently unoccupied. Ledat looked around the room over and over without result. Then, just as his confusion was giving way to panic, he heard the soft and familiar noise of a page being turned.

And there he was, the Great General himself, sitting quietly in front of a small field fire, reading a massive book. He had clearly been there the entire time, yet somehow Ledat had not noticed him at all. How was that even possible?

“Officer Cadet Ledat r-reporting as ordered, sir.”

The barest of nods from the massive man. At nearly six feet tall, the General towered over other men, and had a body like a garrison wall. Everything about him conveyed power, authority, and a solidity that made him seem more real than other men.

For what seemed like a long time to Ledat, there was silence except for the crackling of the fire and the turning of the pages.

Finally, without turning to look at Ledat, the General said, “Cadet Ledat, do you think me a strong man? ”

“I beg your pardon, sir?”

“It is a simple question, Ledat. Do you think I am a wise man?”

Ledat’s heart was in his throat. What madness was this? “Of course, sir. Your strength is legendary among the…”

“And do you think me an intelligent man? ” asked the General.

Ledat forced himself to stop trembling. He smelled a trap but could not, for the life of him, figure out what it was. “Yes, sir. You are a shrewd tactician, as well as a learned… ”

“And do you think me a wise man?”

“No man could be wiser, sir. ”

“And do you respect me?”

“Yes sir. Completely. ”

Finally, the General turned to look down at Ledat, and spoke to him in a voice of cold iron : “Then why have you been insulting me to everyone who will listen to you?”

Ledat’s shock was total. He felt like he was going insane. Insult the General? He would never even think of it. It would be akin to blasphemy. “B-b-but sir, I would never… ”

“So you deny it? ” snapped the General.

“Well I… I don’t know… if you say… but I would never….

“My most trusted advisors say differently. They have compiled a long list of people who swear upon their oath that you have called my wisdom and judgment into doubt dozens and dozens of times. It seems you think me a fool. I have called you hear today so that you can tell me exactly why. ”

Ledat felt like the tent was turning very slowly around him. His mind was chaos. One notion seemed more promising than the rest, as so he seized upon it. “P-perhaps if the General could be more specific… ”

“More specifically, Cadet Riche Ledat, you have been witnessed numerous times saying that you did not know why you had been chosen for officer training, that you did not think you could handle it, that you didn’t think you were good enough, and that you expected to wash out at any moment. Do you deny having said these things? ”

“No sir. There would be little point of that. But I don’t see how… ”

“Do you remember the day you learned you had been chosen for officer training, Ledat?”

“Yes sir, I do. ”

“Do you remember how the letter of induction began?”

Ledat thought back. “I think it was something like…. ‘You have been personally chosen by the Great General Ungar to… ”

Ledat’s face went pale. Suddenly he understood.

“Not everyone gets that letter, Ledat. Most enlisted men never get any letter at all, and when they do, it is usually quite brief, and it is most definitely not hand delivered by one of my personal adjutants. ”

“I…. hadn’t thought of it that way, sir. ”

“Clearly not. And everything in that letter was true, Ledat. I personally chose you for officer training because I saw, and continue to see, something in you that no wise leader would ignore. You have an excellent mind, Ledat, and that alone would qualify you to be an officer. But you also have heart, and the courage of your convictions, and those are what lead a man to greatness. So there will be no more doubting yourself and your ability to succeed, Ledat. Not in word, not even in thought. Because when you doubt yourself, you doubt me. You are dismissed. ”

With that, Ledat left the tent, head spinning with confusion, but with a soft sweet song of joy growing in his heart.

THE END