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“Who is it, Johnny?”

Woke from my reverie.   Py was standing just behind me, looking down at the remains of Amelia’s – last supper.   I explained.   Kind of.

“Okay.   Shut up, kid.   Whatever.   I’ll clear up the mess later.   She’s gone then?”

He didn’t mean Carly.   I assented.   Quietly, coldly, Py gripped my shoulder – possibly the hand could have been paternal, even friendly.   If it were anyone else.


There were oceans in that word.   Seas incarnadine.

“You gotta get up pretty early in the night to win at blood sports against Amelia.   Next time time you’ll be less stupid.   Hopefully.”

In the murky hell of my head I was a somnambulist again.   Huh.   Maybe I always am.

“Johnny.   This was a good thing.”

Guess that rolled over me too calmly, because then he shook me – fucking shook me like he was waking a sleeper.

“This is what Amelia does, kid.   It’s what we do.   This is always what we leave behind – so leave it.   Enough playing with your food, yeah?”

He steered me out the door, and shut it carefully – and I listened to what was once Carly sigh and slide and fall quietly behind the panels.   Just a tide, taken at the flood.   Py put an arm companionably around my shoulders, and relaxed his face into that old easy wicked grin.

“Come on, kid.   You need a drink.”





  1. This one is my favorite in a long time.

    • Rosemarie Fullerton
    • Posted January 29, 2010 at 11:46 pm
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    *twists her mouth to one side and wrinkles up her nose in discontent.* hmmm

    • Aw. not the way you wanted it to play out?

      I know.

      The vagaries of real life are a fucking bitch, aren’t they? Shit…

    • Rosemarie Fullerton
    • Posted February 1, 2010 at 1:06 am
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    not sure what about that post bothered me, possibly the imagery, maybe it was the indifference in Py but then again, how would I know, i ‘m not a vampire myself. let’s just go with the imagery and leave it at that.

    • Blame Shakespeare. There’s three references. It seemed – appropriate.

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