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Chapter 23: RIPPLES

His words actually painted, vividly, the pictures in my head as it all played out, allowing me to understand it and understand him better, and understand his emotions and what influenced his decisions, including the one to kill me and my child.

He said, “They gathered everyone around the table to sing happy birthday to me. I was at the head of the table with a tiny crown on my head and a cream suit with twenty four karat gold tie, worth $30,000 dollars.

“Mother was radiant in a red gown, insisting that she kept smelling blood, that someone was bleeding and father sniffed at the air checking every adult for cuts or bleeding, sniff, sniff, sniff.

I watched, quietly, as the invited guests became uncomfortable.

Mother and father moved about the room so fast they looked like ripples.

Everyone started to scream!

They were inhaling gulps of the atmosphere, nearly getting a migraine from the adrenaline rush, and the rush outside of adrenaline, the thrill of it all.

Their noses were hypersensitive:














They smelled every woman...And every man, and all of my peers and even my teachers, I was in the first grade at 5 years old at the best school in town, a charter school and prep school all in one. My father and mother began to hiss when a tall white woman realized she’d cut herself on her finger, a paper cut.

“She’s mine!” my father scowled at mother, and they ran at her and ate through her flesh in ten seconds flat.

The room was at a standstill and quiet. And then all hell broke loose.

My candle lit, I watched in horror my parents kill all my invited guests like they were nothing. My body refused to move; blood splattered all over my cream colored suit, and stained the twenty four karat gold tie.

Mama ran over to me when daddy was killing one of my teachers, a pile of bodies mutilated and thrown in a huge pile by the back door. She scooped me up and placed me in my room. The reinforced steel door was already in place, and so was the storm shutter.

“Since my birthday I was in prison in my own home, my life in danger every time the moon rose to glow. And to answer thy question, I do apologize, yes I poisoned my parents. Mama got tired of hiding me and lying to my father about the locked steel door of my room and father agreed to control himself when mother brought me down.

“I was terrified but I trusted mother and let her talk me into going to see dad. When he saw me he flew at me, hissing. Mama grabbed him by the neck and kept me behind her. She threw him through the wall, the force of the marble nearly knocking him unconscious. He lay on the floor moaning.

“Mama said, ’I will kill ye dead if ye harm my child. He has been confined to his room for years, I cannot hide him forever.

“How could ye lie to me? How could ye! Do ye remember thy vows?”

“Do ye remember he’s thy one and only son?”

“Yes! I know who he is! I helped make him, but I want his blood. I want to feast! Having a child slows up everything!”

“Well in that case, ye can sleep on the couch tonight.”

He floated up to her and sneered. “Ye know I’m addicted to ye. I can’t get enough! I neddeth my fix! It’s like pure Colombian cocaine! Sweet on my tongue but sweeter when I snort it!”

“Promise ye’ll try to contain yourself. I love ye, but I love my son as well. I will protect him like I have behind thy back for years.”

“Very well,” he said reluctantly. Mother took his hands and kissed his lips.

“Thank ye for trying,” she said, smiling. He was on fire.

“Come dance with me,” he said. “Even though we don’t own this house, let’s enjoy it while we could.”

“I agree. I’m a disquieting diversion, ye know.”

“They floated to the middle of the grand living room, with a checkerboard floor throughout the house. Breathtaking. The chandelier, baccarat crystals, looming high, captured my parents, in love with their lies, in each crystal.

“I wiped away tears pouring poison in the pasta mother had cooking on the stove. I hadn’t realized she was cooking. I looked in the pot and covered my mouth when eye balls and tongues, roughly chopped, greeted me without saying a word. I felt the steam on my face…

I wiped away his tears, realizing I was shedding my very own. I felt for him, felt his pain. I was happy he opened up to me. I definitely don’t look at him the same, and I may be falling for him. But it’d never work. I believed in Christ, he didn’t. I was horny and I wanted him deep inside me. Go away Satan! There, I said it. And I meant it.

I was quiet for a long, drawn out moment. His story was indeed fascinating. But do I wish to let fancy pants continue? I forgot my real purpose and mission, and it wasn’t to stand here and talk to a soul that once defiled me in a forest. I must. If I truly forgave him it is imperative that I love my neighbor as I love myself.

I was really glad he was here. Being honest and open. I opened up inside as well, but there was no way I was spilling my guts all in a single sitting. Hearing about his parents was, well, entertaining and engaging.

“I poisoned the pasta after I heard my parents praying to their god, and it wasn’t who I thought. They chose a side, obviously. They said his name. Lucifer. And I cringed inside, fighting nausea. So I didn’t kill them on my fifth birthday like I said. It was years later, around age 12, on the eve on my teenage years.

“I didn’t understand religion and all and had my reasons, reasons I will keep to myself, but the force of destroying evil pushed me to kill them, kill the demons that lived in their bodies. They were brain dead anyway. Those weren’t my parents talking to me; those were demons speaking to me with their voices, wearing their bodies like a summer dress over a winter coat.

“After I poisoned them, after they ate the tarnished pasta, after they began to choke to death (they grabbed at their throats and clawed at them as well) I watched, in horror, the devil approach them, but he did not see me. They quickly stuck a deal with him, one that he was pleased with―a decision my parents told themselves, even in the middle of death, they could deal with.

“They were going to be more powerful than ever before. They were to start a church with vampires and have them get on their knees and worship him. That was all. Starting with me, their son.

“That word, forever, haunts me. Forever they will live as parasites. Forever they will try to kill me. But now, surely not now. So much time has passed. And the source has begun to come back to where it all come from, the host of it all, the master of ceremony from behind the scenes this person is and was that turned my parents this way. The past is no longer conceivable, Kleopha.”

He cupped my hand and brought it from his face, kissing it gently, looking deeply into my eyes.

“Why?” I asked, losing my breath in his eyes, but fighting temptation with everything in me. I had to force myself to go numb so the wetness between my legs dried up like a red onion in the Sahara desert.

He kissed me passionately and no matter how I tried to pull away I couldn’t. He massaged my amble buttocks, and I pushed his hands away. Something was different. Suddenly, his kiss didn’t feel the same. I didn’t feel the warmth and the invitingly gorgeous aura that bellowed when our lips departed, suddenly to find each other again.

His kiss was cold and I opened my eyes and he looked deep into mine with huge marble black balls unblinking on my face and I screamed.

“It is ye, Kleopha that killed my parents…!”

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