‘Twas barely morning when I woke. I sat up in my bed and looked ‘round, chuckling a little to myself. Foolish of me to have been so worried. After all, with a preternatural body such as this, what had I to fear? I ran a hand through my black locks, tousled they had been. I was not yet used to my cold, marble flesh, and, frankly, I am not yet. I had not had chance to grow accustomed to the fact I had no reason to breathe. Inhuman. Ay, I had always been immortal, but I had also always been alive. ‘Tis quite a bit to acclimatize to, my friend, quite a bit indeed. I rolled out of bed and passed through the sunlight beams that fell across the plush carpet easily. It had no effect on me- I found ‘twas so for all those he Turned. Odd, but Immortality is often so. Surely I knew that. Why, many a time had I been victim of lynching, and of the guillotine, nearly as often as I had been the executioner. Alas, sweet guillotine, the kiss of thy blade did not kill me first! Haha! A piteous story if ever I have the chance to tell it.
I stumbled into the bathroom, still plagued by half-sleep, and leant into the immense bathtub. I ne’er had a qualm about spending my immense fortune- scarcely do I think any Immortal does. Why, we have not the hearts of men, only the hearts of beasts. Well, this I believe to be true of myself. Moreso now because of this damnèd vampire curse. Ay, a curse! Forever I had already known I would live, and now it hath became forever with an abhorrent lust for blood! ‘Twas self-hated I felt most often, and ‘twas self-hatred I grew used to. ‘Twas loneliness that I knew most often, ay, but self-hatred was now dominant. Indeed, I’d asked for this- why, even begged may be the word I ought use. Now, though, ‘twas hatred for myself and mine stupidity.
The water ran freely from the spout as blood may from a severed vein, and my eyes watched with only mild interest. Indeed, the facets of light as they glanced on the silvery liquid were enthralling, but it was not the sort of enthralling I desired. It was not the sort at all. I tell thee now that self-hatred and loneliness are the most loathsome combination of emotions a man could feel. They crept in at me from all sides, like monsters of a fairy-tale. Ones that Queen Mab herself might plague upon the worst of men, and indeed I did not even wish them upon mine greatest enemy. But mine greatest enemy was myself, and I had never wished these emotions upon myself. I slid out of my trousers and into the steaming, frothing water. It felt like the most caressing of lover’s touches on these worn and aching muscles. Constant pain is mine curse as well, if not from these emotions than from this body. ‘Tis the curse of an executioner, I s’pose. Even still, it is quite vexing after centuries of having to endure it.
The steam roiled up o’er my face with a burst of warmth like a hot fog. Warmth was oft something I missed as well. A beautiful thing, like a youth’s fleeting beauty. Ay, I knew what age did to most; save a few. Aloysius, Alexander, Romius, Xander, Kazeielan, Garnett. . . Each was Immortal, just as myself, but all of us so very different. Aloysius the Martyr, Alexander the Great, Romius the Hot-Blooded, Xander the Savior, Kazeielan the Malevolent, Garnett the Innocent. And, I, Augustine the Cunning. Haha! What great children of an idle brain those nicknames were! All save Alexander’s, of course. That had always been his- no doubt that it will. I missed them often. Clever trickster I may be, but I have a mind not at all unlike the Martyr’s. Indeed, I gamble, drink, such things are of great enjoyment of me. Then my mind is not free to wander where it wish. Often I wonder if I can be more like Kazeielan, or Romius, but I am not.. I am Augustine the Cunning, Augustine the Trickster. . . Augustine the Lonely.
This is what happens when I read a lot of Shakespeare. In any case, I'd very much like to know what anyone thinks of it. ^^
