Follow the Moon by Thomas Neil

Follow the Moon by Thomas Neil

The soft buzzing of the street lights carried well into the night, a perfect undertone to the ebb and flow of the footsteps as people plodded along on the street below. The gracious night had finally come and with it a fresh breeze that filled the air with an assortment of scents, from the decay of leaves in the park nearby as summer finally yielded to autumn to the grease and heavy stench of meat that radiated from late night vendors peddling hotdogs and burgers to the overfed and the overworked. I stood well above it all, atop a particularly old building, and allowed these sounds and scents to fill me up, each of them were a part of the home that I’d known for decades. I allowed my gaze to trace the familiar skyline; everything seemed to be so far away, not just in mere distance but what these buildings represented. The real world, with all its little people going about their ordinary mundane lives. It has been so long since I could count any of that as my problem, I lived apart from it all and just watched it from afar. I remember when the building beneath my feet had first been built, it was to be the tallest and grandest in the whole city, and while in the intervening years it had become a broken shell of its former glory it was still the tallest building around. Like a stone sentry it had kept watch on this city through wars and economic booms and busts and had just watched. It was the perhaps the most prominent feature of this city but if I were to honest, it wasn’t the only sentry that had observed the city as it grew and prospered into this new era. Although very few would consider my watchful gaze to be entirely protective, and I will admit that while this city and its residents have a place in my heart, my observance was not always motivated out of simple sentiment.

Speaking of which, I’d put something off for too long and I was beginning to feel the effects, and tonight felt like the perfect time to indulge myself before something else became a distraction. I took one more look at the sky, its inky blackness illuminated by the moon which was a heavy pricing backdrop that hung just out of reach.  Without anymore hesitation I walked straight off the edge of the building and felt the ground rush up to meet me. For anyone else that would have been it but fortunately for me, and those who share my particular oddities, I’m incredibly difficult to kill. Not that death had been my aim in the first place, it’s just that jumping from the building happened to be the quickest point from A to B and I really hate taking the stairs. I had landed, far too lightly into the alleyway below. For a moment I was as still as the grave, listening for a sound hidden among a hundred others, not that finding it was necessary I could smell what I was looking for, I’d picked up the unmistakable scent, one so distinctive that it had dragged me through the decades, desperate for just a little more. My footsteps were practically non-existent as I moved, like a shadow crossing a room, making progress but nearly unnoticed. My jaw ached, but I relished the sweet agony, and just kept moving, doing as little to attract attention as possible.

I breathed in deeply and felt my throat tighten in anticipation. My vision tunnelled until the periphery faded into nothingness. But the world directly in front of me became brighter, more detailed like someone had magnified everything in my line of sight. While before the alleyway had seemed dark and shadowy, now it seemed to glow with some unearthly radiance. I’d been able to smell him before but now I could see him, half propped up against a wall, breathing slowly, sleeping deeply. I could hear it now, the sound I’d been searching for before, the dull thud of a heartbeat, it now seemed to echo all around the alleyway, so loud it seemed amazing he could sleep through it. It was slow and steady, which explained why it had been so hard to hear before.

I felt my gums itch and long predatory canines extend from my jaw, firm and sharp enough to tear through muscle and tendons, as easily as a knife through butter. I stalked closer and felt like my entire body was vibrating, tension and excitement rushing through me, but also a deep hunger that threatened to tear me apart if it wasn’t satiated soon.

He could not have heard me approach but some people just know, in those few seconds before it happens they recognise that they are in danger, a left over instinct from when humans were hunters, or just a coincidence. Whatever the reason might be as I approached he awoke from his slumber, aware that something was coming for him. I could already sense the indistinct terror coming from him; it was like my presence sent a cold, harsh chill up his spine. Using the wall behind him for support he got to his feet, he looked around, but couldn’t locate the source of this dread that held him tightly in its grasp. I could almost taste the fear, it caused his heart to race, blood surging through him. This unfortunately only served to make him a more appealing meal.

I grasped him firmly by the jaw, but even as he struggled he fell deeper under my influence, I jerked his head to one side revealing his bare neck to me. The throbbing of blood in his veins and arteries was almost too much; his pulse beating was as sweet a sound as I have ever heard. I drew closer and decided how to fed.

When feeding in situations like this there are only two safe and quick choices. The first is the carotid artery which is easy to reach, placed conveniently between the earlobe and the collar bone, just underneath the jaw. They carry oxygenated and nutrient-rich blood to the brain; the blood in arteries has a better taste and a more potent charge, but the arterial walls are thicker and tougher to pierce than veins. When pierced, arteries can create more of a mess than piercing a vein, which is more than likely why many of my kind tend to choose the jugular vein.  The jugular veins which are on either side of the neck carry the used up blood, as it flows back to the heart. It’s easy to get to, but getting bitten in the jugular vein will most likely result in death, as the vein flows directly to the heart.

While hunger could often get the better of my judgement I knew that it would not do well to leave a trail of bodies behind. In the modern era humans have convinced themselves that monsters like myself don’t exist but it only takes the evidence piling up, in this case a whole bunch of bodies drained of their blood, with twin holes in the neck for them to reconsider this notion and then we have to contend with a prey that’s fully aware of our existence, and shadows are thrown open to their intense scrutiny.

So to protect our way of existence and obviously to protect my own interests I always resisted that killer instinct. There would always be a part of me that craved blood, which desired to latch onto some poor soul and drain every last drop of crimson life from their body. I always made sure never to fully satisfy my urges, because no matter how deeply I drank or for how long there would always be a part of me that wanted more, that wanted to bathe in oceans of blood. I needed to resist that urge not out of any particular moral leanings, although I do have some sympathy for the humans, but because I refuse to be controlled by anything even if it’s my own needs.

As I lowered myself ever closer to his neck, I focused on the carotid, while there was indeed more mess and it was indeed harder to get what I craved but it was safer for the human, much less chance of them dying unexpectedly.

Finally I felt my fangs pierce the vulnerable flesh of his neck, and the warm sustaining nectar rushed forth, I felt myself drawing in every drop that I could. Suddenly our hearts started beating as one, as they were being driven by the same potent force. This was the moment to break apart, when our lives were linked, when I was draining him dry, this moment when I could still his heart beating strongly. Suddenly I felt like I could not, the warmth touched my lips and it was just too good. Decades of restraint and control were about to be flushed down the drain just because this feeling felt too incredible.

That might have been the end for that man had it not been for a discarded newspaper, I spotted it out of the corner of my eye, and almost instantly tore myself from the grip of my meal. Quicker than seemed possible, too quick for human eyes at least I snatched the newspaper from the ground and read the headline.

Camille De la Lune (not her real name, but then again when someone has as much money as she they can call themselves whatever they like and the masses will just go along with it) our city’s oldest resident, was to spend her final night among the living. The doctor’s estimated that she would pass away in the early hours of the morning, apparently even her vast wealth couldn’t extend her life any longer. My heart twinged uncomfortably. She had been the one woman, in over six centuries of existing to make it seem like living again. She had captured his heart and without tapping a vein had made it beat again, just for her. Back when she was young and I was just stupid I’d pursued her, at first because of her beauty then because of her purity. It attracted creatures like myself much like a moth to a flame, perhaps hoping to be enriched by the goodness and inherent piety or more likely hoping to corrupt it so that no light existed to illuminate the darkness inside them. Whatever the reason I desired her, wanting to make a conquest of her. She had been so sweet, but for all that sweetness she was twice as sharp. I didn’t stand a chance. Everything had been fine, at least until I made a very stupid mistake. I was honest with her. They say relationships that are built upon lies are doomed to fail, but it was the truth that had torn ours apart. I told her what I was. At heart she was a good little Christian, and apparently breaking the vows of celibacy before marriage was forgivable but sharing her bed with an abomination was too much.

That had been about ninety years ago so there were no torches or pitchforks, not like the good old days but I did have to run, because her family had connections and they didn’t take well to the stories she told. Obviously no one believed her tales of an undead monster, but they knew she’d been deflowered by some drifter that no one knew about, perhaps even forcibly and to cope she’d made up stories. I suppose anything would have been more believable than the simple fact that their daughter wasn’t as pure as they or even I had thought. So rather than stick around I spent a few decades travelling, and slowly forgetting her. When I returned much had changed but mostly she had.

A whole other life, friends and obligations and the thousands of tiny things that fill up the minutia of a life well lived. She had become a person of influence, that was why the city now celebrated her life and why it would mourn her passing when she drew her last breath.

My head felt heavy with memories, and thoughts and feelings. Should I find her? After all these years would I even be able to, she was important and therefore protected and just because she’d never had a family didn’t mean she would be alone. Did I even want to see her? I didn’t even know where to look, although being a hunter, all it would take is time. Although given the circumstances that’s something that I might not have. A curious condition for an immortal. If I closed my eyes I could still remember her smell, like the fresh bloom of roses and the salt of the ocean.

I inhaled deeply, taking in the night air, searching for something that was lost among the masses, for that smell. Searching for one heart among thousands of others, and hoping that it won’t beat its last before I found her. My heart hammered loudly, it was like a drumbeat rattling in my chest, that rebounded in my ears. The blood that I’d taken was making me more human, maybe it was making me less rational. More impulsive. The scent was faint, and as the wind waxed and waned it faded but it was definitely there and pulsing with the same intoxicating familiarity of a long lost lover. With the scent came a rush of memories that first made my heart flutter to new heights, then harden and plummet like a stone.

The blood that had been kindly donated to me burned through my veins, and fuelled my strength. It was the only thing that would get me to her in time. I ran, like a bat out of hell, and I suppose given my nature that as apt a metaphor as any. I needed to reach the woman that I had loved, and lost and who tonight I’d lose again for the last time. My body felt like it were fluid, the streets, the cars were just obstacles that I could flow past without resistance. To any passing observer I’d appear as nothing more than a flashing blur of blackness. The force that animated my undead form pushing me further to feats beyond any mortal. I needed to see her one last time. The smell was getting stronger now, sadly the smell of blooming roses seemed to have withered and the salty sea air had become stagnant. Still a potent musk but over the years as her body had become ravaged by the time her natural odour had followed.

That scent carried me forwards, towards shimmering towers that went a hundred feet and higher, until their tops made friends with the clouds. I remembered simpler times, back when the city was still new. The decades had been kind to it, and it had flourished till it was a shining diamond in a sea of rough. I seriously doubted that in the decades since I had last looked upon her face that my fair angel had fared so well. I slowed to a dead halt, the street was clear so no one had noticed my sudden appearance, my jaw ached and I noticed that my fangs were still drawn. I’d ran all that way in such a panic that I hadn’t even taken precautions to conceal the beast inside of me.

Now that I was here I found that I couldn’t bring myself to go any further, I just stood there in the street willing myself to follow either my nose or my heart, because both were currently leading me forward. I slowly put a single foot forward, and then another and stopped again. Clenching and unclenching all the muscles in my body. My fangs hidden, but itching to come out, clearly my nerves had disrupted decades of self control. Hunger gnawed at my stomach, begging me to find a snack (after all I’d been interrupted before I’d had my fill) anything to ease this feeling inside. I hadn’t knowingly been this close to her in so long, almost a lifetime and the connection we’d had was calling to me once again. I could feel her.

The haste that had brought me here, across an entire city had been halted by my own cowardice. I’d even been thinking of draining another poor fool into a stupor rather than facing my past.

The moon hung low, just over the tower with its benevolent chalky surface illuminating the nocturnal ocean that was the sky. If I’d had wings I might have flown, unfortunately the tales of my kind turning into bats was exaggerated and I was certainly no secret angel. If I were expected I might have just walked right through the door, but given the situation neither was a viable option. I stared upwards, certain just as I was that she didn’t have much longer that she was at the very top of the tower, no doubt in some high class suite. I approached the wall, and the supports that ran up the entire length of the building. I closed my eyes for a second willing a change within myself, the blood inside acting as fuel for the more supernatural elements of my biology. My nails started to grow until they were thick and sharp as knives and much longer than was normal. In a violent swing of motion I thrust my newly grown nails into the metal, the impact sent vibrations down my entire body and was distinctly painful, but at least they’d succeeded in penetrating the steel support. Slowly easing my weight forward, using the awesome strength I possessed I began to make steady progress upwards, scaling the skin of the tower, keeping my body pressed tightly against it. My motions were as stealthy and swift as a shadow, although frankly that image was a little too dark for me.

I traversed the night most capably, just as I had for the bulk of my undead existence, climbing skyward until I was so close to the heavens that I might grip the moon in the palm of my hand. I inhaled deeply trying to keep her scent, allowing it to keep leading me forward. Unfortunately my instincts and my nature overtook me, after all I wasn’t just some hound used to tracking, I was a predator, my entire body was geared to hunting down my prey. What I was doing was profoundly unnatural, although I suppose no more natural than some immortal creature who consumes the blood of mortals to survive. I’d lost her scent, all that filled my head was the sweet smell of thick, viscous blood and it cried out to me. I could hear a thousand heartbeats, all of them beating like mad to keep someone standing, and talking and eating and doing taxes and whatever else it was that people did. I felt my fangs protrude from my jaws, begging me to drain their bodies and revel in the death and decay. I might very well have given into my darker nature had I not heard one heartbeat that was different from the others, much slower than the others, a dull blood among a thousand drums. It snapped me out of the fugue that blood-lust could even now still bring about in me. My arms ached. I might be supernatural but even I had my limits and my arms had been taking my entire weight for considerably longer than they would have liked. I continued to climb, desperate to get to her before she was shunted from this mortal coil.

I saw against the liquid glass my own reflection, unchanged over the centuries with the same countenance of a lowly ruffian, untamed and wild as it had been when she had last seen me. My eyes adjusted and I saw past my own reflection, I saw past all of my insecurities and the years that had passed since we had last seen each other and saw her. She was no longer the beautiful young woman that I’d remembered although even in her advancing years she was still an imposing figure. No longer a powerful woman, age and sickness had stripped her of that but in her eyes you could still see the fire that had been with her through her long life. It was painful to see such a woman reduced to this, being fed through tubes, her only relief coming in the form of drugs being pumped into her veins, and even her breathing was done for her, by great big hissing machines. She was being taken slowly and painfully from this world, and none too gracefully either, there would be no dignity left to her in this passing.

I saw her face as it was now, and as it had been then and knew that even though many years had passed and we’d both changed much, although only one of us had on the outside that I still loved her.

Her face was a mask of experience, as though she were staring at her reflection in a clear pool of water and someone had come along and cast a stone breaking the surface and sending ripples across it. Each line upon her face showed but a pittance of years, when compared to the long centuries that I had lived but time had not left its mark upon me as it had her, and it had left a great deal of marks come to speak of it. She looked so fragile, her skin looked rough like parchment, and her limbs thin and frail, how could time do this to a person. I wanted to cry. In that moment I thought to myself that if given a choice I would gladly take every wrinkle that I was owed, I wished that time were flipped on its head and the ripples cleared until she was once again young, and healthy and safe.

Her once fiery red hair that had danced in the breeze when we went on long walks, in the evening just as the sun was setting. Now it was lank and grey and unkempt. But looking past the physical I could still hear the fragile song of her heart, I listened deeply, allowing it to fill me until I felt heavy. Probably not the best feeling when you’re dangling from a tower, but suddenly the strain felt negligible, I felt numb to it as I watched her.

Easing my hand away from the support, allowing my supernatural strength to keep me steady, I softly tapped at the window. I hoped that my call didn’t fall on deaf ears, and considering the rate of her deterioration that might not be just an expression. However she stirred, like a wounded bird, her head jutted upwards slowly and shakily searching for the source of the noise. Her eyes seemed to strain to make out the dark shape that was my body. Her face that was already deathly pale, like the moonlight behind me became whiter still. The shock seemed to rob her of strength, something which she was greatly lacking in her current position. We both seemed to be held in a moment of inaction for what felt like a lifetime, and sadly only one of us had the luxury of that kind of time.

Finally she made a move, literally. She raised her arm, quite a testament to how weak she was because even that simple task was an immense struggle. But she kept fighting to raise it, just enough to do what she wanted to do.

She pointed a single long, slender finger at me and beckoned me forward before letting her arm fall exhausted at her side. Taking my invitation kindly, I pressed gently but firmly against the glass and pushed it open. I slipped in with ease and left the window open behind me to facilitate a quick escape should I need one. As quiet as a whisper I stood at the foot of her bed letting the silence hang between us, until she said or did something that could let me know how to react. Her eyes were wide, not in horror but in some shade of wonder. It was as if she were unsure whether I were some miraculous dream she was having, and even if I was she didn’t care. After so many years, the passage of time hung like a canyon between us. I waited, as still as the grave and eventually she smiled. Despite knowing what I was, and once even abandoning me because of it, in the end she was happy to see me. Her smile sent my heart racing, and her eyes still burned with that same old passion, she still seemed to have so much life inside her, even if her body wasn’t so sure. Her smile grew even brighter as I approached, and in spite of myself I shared my own with her.

I did not hate her for what she had done all those years ago, not for rejecting me or casting me out for something that I could not change within myself, I could even forgive her for getting old one me but the one thing that I found myself hating was that I stood here frozen, not just on the spot but in time. Unchanged, still afraid of the same things, still too arrogant to admit to even myself my true feelings, I was too afraid to admit why this mattered so much.

She was for all intents and purposes the last mortal thing about me, the last attachment to the moral world and she was fading fast, right before my eyes. I had loved other women after her but she was the last person with whom I’d felt a genuine connection and I worried that once she was gone and that connection was severed I would lose my humanity. It had always been a battle to fight the darkness inside of me, the bloodlust but until now it had been a battle I had been winning, but with her gone would that still be the case?

In the short time since I had discovered that she would not be long for this world I’d become desperate and near dangerous, I’d even considered tearing apart a building full of innocents just because of that loss of control, and she had been my anchor, my morality and without her as a reminder of the man that I had been would I descend into the darkness.

It was only as these thoughts raced through my head that I realized just how dark the room itself was and so reached for a small light by the bed and flicked the switch, and the room was illuminated. Out of the darkness and there she was.

The light itself wasn’t particularly bright, just a relaxing glow rather than an overpowering luminescence. She looked up at me, still smiling as I got closer to her, the machine by her bed took a long puff and she breathed another full breath. I tried not to think how many more there might be. I took her hand as gently as I was able, holding it as tightly as I dared without causing her any further pain. I waited until she returned the embrace of my hand with a faint squeeze before whispering

“My angel, what has happened to you?”

Again she just smiled, and I wondered if she could speak, or if she really understood what was going on, after all I knew not how much of her mind was left and just because life burned behind those eyes didn’t mean there was really anyone home. I put these thoughts out of my head and instead focused on her hand in mine, feeling their coldness but also their familiarity, I hoped that whatever her condition my grip provided some degree of comfort. After a while I noticed that her gaze had shifted to something behind me and I turned to see what it was that had drawn her attention.

There in a thick silver frame was a portrait, it looked very old, in fact I knew it was because it depicted me, not as she’d known me, but an entire lifetime or two ago. It was me with a pure white shirt with a ruffled collar and long flowing hair as was the style back then and most prominent was a look of imperialistic dominance over my fellow man. I had been a different man when this picture had been taken, much younger, not human, I’d been a vampire for a while when it had been painted and had been revelling in the power and destruction that could be wrought with them. I had been an arrogant and foolish child, it had been decades before I learned responsibility and self control. And obviously I still struggled with that even today but back then I still had a lot to learn.

Next to the old painting was another, the style was far more crude but nonetheless it was beautiful, upon its canvas was stood a lone figure, pale and dark, with my cheekbones but frankly none of my charm. Although who am I to be a critic? It was another painting of me, in my hand their rested a silver cross and I seemed to be kneeling as if to pray. I turned to her, but she just turned her head back to the paintings.

Understanding that she wished for me to take a closer look, I approached the painting, taking a look firstly at the older of the two. In the bottom left hand corner was a small inscription, a signature by the artist, his initials and the date “1642” that painting was more than likely, and hopefully the only remaining physical record of my ill fated visit to Austria, there had been a great deal of bloodshed, most of it was not by my hands and it was during that time that I decided not to associate with my kind when it could be avoided. That was a hard lesson that in hindsight I wished had been learned via a lesser extreme. My kind shouldn’t gather in large groups because it magnifies our predatory nature, makes us more deadly, more prone to violence.

The painting itself had been created by a young man with whom I’d become friends with during my travels, he had been a kind and effervescent fellow, desperate to share his talent, and I’d been vain enough to provide him with a muse. He’d died soon after this was painted and I thought it had been destroyed along with him. How she’d acquired it a distinct curiosity but the question that really burned at me was why she’d made the effort to find it. I turned my attention to the other painting. From what I could gather she most likely painted it herself, and it was surprisingly well painted for an untrained talent, great use of darkness to counterpoint a few splashes of colour.

The picture showed my true nature, with broad fangs barely contained by a smile. The smile itself thankfully had no menace in it. And there was no blood, just the moon, the indigo sky and the glittering silver of the cross. It was painted lovingly and there also in the bottom corner were scribbled the words “The devils have been kind to you”

I smiled and turned back to her, she nodded gently before closing her eyes for a moment, she didn’t seem asleep but she did seem exhausted. She couldn’t tell me in words but she had managed through this painting to let me know that she was sorry, that she had made a mistake, this picture let me know that she had come to see me as some sort of dark angel, or at the least no longer as some sort of wicked and vile seducer. I sat at her side, and took her hand again, her eyes opened and she smiled at me, I could see the moonlight reflecting in her eyes, and for a moment turned to the open window to watch as the night waxed on and the moon rose higher, it seemed to like it was shining directly through the open window, bathing us in its glow. I watched as Camille De la Lune, daughter of an ordinary man and woman, and the most extraordinary woman I had ever known just breathed and smiled.

She couldn’t talk, so I did not make her, instead I decided to tell her about my life. Not just what had happened since we last spoke but the whole sordid affair.

Over six hundred years of life, a lot of living, and unfortunately as anything my kind are involved in there was also a lot of death, but I chose to omit the more gruesome moments. I told her of all the great moments in history that had been seen by my eyes. I told her of pirates and follies and sea, wars and the price of liberty, of climbing the highest peaks and being aware that only a handful of people had or ever would see what I had observed. I told her about coming face to face with animals of all shapes and sizes, some that even still were bizarre to me. I hoped that in hearing tales of my exploits, her passing would be easier, that she could somehow live vicariously through my stories. Then I felt it, her body tensed and her heart began to still, her fragile human life was coming to an end.

As she lay there, struggling for breath she attempted gave me one final gift, with the last of her strength she raised her wrist to my lips. She gave me a desperate look and I knew what I needed to do. I felt my canines extend in my mouth, never before had the act of taking blood been so difficult nor so important. As delicately as possible, I did what came naturally and pierced her skin with my fangs. I drank deeply, taking in the gift of her last moments, this was far more intimate than the average feeding. I could feel her mind, it was linked with mine, her voice was in my head, it was little more than a whisper but I could hear it clearly.

“I am sorry, can you ever forgive me?”

I felt how desperate she was for my forgiveness and I gave it willingly, I made it clearer with my thoughts than I ever could with my words and felt her own relief wash over me, our thoughts and feelings were intermingling. I felt her sharing her memories, I saw them as if I were part of them, as well as an observer. Not only did I see them, but I truly felt them, like they were my own. I observed the tapestry of my her life as it flowed from her vein to my mouth. I saw her childhood, a young girl with hair like blood and eyes mad with excitement. I saw her family and friends and had struggled to remember that they weren’t mine.

I shared my own, and felt her experience them, now she truly could live in my memories at least until we broke apart. But at least when we parted I’d always have her memories, and they would live on inside me, for as long as my immortal life lasted.

I felt her growing cold, her heart was almost still and yet in the space on a few moments we’d experienced each other’s lives in the most intimate way. It was fear that had torn us apart, her fear that I was some wicked shade sent to corrupt her, and my own fear of a mortal life, of losing another person or worse making them like me, only for them to be changed, to lose what made them what they were. She was no longer afraid, not now that we were together once again. She was almost gone, growing weaker, her voice, her body everything was fading to black, and if I didn’t break apart soon I’d be consumed with it and dragged into oblivion along with her. And yet it was too hard.

I felt her go, everything was fading, her voice spoke its last

“I love…

I pulled away, breathing deeply, my heart racing and my body burning, I felt her life-force sustaining my own and it emboldened me to know that while she was gone she would be preserved inside of me, for as long as I continue to exist. That thought itself was important, i was sure that I shouldn’t waste this gift, with her death she had given me life renewed. I had been absent from the real world, from real life for far too long, just existing when there was so much more to experience.

Besides it wasn’t like I didn’t know what she had been going to say, I had been inside her mind, and she in mine, I knew what she was going to say because I had felt it. There had been no need for words. And yet I had held out almost till the end just to hear her say it anyway. And even though it might have killed to stay, it had still taken all the strength that I possessed to break away from her.

I felt an incredible sense of loss now that she was gone but I took solace in the fact that she had spent her last few moments on this planet with me, her memories were a part of me and I would carry them all the days of my long life.

It was only now that I became aware of the beeping from her machines, the dull flat line, how long had they been ringing, not too long, surely I would have noticed them sooner had then been beeping for too long. The door to the room opened and a tired man in a white coat entered, he didn’t immediately notice my presence and I took advantage of that and moved to the window as fast as I was able. I felt him look up, but all he would have seen is a blur, a shadow of motion charge towards the window. I disappeared into the night. The moon still hung high in the sky, and as I hurtled towards the ground I knew I would chase that moon, I would follow it to a new day and hopefully a new life.

-The End-


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