Twice an Abomination:
"Have you ever watched your parents die, in front of your face then have sit back and be expected not do anything about it." Frankly I was more concerned with how controlled my tone of voice was because honestly, I was livid, in a fury, all that red-hot rings of hell fire nonsense. A girl tells one lie and wham-bam the town screams your pants are on fire man. Not like they wanted the truth after-all, the truth as I see it is rather counter-productive. Not to mention mundanes do have a tendency to ignore blatant things when regarding the supernatural, how they can't see what is in front of their faces I'll never know.
"Please Bells get a grip, why must you continue with these lies." Kristine's voice was like the dripping sweet orange honey you'd spend ten dollars at a farmers market for. Ever met those sorts of people, too tan to be in the sun too long without having contracted melanoma, too lovely to not be bitter that you weigh five pounds less that her. Normal people tend to loss it around these people and then somehow get blamed for the entire alteration. Given this vast knowledge of mine, you'd have thought I would have walked slowly away. That is however, not what I regrettably did.
"You know, Kristine I have seen more than you can possibly imagine." Octave's of vocal cords rose, crowds swarmed like bees to Kristine's honey and my 'cool' was effectively lost.
"Really like all of Colorado, wow I think we all have seen that." The woman had whiter teeth than my skin, it was unnatural, how much time did she time in her dentists chair anyway?" So rather harmlessly – I thought – nudged into her mind and simply suggested that should she ever be asked she ought to tell everyone the truth about how she lost all that weight last summer when she swore she was braiding orphan hair in Chicago while training for the marathon on her spare time.
"I imagine you have seen quite a few more places than I have Kristie, you know what with you summer in that Chicago orphanage. Right?" She blanched, her throat swallowed heart pulsed below the skin of her cartulary artery.
"Actually," Her voice went light and as taunt as a drawn bow with eyes wide she prattled on about a "surgical procedure" that raised her self-esteem, when the rather extensive monologue was then Kristie flushed bright like the tomato soup she poured into Lizzie Kramer's locker four weeks ago. "Well at lest I'd save my parents if they were dying, tell me do you wish you were dead because I would, if I had done nothing."
This time the nudge wasn't so much of a nudge as a penetration; my brief quirk of smile vanished with her last word and so did hers. When I complied her this time, it was less of a confession and more of an infiltration. Kristie would feel the heat first in her fingers, I always start there and work up, they buckle quicker that way. The fire spread like a spiders webs crawling through her system like a CNS stimulant. She screamed my face ever passive turned from her as her knees sunk into the grass. The crowd looked between my slowly retreating form and the crying bundle of Kristie who to them seemed to be under-attack from an invisible assailant, people mumbled to call 911, others to call an asylum and some for the principle.
For a moment a contemplated leaving her there, writhing in a consuming fire, inescapable, her personal purgatory to pay the penance of her wrongdoings. But I was the farthest thing on the earth from God so my touch retreated from its presence in her mind and with it went the compulsion.
"People oughtn't talk of what they do not understand Kristine." Sometimes, no not sometimes all the time I wish I never had been turned into a vampire. But I just kept that to myself as one of my many secrets bequeathed onto my heart.
She looked at me in horror and slowly stood; when I tried to help her she screamed bloody murder. "No, don't touch me!" It was killer on the eardrums, and then she ran away crying and felt like very soon I would follow the suit if the echo did not stop.
Ironic, isn't how you thought yourself high enough to dole out penance and now find yourself paying it. And of course the empathy would set it, record timing with the guilt, bravo.
My mind stretched out its feather touch to the crowd, groping itself way to Kristie. Nudging into their mind I implied that they ought not remember that a girl like Isabella Swan ever existed. The lucky bastards. Easy to forget when you've had to memories stolen, what I'd give for someone the come take some of mine. You know you would think you would forget at least some of the people you killed or tortured but no there all there stuck together like rose-petals in my head. Ever a reminder of my twice abomination.
I walked behind the local grocery store we were standing in front of during this entire altercation and slowly began pulling away at my condensed solid form until every part of me dissolved I often refer to this little gift as 'blinking' because it happens so fast not many see it happen unless your looking for it. One moment you're here than you're there, simple. Their had been another who could 'blink' like me, apparently the talent is extremely rare in vampires and requires a certain skill for skillfully managing to move quickly, silently, and startle people as a human. However the Volturi don't take kindly to excess displays of power, he had to be dealt with.
Once I was inside my house I changed clothes, well I imagined my old sweatpants and a V-neck shirt to on me and my other clothes to be in the hamper and then it happened. 641 years old and still a girl can't handle another mean girl without resorting to supernatural means. Its nauseating, not the action, the reaction. I was going to have to move again, I absolutely despised moving, the whole box thing and prospect of "packing", I never understood it. Who needs more than a duffle bag?
"I'm so stupid." My hand came to my forehead involuntarily. Great Bella just great, now you'll have a headache while blinking this stuff across the world. I breathed in, two calming breathes even though I didn't need air I enjoyed its taste, very soothing. I sighed, went to the map. Okay Bells where do we go from here…
Nothing ever happens in small towns. Like anybody in Washington lives in a place called Forks because the house hasn't been in their family for generations. I reached for my laptop, researched Forks to look for compact normalcy in the middle of a wilderness. I rarely ever bought a house, mostly because it's a nuisance I would just have to go through the trouble of credit, escrogrow, and then selling it. So I pick a spot, think of the house I wish for and in its dead center to its equinox I bury thyme, rosemary, lavender and a damp mustard seed. Separate from that are the dried elderberries, placed in the five points of the start for protection, for when dried elderberries are worse than hemlock root.
I thought of Forks, a clearing in a forest nobody would ever think to hike near then pulled from my patchwork shoulder bag the thyme, rosemary, lavender, and mustard seed along with my small gardening shovel. My lips move as I dig four inches wide and eight inches down, old Latin flows freely even though I haven't used it in months. I move to the five points and elderberries once the mustard seed is fully buried and blessed. Than I picture it the big framed house, roman in its atrium, solid walls, archways, a patio off the second story loft and Greek in its Corinthian columns. The walls are cement; made to look like a yellowed masons stone, gather at the two up-stairs arch windows. The house is regular and spectacular, not what you'd expect to find in the middle of a forest.
Stepping through the vertical paneled wooden door reminds me of Rome, I feel the solid walls, soft and already cold from the air "Ignis." My voice echoes through the indented columned atrium the fire place lights to my left and I sink crossed-legged onto the wooden floorboards. I looked around the empty house I had nothing really, an overly large duffle bag and a patchwork satchel I've had since the sixties and have literally been 'patching' to fix its holes. And a golden ring around my neck.
I walked down the two steps into the atrium and sat at the piano to play Debussy's Claire de Lune. The golden oak of the piano's varnished reflected the orange glow of the fire as I lift the bar, my hands skimmed the white and black keys. I sat there in silence. Thinking of tomorrow, thinking I ought to play something, thinking I ought to have more things, thinking I was hungry. Seems all I ever do lately is think, it's exhausting.
First days of school are the worst even when you know what is going to happen.