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Traveling Cirles

A very old vampire looks over the existance of our races. One-shot. cWhat is a circle?What is a line on a page?Something so simple yet something so strange. Even simple things have a purpose. Have an importance. Have a meaning.

Unique like everything else. Simple

1. Dust

Rating 5/5   Word Count 2037   Review this Chapter

Dust. That’s all the world seemed to consist of recently. Light webs of dust covering solid, moulded clumps of it. Rather pointless really.

I have existed through millennium after millennium on and on and on and yet I have never seen so much dust. I have watches as humans clothed themselves in mud and live in the mud. I had done so too. But the human race has never been more filthy, so dusty, so pointless…existence has never been so pointless.

I brush my finger tips through the air, collecting the dancing dust in the crevices of my skin. New ‘vampires’ do not take heed of this message. They are new and stupid, just like the humans. Even the ones that professed to be old knew nothing of the world. Children dancing off the cliff edge.

I have been a part of this existence for so long that I have no specific recollection of my origins. It is a small pity and somewhat irksome lack of knowledge. I merely remembered being. I remember a time before I had studied and learnt. How it felt to be blind and ignorant. Only, I grew up and became stronger, better. If only the others could follow my example. The poor limited creatures, easily dazzled by an illusion.

I remember the glorious days, before my children destroyed everything I had created, when I was worshipped for what I am. When I was called The Sun, Beautiful Lady Death. Those centuries of praise and power when humans would offer their lives willingly. They were far more intelligent then, understood the powers and the balance of life, and the inevitability, the peace of death. Ah but who am I to speak of death, you may ask. True I cannot say I have experienced it first hand. I am, however, well acquainted with the process and the emotions of it.

I believe I was a good leader. I cannot blame myself for the decline of the human race… at least not directly. I had learnt everything about humans as it was possible. I had studied them and their interactions. I had read every word in every human language. They had fascinated me. I had nothing else to do. I was alone. So I tried to teach the humans. My ideas, sadly, were beyond the grasp of the human brain. The mighty ruler who thought to teach the peasant.

Here is where I blundered. I thought to make them more intelligent, to create more of my race. I thought it would help them understand and in tern I hoped to help the humans by providing more teachers. Humans were never meant to become like me. They never were and never will be. My mistake and their stupidity ruined it. Everything good is defiled by the limits of humans.

I was limited myself at that time. I did not fully understand what I know now. It was one mistake I had to learn from the hard way. I know everything there is to know. I have watched the world from the beginning of time. I have grown. I have seen everything. I have tasted all. I have smelt each intricate scent. I have heard every sound from the melody of a ‘phoenix’(a human definition) to the slow, deep speech of the rocks. Yes I have talked to tress and rocks and animals. It is really quite simple. That is my gift you see: to seek out that which I wish to study and to gain which ever power is needed to achieve an understanding.

That is why I am so undetected, unlike my children, because I simply wish to be. I have watched secretly and observed critically as they stumble about blindly. I have left them to it; I am always busy until now. I should not have let them wander… I should not have created them in the first place. The old trappings of history, wasted on an old hierophant like me.

Why have I done all these things? Why have I seen, touched and tried everything? Because I have been bored. I have no other entertainment. I never took a permanent mate because I am always questing for perfection. It is the curse of my existence that I cannot be content and happy with what is. That each lover passes me by as is the sweet justice of my creation. Also I was curious: my gift gave me what I needed and so I took the opportunity. It is embarrassing to say but your reactions are so strange. I loved to watch the simple delight of a child at first walking, the light of intuition, a tiny breath against the odds. A hermit, I watched you interact with each other. It is still beautiful. But I have seen it so many times with so many creatures that it has become dust. That is the bane of eternal life.

Yet I still kill the humans I guided, just as they kill each other. I still eat the animals I talk to, just as other animals attack them- with perhaps more regard than most humans do. I follow the patterns of nature. Never interrupting. Only observing. True, I have interrupted by the creation of my children. I feel, however, they would have come anyway, another doomed race to share this planet. I only wish they would listen when I try to teach them. But I fear they cannot see it any more. I have blinded them in my quest to open their eyes. I have made mistakes, as we all do. I tampered with humans for my own experiment and created monsters that wrecked havoc and only served to widen the gap I had hoped to close between myself and humans. And now all my direct children have died out, stupidly destroying each other. The ones that are left still carry my gift but they are degraded, human and stupid. They kill each other without thought.

I have watched my latest surviving children as they follow the slow demise of humans. They have taken the naivety of humans for granted. They have taken their powers for granted; using all skills for battles and boasts. They have brought their food home instead of using what I gave them. They have turned dusty. Their minds have been eaten by dust to such and extent that they have turned back to the humans they once were. The wheel of fortune spinning endlessly on. I am the only one who can see what has happened. My observations have enlightened me. Perhaps ignorance is truly bliss, how many times I have wished for it, just for the peace. Ah but I would never give up the knowledge I have collected. Perhaps I am foolish, clinging weakly to what I know.

The answer is circles. The world is travelling in circles. You are travelling in circles. I am travelling in circles. The circles of our secondly, minutely, hourly, daily, weekly, fortnightly, monthly, six monthly, yearly existence

Really its just one circle: the circle of time. Of our existence.

How shall I describe the circle? Well there are two really, how I contradict myself. These circles are inexorably linked so they are one.

The first one is the pattern of our lives: we are born, our experiences, love, possible marriage, children- or none of these, death. Then again: birth, love, death… and so on. No matter whether you are in love with vampires, on other planets, control magic or just lead the normal life, your existence is part of the circle. The same circle and the bane of my existence. The circle is so repetitive that there is no possible escape from it.

And that is just it: the second circle of one. We are trapped in a sphere of life; life the way we know it. And here you must think of a large white sphere, inside which we all wander around. There are windows, small gaps through which those who are enlightened enough may glimpse what lies outside the sphere. But there is no door. No way to step fully into the outside. And that is the beauty of the trap: while we are inside we have no idea how to get outside. All we can do is guess at the simple glimpses we are afforded, ask each other what it is they see. Interpret that as we may. I truly feel that if we are to find a way off this cycle of life and into a different path then we must find our way out.

Society doesn’t help the situation. You say your technology has moved forward but I see that your society has moved backward. And what is technology but a vessel through which to channel ourselves? Brilliant human minds have stood bare on a stage and called to the rest of human kind to follow them but have they? No. Even now organisations struggle to implant somewhat small seed of understanding on others minds. But fear keeps your race back. It limits my children’s race as well. Only recently have they discovered the extent of human and vampire interaction. So they think. I have spent centuries talking with the lesser life forms and guiding them. Until my children terrorised them, that is. We would have a great civilisation now if it were not for the easily tampered minds of humans. And fear. Fear of difference.

I trace my strong fingers ever so delicately over the objects on the human child’s shelf. By the time you are reading this limited writing I will have already finished this action long ago but for now I am still caught in the trap of time. Yes, this writing is severely limited. It is the lilted and distorted by the pathetically incapable mind of the human I am forced to translate this through. Why am I using this simple life form to communicate to others? Because you will believe it to be a complex work of fiction. You will still think.

Thinking is essential. What little of this already simplified script you understand should set your thoughts in line. Hopefully you will share it with fellow species. Hopefully you will make the right decisions unconsciously in the future. That is all I strive for: some thought and awareness. I pray for genius people to read this and understand. The only remaining reason is that I am bored with life. I am bored with the repetitive patterns I see unfolding around me.

I stare around at the room; a reflection of the person. Everything is predictable: the colours- which are not her choice but rather the old tones from the previous tenant that she has put up with. The modern touches mingled with the memories. The waste you cling to so desperately. The pictures are a mixture of hand drawn and painted. I can easily distinguish between the child’s own hand, another artist and a human ‘professional’. The pictures from this ‘professional’ are all of landscapes and in the repetition I can detect that the child may favour this artist’s work. Perhaps a friend or relative?

The simple fact is here in her room: in our individuality we are in fact the same. Stuck on the same circle. Harbouring the same artefacts. Thinking the same things if not in the same way. And following through exactly the same behaviour of millenniums gone by. Surely it is the time for change.

I have experienced everything, watched, learnt and understood. Except one. Perhaps that is why the boredom has reached me. I am part of nature but I will never die. I will never die peacefully. Perhaps that is the next secret I must find; the secret of rest. Perhaps the next adventure is in the discovery of the life beyond this one. That is the next step for my kind.

What is the next step for yours? Who will make it first? When will they dare?