My Dearest Maria,

There is blood on my hands. Thin, yet viscous rivulets of the stuff run down my cheeks, clot my hair. My dress, reeks, yet even though the colour shouts out,accusing, it is hidden. The smell, however is heady - the blood of the unwashed. Delicious, just as you promised. After the act was done, I bent to taste it, to discover the sublime warmth of it in my mouth, to see if I could feel what you feel when you take it. I licked the blood from my father's face, ran my fingers around in it, my stepmother's wounds opened for me, the warmth gushing over my fingers. It's coppery heat filled me, consuming. I know now what you feel, how the life flows from one vessel into another, it's magenta vitality transfered. I have never felt more alive than when I was stealing life. Oh my love, your way is the true way. the path I long to follow.

I did this for you, my cherished one. Took the hatchet and stole their lives, freeing me to revel in the pleasures of hedonism with you. I know that my offer, my sacrifice will open your eyes and let you see that my love flows for you, flows like the blood of my family, it's hue deep crimson, it's taste the taste of wine, of lovemaking, of your sweet lips.

When you recieve this missive, I know you will return. Here in this dingy little backwater town, where the streets are crowded with the ignorant. Walking corpses who know so little Filled with French and Portuguese immigrants who mock me, who could never understand the love we share. And then there are the ones who say they like me - money grubbing so-called members of "society." There lives are filled with trivialities all of them the walking dead.

All but two now, my love. Father rests in the parlor downstairs, his hideous, bloated body bearing mute witness to a life that knew no joy, knew only miserly ways and cruelty, feigning behind the ignorant mask of honor. And only feet away from my bedroom lies the body of the fat one, my stepmother. Felled by the bed, she lays, a corpulent mistake, something that should never have lived. And truely has she ever lived? Has she ever known the kind of love that we two shared and can share, through eternity? I think not.

I wish you could see them my cherished one. I wish you could squat in your fine satin and lace and sup on their flesh, on their hot blood as it pumped from their bodies. Not since lying in your arms have I known such passion as when I took that hatchet and split open their sad bodies, releaing the life essence within. My heart filled with joy as hot blood splattered my face, and hands. And yes, oh yes, to taste them!

By the time you return to me - as I know you will, for your passion runs as deep as blood lust, as true as our hearts pumping through our veins the life of others less deserving of love and passion than we - the bodies of my father and stepmother will have turned cold. Will have been hauled away by the so-called authorities to play their detective games, to find a soul to accuse. Even if they did they would not be able to prove it was me who did this hideous deed. Hideous in their eyes, love. In our eyes, we see only beauty... the magnificent scarlet of the life force.

Bridget is outside, washing windows. Her stinking Irish work ethic never granting her a moment's respite from the heat, heat that has, these past few days, pressed in so close as to feel palpable, making any movement real effort. The fact that I did this for you, oh beautiful one, when my strength is sapped by the heat proves only how deep runs my love for you. I felt only joy as my sweat and their blood commingled. And Bridget will be the one who will bear witness that it could never have been me, the dutiful younger daughter, who could steal life away in a way the uninitiated could never comprehend.

Sister - you remember the little mouysy little shadow who watched us from the upstairs window as we kissed, as you bit gently at my wrists, tasting me, drawing forth my essence so we two could truely be one - is away for the first time in her life, at the seaside, with our cousins. Pity. She could have been the one to take all the blame. Too weak to protest, she would have been the perfect culprit, putty in the hands of those obsessed with solving crimes.

But I am clever, as you know, and I venture to say we will watch as the mystery of my parents' deaths confounds generations. Delicious isn't it?

And everything I have will be ours. Father's money, Maplecroft and the land he earned through deviousness, through meaness and trickery. No matter. We'll sell it all, traveling the world and tasting life wherever we go.

I will become one of you, just as you promised. You do remember, don't you, how you told me you would make me one of you? Please say you haven't forgotten. Your silence tells me only one thing - you await proof of my love, proof of my worthiness to be with you, your clan, to be one of the chosen ones. The Hedonists.

An proof lies in the blood pudding, even without this letter you will know of my act, from the newspapers,from gossiping wagging tongues.

Wherever you are.

And when you know you will know at last how much I love you and want to spend all my endless nights with you, arising at dusk to watch the blood red moon rise above the horizon, to scurry back at dawn to the warmth of our lair, licking from our lips the sweet nectar, the blood of those less worthy than we.

You told me once as we sat by the Taunton river, it's dark waters sending up the smell of life, of your father the father of you all - Vlad Dracul, and howw his dominance might prevent our being together for eternity. You told me there were traditions in your world and that these traditions must be obeyed. One of the traditions was that it is wrong of you to make me one of you so that our hearts might be intertwined forever. My sweet Maria, I have already taken the life of my father and I could do the same for yours should he stand in the way of our consuming passion.

A less believing soul might have believed you gave me this speech as some sort of farewell. but I know you were only seeking to have me prove myself to you.

I have done so. Taken the body and the blood, won't you now come back to me? I long to feel your cold embrace and the ice chill of your kiss upon my throat. IU long to lay in a mahogany coffin with you, the lid shut, closing out the world so all that exsists is each other.

Tell me what else you need from me, my vampyre lover and I will do it. I will kneel at your altar for eternity, burn candles to your image, prey to you as the uninitiated pray to their Christ. I will pray to Vlad Dracul if that is what you require I will do whatever it takes to be yours!

The August heat rises up. I am weary. Soon, they will come and discover what I have done. Discover but never comprehend. Only you can do that. Only you can appreciate my worth. They will call my sister, my uncle John and the and the town of Fall River will be astounded by my handiwork.

I have already planted the seeds for my acquittal, should I be charged with what those who do not understand call murder Only last night I went to my friend, Miss Russel and told her, cryptically, but enough to plant the seed of doubt - I am afraid will do something; I don't know what but somone will do something.

So you see, my beautiful fanged goddess, I will be free to be with you. Come to me please, see me though this time of travail. I have no one, sav for you.

Their blood is on my hands.

In closing, I repeat the words of Elizabeth Barret Browning, who could never have known how closely her famous, lauded words could fit our situation;

I love thee with a love I seemed to love

I shall but love thee better after death

Be with me, my beautiful one. I await your return and shall wait, my dear, until death washes over me.

Yours for all time
Lizzie Borden

© 2001

Posted by Vladimir Sat, 06/09/2007 - 20:11

 

Break Me

The lunatic inside my soul reaches out and touching you gently brings forth the blood from your multiple wounds.
Like a cat licking cream off its paw, I taste you and you are ever so sweet.
Like sin melting on the tongue, and the smell of jasmine in the air to cover the scent of you.
That powerful aphrodisiac that leaves me weak and wet.
The kaleidoscope of images from one single dream one single touch.
And I can feel you under my claws and the pain is so exquisite, I want to bleed with you.

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Murder suspect: 'I am a vampire who sucks blood'

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From the hinges of night: silence. Except the far-away swashing of the sea, this vast penetrating pulsation of ancient waters on the coasts of the island. Which could be Sicily, or Sardinia, or one of the Barbados. We have no datum points, no parameters.

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Out of cold black space came light and earth and water, and out of these came the garden behind my house.

The garden is mine-- or it is me, I'm not sure anymore.

I can walk in my lilac bushes and lilies and the yellow roses and my scalp will be sunburned.
I will wince when I brush my miles of brown hair that night.

I go out on my balcony to look at my garden in the black.
Soon the trellis shudders violently, and he lumbers over the wrought iron rail.

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