How to Survive Your Death (page 5)

Dear Em,

I’m not sure how much detail you want. I think I’ll spare you the full on description of how I kill and how I get rid of the body. It’s true, if you leave somebody who’s been bitten, give them twenty-four to forty-eight hours they’ll come back like me, undead. Though, I really hate the term, ‘undead’. I hate being ‘un’ anything. I like, ‘living impaired’, or even, ‘blood junkie’, better. I’ve been called, ‘reflection challenged’, which is another myth. You see I have a perfectly gorgeous reflection, looks just like me.

That was an odd stereotype to spread, vampires cast no reflection. We do, of course we do, we’re made of flesh aren’t we? If you prick us, do we not bleed? Actually, no, probably not. We have no blood in our veins cause it dries to dust almost as soon as we get it down our throats.

But, the body and the head. I wrapped them up in plastic, and shoved them under my waterbed, covered by my down duvet. It was pink, you know I’m a sucker for pink. Your old mother can be such a girl.

I finished my night, applied my Nivea, brushed my fangs, checked the thick woolen curtains I use to keep out the bane of my existence, set my alarm for eight p.m. and drifted off into a dreamless sleep. One of the worst things about being a vampire, after the sun part, is the death of your dreams. I haven’t dreamed since I said good night to the sun. Dreams allow you a free movie ticket through the night, an escape and you can become someone else in your dream, some one better. Me? I wake up feeling exactly the same as when I closed my eyes.

Like the feeling of changing paragraphs. Feel any different going paragraph to paragraph like that? Imagine waking up every night that exact same way. I know moving so much has been hard on you, making you turn inward, developing emotional callouses. Stoic. I try talking to you and you answer in monosyllables, rarely smiling.

I love you, Em and I want to help, but, you never tell me what’s wrong. I know a lot of it is how you feel about what I do, and that you feel you can never talk about it with anyone, but, you can with me, sweetheart. I am your mother and I will love you no matter what you say to me.

I think it would be helpful for you to one night just open your mouth and scream at me everything that’s on your mind and tell me how much you hate that I eat people and you just want to scream at me to stop, but, you know I can’t stop or I really will die and you don’t want that because I’m your mother and you love me. Am I anywhere close here, Em? If this does any good, I want it to get us talking, even if that talking is you screaming at me. I think that would be great for you to really let loose and get out everything that’s been choking you up for so long, all your life, really, but, you’ve really grown into it the last year or so, though, I don’t remember the exact day you grew into the bright, fiercely guarded young Stoic I now have as my daughter. Your love is my only lifeline to life itself. I need you to give it to me, or, I will really be dead.


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