‘This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.’ 

                               

My world was spinning. I wanted to scream. The pain in my neck was becoming more and more unbearable, my insides were burning. It felt like I was on fire.

In front of me, hung a huge mirror, in which I could perfectly see myself. My eyes brimmed with tears, tears which then burned my cheeks. My face had grown pale and my hazel eyes, red. My evanescent brown hair had never looked darker. I felt the blood pulling away from my skin as I stared at my impaled neck. 

It was night, I had gone out to get groceries when I was attacked and dragged into a dark alley. I remember being hit on the head and fainting. I woke up to find myself tied to a wooden chair in a dimly lit room, guarded by a woman who sat across from me on a similar chair. 

I tried to speak, but couldn’t. The pain will soon kill me, I thought. 

"This was meant to happen, Serra" The Woman across from me spoke in a stentorian voice. 

How does she know my name? Who is she? 

I furrowed my eyebrows at her, at her petty remark on my fate. I couldn't make sense of it all, whereas I knew what this was. I'd always heard about it and knew it was true, but never thought that I'd be chosen next. And suddenly, she emerged from the darkness of the corner of the room. My breathing became erratic, my skin grew paler.

It was my mother.

"..How..." It was a word without any sound. I wondered if this was a prank, if this was all planned. But the deterioration of my physical health held no resemblance to my thoughts. 

My mother had conspired this. 

"Why?" I managed to say.

"We are god's men, Serra." She said

So, she's one of them. 

"Vampires are not gods" I seethed.

"The goddess chose you, Serra. Since you’ve always been so weak, don't you see the silver lining? You will be agile - you'll have the strength of 30 men. You will be alluring and young, forever; your beauty will be eternal, envied by most. You-"

"STOP!" I screamed. 

The door to the room flew open; Inevitable, he came in with his varlets. He was so tall. I could barely see him with his hood covering his face. He stopped right in front of me and stood there for what seemed like centuries, and then lifted off his hood. 

These indecipherable blue eyes are here to take me, to complete the transition.

He kneeled down and whispered my name. The throbbing pain pervaded every single cell in my body. My mother was standing in the farthest corner of the room, weeping. The man spoke from across the space between us.

"Thee've been chosen

hark to mine own sweet voice

and surrend'r to the goddess"

The dream ends. Do I become a Vampire, then? It seems so. I also like the name Serra or maybe it could’ve been Furiosa. Tempting!

But I was a Vampire fanatic, since it was the trendiest pop-fiction topic back then and something which put a dark and mysterious spin on a romantic story. Jam a stake through my heart! But I would always have dreams about Vampires, after binge watching Vampire shows and reading young adult novels about them. I'm glad that it was just a phase, though I'm not guilty! 

Pic credits: Google.

Moth to a flame

I wish it didn't have to be so different, 

I wish you could stay the same person who is brave enough to rule against his fears.

I wish you didn't forsake me when I asked you of your rationale behind the change.

If only I could show you clarity in your doubts

If only I could trace you order and meaning in the chaos

If only you could see beyond your shattered dreams,

How someone has it worse than you

And gather strength, rather than pity.

But you already know everything, 

Yet you continue on being a moth to a flame

You're attracted towards everything that burns bright.

You've been burnt twice since then,

    And yet you never learn.

Fear of the dark.

A jaunty walk in an eerie park,

Where an empty swing-set keeps swinging

A distant whisper, to raise suspicion,

Induce a haunting curiosity which proved numbing.

Leaf-less trees emulate the spooky tree from potter,

Where fallen leaves create swirling patterns with the wind

Wishing that I was Wendell and Monica Wilkins’s daughter,

Who is fearless and effulgent, no matter how scary the night is, and no matter how grim.

Suddenly out of nowhere, a voice called out, that sounded just like my mothers’

I chastised myself for coming out for a walk, in the eerie park all by myself.

Because I had a feeling of something evil hovering, just above my head,

I wondered if it wanted to hurt me, or hug me or just wanted to talk instead.

But my fear abated, as thoughts percolated

As it all reminded me of the Canterville ghost from the Oscar Wilde plot

I smiled at my memory of it and embraced the now sweetened fear, consummately.

The melancholic ghost could never hurt me, I thought.

I came out into the light, bolder than Hermione Granger (not quite)

I became friends with all the voices inside (and outside?) my head and embraced their incomprehensibility

I learnt that even when it’s not dark, such whimsical energy does environ me

So it’s just the fear of the dark and of the unimaginable, only because it is unimaginable.

It all depends on what you imagine, and then, who/what you imagine yourself to be.

Hence, I learnt that fear is a part of life; all you do is learn to accommodate it.