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“You fix my painting right now. You are supposedly the best artist in the world yet you make me look horrendous. Now fix it or I will have you beheaded of treason!” The king said spit flying.
“That’s a lie. You can’t do that!” Jonathon declared.
The King chuckled. “Well, yes young man. It just so happens as King that I can.”
A low growl escaped Jonathon’s lips, it sounded like an animal. The King flinched away. Suddenly Jonathon’s teeth extended like small, sharp, daggers. In my mind I could feel his jaw ache as his teeth came out.
“You just try your highness. It won’t work. I’ll just reconnect myself and come after you,” Jonathon declared.
The King shook. A dark wet spot collected on the crotch area of his trousers. He ran from the room screaming. I could hear down the hall his high pitched squeal saying, “The . . .the artist . . . Pulmer. . .is . . . is. . . a .. . Vampire!” I could hear giggles and laughs all over the castle.
Then the memory was over.
“That was awesome!” I declared.
“I know.” He said smirking. A blond curl fell into his eye and he flicked it away.
“That has to be the funniest thing I’ve ever seen!” I exclaimed.
“I’m glad,” He said.
“So, how about World War II? I’ve always loved learning about World War II,” I added.
“Well at the time I was living in the United States. So I fought on their side. I have plenty of time on my hands not to mention a photographic memory so I have every language known to man memorized not to mention the dead ones. So, I can live anywhere and get along fine. Now for the story. We were stationed in Germany. I was the elected translator. No one knew what I was, a vampire, although they could not figure out why I never seemed to get injured, or why I never ate with them and yet I was the strongest and sturdiest of all of us. They thought I was just extremely lucky. One day I was out by myself trying to sneak into a concentration camp I didn’t want to endanger my fellow comrades, it was the middle of winter and snow covered the ground. I was easy pickings. A German soldier found me. He shot me five times. But I did not fall. But my uniform became stained with my blue blood. Scared the wits out of him, so he shot three more times. I took off my jacket and shirt in front of him. Then I stuck my fingers into the wounds and pulled all of the bullets out dropping them into the snow. The pale white snow became stained blue where the bullets had hit. Once the bullets were out my skin healed itself in less than a minute. The German soldier stood mesmerized.
“What are you? He proclaimed. Your worst nightmare.” I said. Then he passed out. I checked on him years later to be exact and found out he had been put into a mental institution for claiming the existence of a mythical creature that would not die and bled blue blood. He drove himself mad trying to discover what I was. Poor guy, I still feel awful about it today. But he shot me and I can’t play dead because what difference would it make. He’d know something was different about me when my blood came out blue and not red.”
“How awful,” I said.
“I drove him mad, Kylie. I am so ashamed of myself but there was little I could do. When we’re seen by humans like that we’re supposed to kill them but I couldn’t. I wasn’t strong enough,” He said hanging his head his voice sad.
When he looked back up I could see all the pain in his eyes. He was tearing himself up over something that happened over fifty years ago. “Things happen. You couldn’t stop it,” I said.
“I didn’t have to go to war and I didn’t have to try to sneak onto the concentration camp.”
I didn’t say anything further for I could see it would do no good.
I decided to try and sway the conversation to lighter things.
“What’s your favorite color?” I asked trying to distract him. He looked up confused.
“Um . . . black?” He framed it like a question.
“Black isn’t a color.” I said.
“Navy any shade of blue really but mostly navy. What’s your favorite color?”
“Purple any shade of purple but mostly dark purple.” I said framing my answer like his.
“Favorite flower?” He asked. I finished taking a sip of my coffee.
“Iris,” I said.
“Good choice. That’s my mom’s favorite flower. Or was her favorite flower. Anyway what’s your favorite car?”
“Car? Definitely a Corvette,” I said.
“I should’ve known,” He said laughing.
