Let's first continue with the fun fact. Last week I told you tha Viorel was living in the basement, as someone who walks in the sun, that doesn't make much sense. Well... He is not living alone, there are other vampires there that you might have noticed on one of the pictures I occasionally used for Vampire Heart's blog post. I'm sure you can guess the name of the other boy, can you?
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Now let's go back to our story.
I started to ask the farmers I met on the way if I could ride with them and most of them accepted. I didn’t talk much, I had nothing to say, I just listen to them telling me about their life and families. I didn’t enjoy their company that much, they seemed to be all the same, they all had the same problems about marrying their daughters or having their sons in the army. It all seemed very alien to me, it was decidedly not the kind of life I had been living so far.
They always asked me why I was traveling alone at such a young age. For them I seemed young, for myself I wasn’t sure how old I was but I was pretty sure that I knew more about life than they did. I knew enough to know how to travel alone for sure.
I created myself a little story, that my mother was sick so that I had to go to my aunt in the city to find some medicine. That had the advantage to make them stop asking questions and to sympathize with me and give me some fruits. I was still unsure about the taste of them but at least I learned that biting an onion like an apple was a very curious idea.
There was that thing about human food I had never cared much about, that it had to be prepared the right way and I needed to learn that, if I intended to survive eating this way. Maybe I was too focused on my need to reach Paris or maybe I was getting tired to lie, but soon I pretended to be asleep after few minutes of ride. I realized how people used to speak about everything without really ever saying anything of interest. After I left them in some markets or inns they would probably tell their friends for a week how they met me and who I was before completely forgetting about me. For a while I would be the most interesting thing they had come across until a new insignificant event came to erase me from their memory. Human memory is weak but mine isn’t, I can remember all their names and faces and the weather on the day I met them. I can remember how long I stayed with them and the conversation, the color of their daughters’ eyes even if I never met them.
All that I could remember even if that was of no interest. All that. But, about me: nothing.
At first I had feared that I might forgot everything the next day, but that wasn’t the case, the only problem was the past. Before I woke up in the cell the only thing I remembered were like sensations of déjà-vu, feelings of what I knew or did but never certainty. Thought like that were making me angry, why could I remember every details of useless things so clearly when I was absolutely unable to remember a single thing about myself? Everything I knew about me was supposition and I was certain that riding with farmers was not going to fix it.
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This is such a great excerpt! So decriptive. I can't wait to read more :)
ReplyDeleteThis is such a great excerpt! So decriptive. I can't wait to read more :)
ReplyDelete