Musings of an August day

I take no more pleasure in admiring my handiwork,
Nor in the countenance of my beloved.
I care no more for beauty of sound,
Not even for the cleanliness I loved.

The rhythm of word and note,

Inspires not my feet.

Even the words of my teachers,

Like bitter medicine I treat.

Unmashable storylines

Cry havoc in my brain,

Dissatisfied I turn to excess

Of mirth, games and grain.

Fasting and exercise, such panicked attempts at penitence. But every fibre of me resents these insults to my sentience.

The Blood Sacrifice

"Drink! I implore you!"
"No."
"I command you in the name of my great grandmother twice removed! Drink and discharge your duty!"
"You know?"
"I know. NOW DRINK."
"I can't, young mistress. Your blood will poison me."
"That's a lie you were fed with. Just drink. Please!"

But his fear was too great. Granted, he wasn't much use dead. But it was a lie that held him ransom.
I had no choice. I slit my radial artery with his fingernails, and let the blood trickle into his mouth. It took him two seconds to verify my statement, and soon he was drinking of his own accord.

A hundred and sixty years ago his blood had saved my village from the clutches of drought. A vampire had promised the location of an underground spring in exchange for a successor and a blood sacrifice.
But we humans are wily creatures. Once our ends were met, the vampire was burnt and his successor tamed.

I watched him as he finally revived, this guardian of my family for 5 generations, who had nearly died fighting off his rabid brethren - trying to protect me. He licked my bleeding wrist, healing the cut.

"You need the hospital."
"So call an ambulance."
"You'll be dead by the time it gets here."
"And you'll be recognized and burnt if you carry me there."
"That's a risk I'm willing to take."