1.6 Blissful denialMature



I awoke sweating and I rubbed my eyes as they adjusted to the dark. This isn’t my bed. Pushing off the covers I climb off the bed and which was pretty high, “Mama, papa…” I glanced around the unfamiliar room.  Where’s Dante?

The room door was half cracked and some light was shining through from the hallway. I heard Mama talking and I saw her black hair swaying as she held Dante who clung to her.


I ran to the door swinging it open, tears fell away as I registered that what happened to mama and papa was just a dream- a nightmare. I squinted from the light and I saw mama turn to face me.

“Marquis sweetie,” She kneeled in front of me; her long black hair fell over shoulders, her bright green eyes was hurting and pained. She had her same scent, same familiar features, except she wasn’t mama- it was grandma.

“Where’s mama?” I questioned.

Grandma looked at me her eyes full of sorrow, “Sweetie…” she pushed my damp hair off my forehead.

I questioned, “Where’s papa?” and looking over grandma’s shoulder  grandpa was here as well. Grandma passed Dante over to him and I noticed his eyes were open and all he was doing was staring.

“How about we get you boys something to eat,” Grandpa suggested trying to mask the remorse in his voice and I felt angry that he thought he could keep something from me. I could see it written all over his face, read it in his cold eyes. The same eyes that looks at my brother differently than me, and now those same eyes bored into mine, grieving the same loss as me and my twin.

Grandpa’s pain was something I’m not grasping, every time he came over for visits Mama and him would get into fights and arguments about the way he talks to Dante, or looks at him. At one point papa and Grandpa got into a fight, papa of course was no match and all Grandpa told mama was ‘Why is she with a man who can even protect her? and I never saw grandpa again after that day, that is until now but even still, I’m not human and I know when people are lying to me. Vampyre or not, my intelligence is not to be insulted.

“It wasn’t a dream…” I said quietly to myself and I felt the tears streaming uncontrollably now with the reality of it setting in all over again. Images of what they did to my mama and papa kept playing over and over and the images wouldn’t stop. “No,” I cried watching everything happened all over again; the images, the masked men, the laughing, the storm; they all won’t stop, why they stop? Go away, Stop, leave us alone! I felt grandma’s arms enclose me tightly, “Leave my mama and papa alone!” I yelled.

Grandma picked me up, “It’s ok,” she said. “I’m here, it’s gonna be ok…”

What’s ok? No, it won’t be ok, my mama and papa are dead. How will that ever be ok? Who will take me hunting, who will teach me to build things out of wood? Who will take care of Dante? Bake him sweat bread, give him milk? Who will protect him, us from mama’s brothers and grandpa who doesn’t like Dante?

I buried my face in mama’s familiar scent, with all my questions swarming my mind crying and not understanding how anything from now on will ever be okay. Grandma rocked me back and forth trying to soothe me with the same melody mama hummed moments before our house was evaded.

Mama and papa are really gone….

I cried knowing that I will never hear my mama’s voice again and papa and I will never see another theatrical performance. The pain in my chest was unmanageable.

The End

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