Roses to Spare

It’s cold. It’s always cold here. It’s not as cold as Alaska was, but it’s still pretty damn cold.

The people walk around. They frown. They smile. They cry. They have so many different expressions. They have so many different faces. It doesn’t matter, though. In the end, they all die.

Maybe I’m blessed. I’ll never die. At least, not like they do. I’m already dead.

It’s just another day in Michigan. The water laps against my shoes, but I stare out into the blue abyss. Actually, since it’s a little past sunset, the water is a dark, murky black that reflects back the looming, endless night sky. I felt the thin fabric shift between my fingers. When had I become so good? It doesn’t even take me a minute to construct it--a small paper turtle fitted into my palm. I touched the shell, breathing deeply. It popped off of my hand and, plodding through the sand, made its way towards the water. Of course, when it hit the sea, it dissolved. I saw golden dust evaporate out of its shell and into the air, swirling around like magic. Oh wait, it was magic. Magic fills the inside of me. It is both my blessing and my curse.

I heard footsteps behind me, cutting off my train of thought, and I looked over. She was right on time.

“Hey there. Am I late?” she asked me. I turned to her.

“I don’t know. Are you?” I asked her calmly. She took my hand and I felt her rings brush against my palm. She smelled of perfume. Her makeup was perfect. Her dress hugged around the waist in the most sensual of ways. Her heels were at least four feet long, but she walked so easily in them. Her hair was brushed back to the lock, not a strand of curly blonde sugar out of place. I gripped her hand and walked towards my car, passing and tugging her forward.

“Let’s just hurry to the hotel,” I told her bluntly.

Nights are lonely. No pet to come home to. No one special to take me into their arms. Not even a nice smell of home. Just me and an empty suitcase. So I try to stay out of my hotel as much as possible. I took the girl to an old motel near the edge of town. No one would care, and she certainly wouldn’t. I was paying her well. Her kind has been trained not to complain.

I left her to her fun, only responding when the need came. It was just sex. That's all it was. My people didn't get sick. I’ve slept around a lot. If they had something, I didn’t care. If they got it from me, it wasn’t my problem. Besides, they can’t get pregnant. My kind is born sterile. Am I good in bed? I have no idea. I imagine so. I’ve never had a girl tell me otherwise. Of course, I don’t hear many complaints from the men either.

When it was done, the sunlight had begun to pour in from the slit of the curtains. I hated the colors of the curtain fabric--a sickly yellow with pink daisies on it. I’m sure the patterns used to be very beautiful. But decay and age have damaged this old tourist inn far beyond repair. The paint, the walls, and the curtains all consumed in Time’s dust-encrusted layers. I sighed, feeling more powerful in my nakedness than with clothes on. Clothes were restraining. Clothes were too constricting. When naked, I could just be free.

I saw a bird land on the tree limb outside of my window. So happy. So cheerful. So not me. I was jealous. I won’t lie, birds disgust me because my envy is so strong in my black, cold heart.

In distaste, I closed the curtains in a hurry.

I heard the girl stir, and I felt my heart sink as I turned to see her slow breathing. From my experience, it would not be long before she was up. That can always cause more problems. There’s nothing more annoying than a needy hooker. I pulled on my pants, ignoring my shirt and just throwing it over my shoulder. I left her money on the table next to the light. In place of me in the bed, I left a small paper crane that, when it came to life, shook back its feathers before settling down next to her, perched for rest. If paper could smile, the crane would be grinning. I know you, it seemed to say to me as I walked out. I know you and what you can do.