Adagio Requiem

This is to David, who is so great of a reader, he makes it a pleasure to be the author of the stories he reads. So go and read his 'Majestic'. No, seriously, go read it now.

The soft, translucent mist drifted slowly around the stone angels, their figures twisted in silent sorrow. The wind sang with Patricia, their voices turning into one echoing hum.

The old Victorian graveyard, a cold, damp, but mesmerizingly beautiful place, a place of death, where the overwhelming cold silence would now and then be interrupted by the flapping of wings or the creak of the rusty metal gate, the place of eternal sleep, was where Patricia felt peaceful.

From little age she would come here when dusk began to fall on her little town, and lullaby herself to sleep under the shadow of an immense marble figure of a weeping angel. This was, so to say, her home, her hideout, the corner where she felt euphoric, wrapped in the smoky sheets of her own fantasy. She would dream about life, create twisted stories, and sing. She was not too good at it, but nobody could hear her, except for the statues and the trees. She was alone, all by herself, and her loneliness made her soul feel light, free. Sometimes she would feel like staying here forever, lying upon the feet of her favorite angel. Forever look into his quiet, sorrowful face. Forever listen to the whispering voices of the trees.

But when the sky would begin to go dark, the little raindrops would begin to beat fiercely against her face, when the whispering breath of the wind would turn into a deep howl, she would get up, nod goodbye to 'her angel', and run off.

This evening was no different than the others, and Patricia was running towards her house, the chilly wind blowing through her wet tangled hair.

When she was already pushing the door open, a smell of omelet hit her in the face. Every time she had to leave the dreamy peace of the graveyard and face the ordinary chaos of her home, her soul would feel shattered and abashed. The shrill tones of her mother's voice annoyed her, and emptiness would replace the intuitive awareness of otherworldly presence, a sensation that gave her the tingling feeling of suspense, it all would blend into loud, blinding waves of color and noise, and crash upon her, making her want to scream in agony.

Her parents' lack of sensitivity and understanding would come to her as shocking and irritable and at night, when the outside would turn pitch dark, everyone would go to sleep and nothing would be heard except for the song of cicadas, she would feel calm and happy again.

And now she felt no different, the irritation seemed like a stab in her solar plexus.

Patricia narrowed her eyes at the disturbingly bright light of the lamp, shrugged off her coat, and somehow reluctantly, entered the kitchen.

"Where have you been?"- Her mother's bossy voice exploded, as her mother was trying to over scream her two little brothers' babble.

"At Blair's place."-She lied quickly. Lying was something she did extremely well, being able to maintain the same plain expression. Patricia's face was like a mask- pale, motionless, dead. Only inside her blue eyes burnt a quiet, mysterious flame. Nobody ever knew its meaning, nor even did she, but it was there as long as she could remember, secretive and frightening. Only when she was alone she would come to life. A rosy blush would cover her cheeks; her lips would lose their immobility; she would begin to glow.

That night the moon was full, but it was not the pale disc that would usually beam upon her sleeping town, it was surrounded by reddish clouds, as if it was drowning in crimson smoke...

That night Patricia had a nightmare.

She was in a small, dusty room, much like a boudoir. Dim candlelight left shivering shadows on the walls. Looking into the mirror in front of her, she realized that she was much older there, about twenty or twenty two. A man walked in, a stunningly beautiful young man. But when he smiled, a wicked, bedeviling smile, she noticed he had long, sharp fangs. 'Vampire'-She thought, but her fear gripped her still. He came closer. And closer. And closer. His laugh echoed in her ears, blood roared in her temples. Her leaned towards her, his canines flashing. She screamed...

Panting, she woke up.

That night, Patricia had a nightmare. Her first nightmare.