Anna-Marie With Her Shotgun -- Part Twenty Three -- Hemato-Tomato -- Memories Of Lost Children

I would get constant erections from blond girls with cat eye glasses, getting it in the neck from a guillotine gun. Shot with a paralyzing agent, I shot the blade as quickly as I could, to minimize the amount of pain that my vampires would experience. Because unlike these monsters, I actually had concern for their well being. Even if that meant putting their heads on a wooden stick, sticking it in the ground, and watch as others paraded it around town. But in my minds eye, there heads would roll in my lap.

I would remembers the sweet angels scream.

And I would feel like ending it all. Anna-Marie never did anything to be beheaded for, and yet I had let my father kill her, and there was still a part of me that could not forgive myself for her death. Even if in the legal sense it was not my fault. There were hints, in my early years, that I may become like this. But I didn't want this to be my destiny.

I was a shell without my soul.

I wanted to be under the knife.

When you attempt suicide, some people assume the world will stop for you. The reality is, when you're lying down, bloody on the floor, there is a part of you that wanted to die more quickly, so it's basically a non issue. Instead one lingers, inside of the dirty floor of a motel room, with your hand reaching out ... searching for someone to take you to the hospital. But being treated as essentially a non person.

Ultimately, I began to make peace with the idea that I would eventually bleed to death. Made peace with the fact that I would never see Anna-Marie again, and simply make my death more comfortable. But I was dizzy and tired, and I couldn't stand up straight. I had not cut my own head off, but injured myself. I needed a bandage, but I was several miles from the hospital. Hope fading nightly, lying on the floor. And yet in the darkness, was the spirit of Anna-Marie, who reached out a hand guided me into the light.

But as I walked outside, there was nobody there.

There was only the sound of my own inner madness.

For my lost Anna-Marie.

 

It was eighth grade I started developing my other interest in other girls. Birkenstock Boston Clogs had developed something of a cult status, since two thousand and three. One girl who wore them, who was not Anna-Marie, would always be wearing these with long light gray socks. Yet she dressed like a soccer player, and would always flirt with me. We had known each other since fifth grade, when she was a lot more shy. Apparently, over the last few years up to that point, she had either developed a crush on me, or mastered the art of being so sarcastic, it wasn't really clear whether she was being sarcastic.

In her early years, she had long curly blond hair. You could say she was my proto-Anna-Marie. But she would dress in a way that was decidedly more formal than the rest of the girls in my class period. There was also Bianca, who was almost entirely the opposite. Both of them would grow into a kind of bizarre jealousy I had try to hide, and never really addressed. But Sara, without the H, would always dress her best, for any occasion. I took it as somewhat of a shock that she would dress as someone athletic, as it was never something that I had expected out of her. But then again, there was a lot inside me I had hidden from the world as well. Such as my interest in decapitation, and the flowing of gentle blood on the fingertips.

Combine with meeting the Spanish girl, I had the preconditions for not particularly caring for girls who were either overly blond haired, or overly black haired. Bianca had a father whom came from Southern Spain, so she was closer to Spanish than she was Americana. For me, Livier was almost perfection, but I was unsure how to take her personality at the time. Part of my skepticism was whether Livier, if I ever met again, whether she would continue to accept me despite my conditions, that's condition in the plural. Because I was both trans, and liked the flow of severed necks, and rolling the tongue upon luscious fictional cheeks, from some pulp dime novel imported from Mexico. But for the time being, I admired her innocence.

It was something I never had.

Yet here I am now, hunting vampires, on the edge of sanity. I found myself outside of a ruined building. There was an anonymous burial put, where different abandoned broken toys went before they were cremated in a giant factory urn, melted down, to be used to make more toys, for not disillusioned children.

I heard a voice calling me in the smoke filled sky.

It was the laughing of children. And a Silhouette, Anna-Maire. Who stuck out like a sore thumb. Her ghost of another time, always a step ahead of me. She would pointed her skeletal fingers at me, calling my name.

And it's impossible to resist.

She beckons me.

posted by JustSarah @ 22nd Sep 2018, 9:51 PM