The Cruel Truth of Good and Evil

Her world is darkness. Her fingers are always seeking the reassurance of him. His warmth is her savior. Her body is his keeper. Shame is laced in her selfish, needy pawing. Without him she is lost, so she clings. She is an anchor, a boundary, an inhibitor. She holds him back, forces him to live with her in her darkness. What can she do, though? She is blind from birth–eyes milked over. She will always need. Always. This is her absolute. This is her eternal truth. She will always be searching for his grasp until his warm hand meets hers, and he leads her. She imagines that he smiles. She suspects that he grimaces in disgust for his life-long obligation.

A dark, cold bond was made between them at conception. They were both flawed, needy vampires–cannibals feasting upon each other. Her hand in his, she devoured his sight, taking it for her own. In a sterile white room, bi-monthly, they lay on impersonal beds that smelled of chemicals. A crimson thread reached from her to him as he engulfed her life-force. A blood transfusion to fight his inherent anemia.

His world is resentment. She–his constant reminder of his weakness–tugs on a shirt sleeve or a hand, simpers at him. Her undead eyes stare in his general direction. She whispers to him 'I love you's. Her cheeks flush with blood that is rightfully his. He should have assimilated her in the womb. Chimera. He drags his regret behind him: high school, collage. He drags his human meal. He trudges one step ahead. He leads her down questionable paths, daring her to challenge him. Never once does she argue. She's barely human. He hates her. He imagines that somewhere behind her murky eyes, she hates him too. He suspects that she desperately fears that he will abandon her. What could he do? A body must eat.

She whimpered. Pain, probably. He wasn't gentle. Hovering over her, he subverted her to his twisted will. She arched up to him, crying. His name and taste lingered on her lips. His hands traced. Not once did she ask him to stop. Heat, love, hate. He bore down till her flesh tore. She was bleeding for him. Every drop was his. He owned her. He reveled in this illusion. Tomorrow, she would be his shackles again. This was the first time. They repeated this sin together countless times.

He left her. Her pain buries itself so deeply that it fractures her core. She brakes quietly and alone. They find her covered in her own blood and filth. They transport her to a clean white room. She is walked between people who 'care,' and who waste their gentle smiles on her blindness. She is fed and washed. People talk around her. They don't hope for much progress. She gave up hope, mostly. Her mind has killed it. Her fingers fumble in the impersonal fabric of her gown. They still seek. They remember hope.

He lives a dark dangerous life. He steals blood from hospitals. He hates her now more than ever. She burns in his mind. Her giggle echos from his memory. He can hear her mockery. Because of her, he tells himself. She stole my health from me. She made me what I am. He feels the need to end this. He hires a private eye. He finds her. His hospital thefts have prepared him for this. A gun, he decides would be best. It was quick. A bang, flash, thud. He tastes the splatter. Of course they catch him. A trial–guilty. So he dies. They swab his arm. Poison is injected. He laughs till he sputters on his final breath. What does he care if they kill him? He's done dragging his regret behind him. She is gone. He is free...and alone.