Wizard Blood, Vampire Magic

Death

                The day my father died was the most depressing day of my life.  Or so I thought, as I watched the ambulance come to collect him, then went and talked to the hospital staff to claim his body, later observing the undertaker move him to the morgue…  I was shell shocked until the morgue doors closed, and then I sat in my beat up red car and cried for almost an hour.  Seventeen, a little spoiled, geeky to no end, and with a bundle of secrets that would make most people throw me in the loony bin, I felt so alone that at first it didn’t hit me, like the pain one doesn’t feel when they’ve been shot.  It was a heart attack, brought on by too many greasy burgers at the local joint, ironically named Heart Attack on a Bun.  The manager promised me a lifetime of free food, but I shook my head, knowing that I wouldn’t be able to indulge in any of it.  The place would make me want to throw up every time I entered, so instead I did what any other person would do.  Well, any bystander.  I called 9-1-1 and let them handle most of it.

                I drove home after I had finally calmed down, parked in the space for my car, put on the emergency brake, and got out of the vehicle.  The house we had lived in, which I’d have to figure out what to do with soon I was sure, was a two story simple abode with a chipping white paint job, eggshell white window frames, a cotton colored front door, and grass that hadn’t been mowed in a month on a front lawn devoid of any toys or messes that indicated anyone under the age of twenty lived there.  Let’s just say I didn’t like being outside too often.  There wasn’t even a bike anymore, as the tire popped and the frame was bent.  It wasn’t my fault though, that darned car shouldn’t have gotten so excited about speeding up at a yellow light!

                Opening the door with my latest in the line of house keys I kept losing, I flicked on the nearest light and sighed, dropping into the old and ratty overstuffed arm chair.  The floor had a carpet that did little more than cover the wooden boards underneath.  Every piece of the furniture came from the local Salvo’s- the second-hand store- the wallpaper was faded or peeling at the edges, if not both, and the lamps looked like they belonged in an eighty year old lady’s house.  But it was my home and I loved it here.  There was no place I would rather be when mourning than where I grew up.

                My father had been a teacher at the local detention center, so he taught teenagers who had been locked up for stupid things about the real world which they’d need to know when they got out.  He always hoped that they’d become better people after having him in a class, but I was never sure what to think of his students.  I’d only met them once on a “bring your child to work day”, also known as a day I got to skip school.  They were so depraved of the opposite sex that within an hour all the girls that came to see their parents and where they work were shuffled into a room with a TV, some books, placed as far away from the boys as possible, and were left to entertain ourselves until lunch, when most of us went home.  I was one of them and I never regretted going back to my house and spending the rest of the day lounging on the couch, watching bad daytime television.

                My mother was another story.  She had ambitions, dreams, and goals, all of which escalated far beyond my father’s meager dreams to have a family and teach children who no one thought were teachable.  After my fourth birthday she was gone, but I didn’t mind.  She had rarely made time for me when she was here, so when she was gone I didn’t take it too hard.  Even when all the other kids in school told me I didn’t have a mother to spend the day with, couldn’t go shopping, learn how to bake, do make up with…  None of it bothered me.  I only saw my mother on Christmas and my birthday, August 8th, because the rest of the time she was running the school she founded, Crown’s Academy for Young Adults.  After she found the place she wanted the school to be- a forgotten castle that needed a lot of work- she threw herself into it and completely forgot about my father and myself.  She stopped visiting after I was nine, but she did leave me with some interesting presents while the castle was being fixed and modernized as a school.

                On my eighth birthday the sun was shining, the humidity was low, my father had the day off, and my mother promised we could go anywhere I wanted.  I was a really geeky child, so I wanted to see the newest movie with wizards and dragons.  Then I wanted to go to a Chinese buffet, shop, and get ice cream.   My mother was only too happy to let me do as I wanted.  It was my special day, after all.  I rarely wanted much apart from books, games, and to be left alone.  I didn’t want my parents to get back together, I didn’t want a puppy- I don’t even think I had a best friend.  I was weird, not normal, and uncaring.  Slowly I fell into the memory of my eighth birthday, deciding it was better than my current reality.