Bogdan

Wind whistles across the field of grass. Each blade bends to its whim, the collective movement like a fluid picture beneath the summer's sun. It's graceful, as a whole, but if a single blade was pulled and subjected to the breeze, it would tremor in disarray.

Beneath the microscope of Nature, it would endure the humbling experience of isolation. A single blade plucked away from the rest. Exposed and alone. Hidden, yet longing to be threaded into the earth once again.

My thoughts continue on in this fashion, poetically macabre in their own right. They press down on me like a weight, heavier and heavier, until the feeling of isolation turns inward, caving into my still heart, and forcing splinters of proverbial ice to form around its border. I shoulder through the threshold of the door. The wind continues its song around me, beating the flaps of my coat and coercing the tendrils of my hair to participate in the dance of life.

I bend down and trail my fingertips atop the green foliage. It is soft, like velvet. Nature's gentle coat of fur. I pluck a single blade. Then another. I lift them both until they're eye-level and study their unique flutters, side by side. Each one alone, but still, alone together.

One for me, and one for him.

Two surviving vampires on earth, removed from the dance of life, and thrust into...this. One hides in darkness, while the other remains trapped beneath the spotlight, yet their lives are tied together in a way that will stand the test of time.

A low hum rumbles in my throat as I allow the thought to run its course. It is the silent reminder which keeps me believing this is not the end of our story, but merely a dark chapter I must overcome - for the both of us. I give Nature a final, cursory glance before slipping back into the shadows, tucking the blades of grass into my pocket.

The door puts up a fight as I shut it behind me. Just minutes ago, what sounded like nothing more than a gentle breeze becomes a painful howl against the wooden blockade. Yet, this is how it must be for now. Quiet. Hidden. The modest home and its minimal furnishings seem to hold their breath as I move my gaze around the room. It's our newest abode; the fifth house to mark our fifth year in hiding. Each year, Kelly assures me, will be the last.

"This is it, Bog-D," he will say, grinning from ear to ear. "We'll get the backing we need to rescue Finn. This is our year, man. You wait and see."

Each year, I do wait. I wait and watch as time slips by, the world we once knew shedding its skin of the past to make way for the Era of the Secondaries. I see how much has changed - how much continues to change - in five, short years. A new world has blossomed in the blink of an eye. On the contrary side of the token, there are moments when five years feels like an eternity. These fleeting moments seem to occur whenever I oblige myself the opportunity to admire the moon.

I have always preferred the moon to the sun. Its radiant beauty is often overlooked, and unlike the sun, you can gaze at its splendor head-on, with the galaxy as its backdrop. Its rays are radiant in their own regard, so much subtler than the sun, but powerful enough to illuminate the earth in a thin layer of iridescent light.

It is in these moments that my thoughts drift to delicate fingers, doe-like eyes, and an everchanging expression to mirror a myriad of barely contained emotions. It is in these moments that I wonder if, somewhere, he is enjoying the view with me.

Yes, it is in these hidden moments that the years feel like centuries.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

The lock of the backdoor jiggles once, then twice. There's a muffled 'crotchety piece of sh-' before the door flings open. A refreshing breeze moves around Kelly and stirs life back into the stale moment of my existence. He stumbles through the door, a paper sack clutched beneath each arm.

"Oh no, no," he mutters, grunting and cutting a sharp glare in my direction. "I've got it. Don't you worry, Bog-man. I know, what with your superhuman strength and all, how troubling it must be for you to help me with the bags."

I arch a brow as he plops each bag on the table. The wooden legs creak beneath their weight. He brings an arm up to wipe away the sweat from his forehead. His heartbeat thrums against his veins, an inviting sound to most vampires. It used to be for me, as well.

Now, unfortunately, all human blood tastes the same. Tasteless. What used to be an enjoyable pastime is now nothing more than a necessity to keep myself nourished, simply consuming to fill the emptiness of hunger. I imagine it is what humans experience during the worst days of a cold, eating yet not tasting the flavor.

"Nothing?" Kelly asks, leaning against the counter. "Not even a witty retort?"

His dark eyes probe for answers he will be impuissant to find from my unyielding expression. It only takes a moment for him to surrender - for now - and propel himself from the counter and into my line of vision.

"Fine," he says, his jovial tone intact. "Then how about an honest opinion. What do you think?"

He points a slender finger to his head. The chestnut waves that curled around his shoulders this morning are gone. His hair is now cropped short, the ends straight and pushed slightly to one side. Without the thick tendrils falling across his youthful face, my eyes are pulled to his more prominent features - sharp jawline, high cheekbones, and a pointed nose.

"You look older," I answer. "And less feminine."

Kelly snorts out a laugh. "Well, I'll take older - just so long as I don't look old. The gray hair I was sporting five years ago was not working for me."

He broaches the topic of his near-death experience with the same lightness as he does to discuss his latest food cravings. I know better now; he uses humor to mask fear. To mask pain. Logically, he knows my blood would not have been able to save any of the other vampires. And yet, Kelly still harbors the guilt of survival. Here he stands, human once again, while the others rot in the pits of hell.

"Anyway, the reason behind my sudden, glamourous makeover..."

Kelly's voice tapers off. He rummages around one of the bags and begins pulling out items. One by one, they're unceremoniously plopped onto the table, his lack of poise the epitome of humankind's proclivity to grace. I expect to see baked goods, sweets, and salted nuts. On the contrary, our tabletop is now strewn with items of appearance and apparel - shirts, colored contacts lenses, glasses, wigs, and baseball caps.

When he's finished, he gestures to the table, proudly puffing out his chest like a bloated ape. "The reason is this."

I clear my throat. "The early signs of a mid-life crisis?"

Kelly smirks and pulls up a chair. It scrapes across the floor. Everything he does is so loud. I mildly ponder if the two of us would share living quarters if he was not still dependent on my blood. Granted, the serum is growing weaker in his system, and the time between his feedings are getting longer and longer. I wager in another five years it will leave his system completely.

Until then, he remains at my side, and I to his. I will continue to protect him just as I promised to do all those years ago. Admittedly, I have grown fond of Kelly - both as a friend and as my travel cohort. He has become the comrade I didn't know I needed. As a live-in companion, however, he has notable room for improvement.

"This is me coming home with good news. I ran into Mags when I was at the market," he continues undeterred, pointing a thumb over his shoulder to the other bag in explanation. "Well, actually - I'd argue she came looking for me. But, in any case, she told me she received news from the Secondary Fortress. From inside the Fortress."

He stresses the word, nearly simpering with delight. Tegan vowed she would find a way to help us plan an escape. For years I have waited for this moment. We both have. Of course, it could very well be a trap, coercing the two of us from hiding in the only way they know how. Yet, this shift in energy, this possibility of hope, is not one I can readily ignore.

Apparently, the human tendencies are rubbing off on me as well. A small smile tugs at the corner of my lips, and Kelly slaps out a celebratory rhythm across the wooden tabletop.

"I told you Bog-man! I told you," he hollers in cheer. "I said this is the year we'd get the backing we need to rescue Finn. I said this was our year, man. Didn't I tell you?"

"Mmm, yes," I muse. "For five years in a row, in fact."

Kelly rolls his eyes and bites back a laugh. "There's the witty retort I was waiting for. But this time, the joke's on you, Bog-man, because this year I was right. So, pick what you like and get changed. I told Maggie we'd meet her back in the market just before dusk - in disguise. Get moving."

He swipes up a few items from the table and lopes from the kitchen, uninterested in any additional 'witty retorts' I may have. I reach for a few items and study them at all angles. However, my mind is elsewhere. I stare into the distance, thinking of the moon as my hand slips to my pocket. I run my thumb against the blades of grass and allow the smile to return - this time for him.

It appears fifth time's a charm.