The Silver Kiss: Simon
by Angelzbabygrl
Simon

Simon wiped the rats’ blood from his mouth and threw the dead rat away from him. It wasn’t as satisfying as human blood, but it would have to do for now. His mind drifted to the girl in the park.

She was so beautiful, he thought, I wish I would’ve stayed longer, maybe got to know her. He shrugged the thought off and stood up.

He was wearing a white t-shirt, despite the cold. It’s not as though he could feel it. He also wore black pants and black shoes strung with red laces.

He had stood in the store fingering them for over five minutes, whispering “Blood,” until he finally took them up and bought them. The lady looked at him like he was crazy but he didn’t really care what she thought.

Now they were on his shoes, untied and just touching the ground. He stretch and considered where to go, back to the park?

If he went there, would the girl still be there? Or was it too late, did she leave? He decided not to go to the park…he knew exactly where he’d go. He left the alley quietly; he didn’t want anyone to see him. This is a good hunting place and he couldn’t be seen hanging around it too often, or people might get suspicious.

He went to a back alley showing the back of the houses on Chestnut Street. He stopped at one two story house and climbed up the tree in the back yard. He looked in the window to a small room. There was a young girl, maybe six laying in the bed, with a flashlight. She was reading a thick book, thicker than normal for a six year old, Simon thought, wonder what it’s called.

The door to the room opened and a woman walked in.

“It’s time for bed! It’s past midnight honey.” The woman said. She walked in and took the flashlight away and the girl shoved the book under her pillow.

“Ok mommy,” answered an eerie voice. The woman, obviously the mother, kissed the girl and walked out of the room, shutting the door behind her. But the girl didn’t go to sleep; she stared up at the ceiling, never closing her eyes. Simon watched her and grinned wickedly. And he finally climbed down from the tree and crouched in bushes.

He heard her foster parents talking.

“I don’t understand why she can’t just be normal!” the dad asks.

“It’s not her fault she has the disorder, she probably sleeps a lot during the day.” The mother defended.

“Don’t even try that, she only takes naps once a day for an hour.” The dad says.

“She’s just having trouble adjusting.” The mother told him.

“She’s been here for over a month, she should be adjusted by now.” The father told her.

“Drusilla isn’t like normal girls! She’s young, and just think about that home she was in!” the mother defended.

“I guess you’re right.” The father said, finally giving in.

“She’s gonna be a brain.” The mother assured him.

“Yeah, I guess, time to go to bed.” The father said, obviously worn out by the conversation.

“Yeah, lets go.” The mother agreed, and they went upstairs. Simon didn’t move, he stayed crouched in the bushes, watching the little girl’s window all night. He didn’t move a muscle, didn’t blink, didn’t breathe.

And then the first rays of sunlight kissed the night sky, flooding the clouds with pinks and oranges. Simon stood up quickly, not needing to stretch, and ran down the street, fleeing the sunlight.

He turned on Jennifer Street and went into an old school building. He was safe from the light there, where no one came. He walked through to the back room, an old sixth grade classroom. It was filled with cobwebs, a couple of overturned desks, and a statue of the virgin Mary.

Sometimes he would pray to her, pray that he could feel the light of day again, pray that he could be with a woman.

That girl in the park. Her perfect beauty. But she had so much pain, insecurity, and only a glimmer of hope. He wanted to know her, help her if he could.

He walked to the back of the class room and reached up a shelf where a suitcase sat. He pulled it down as well as an old painting. The painting is of a family. A well looking older man, the father, wearing a fine suit and standing next to the mother. The mother was sitting in a chair wearing a blood red dress, her dark brown hair topped on her head, and holding a baby. The baby had brown hair and brown eyes. Next to the mother, standing in front of the father was another child. Dark brown hair and brown eyes, wearing white, a sign of purity. The child was six years of age.

Simon stared at it, and kissed the mother’s face. He then curled in the darkest corner, clutching the painting and his suitcase to him.

He closed his eyes, and fell into a trance-like sleep.

TBC



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