[Requiem] Life Moves On

[golgothafiction.livejournal.com]

Being dead is like being cursed only to ever feel the reflections of life. Being dead is like being cursed to only feel the hollow, empty echoes of emotion that we once felt. Being dead was one long, boring eulogy for the life that we once lived. And being dead was greatly improved by him.

Even as the emotional and physical ties that had made Danny cling to him faded, and the chasm left in Danny’s chest began to heal, there was no denying that for a short while, his life was better because Corben had loved him. He remembered the anger hot in his gut, the rage that he felt that forced him to make stupid decisions. He remember heading back to his flat that night and forcing that scumbag Gangrel to flee. Even that act of spiteful, pitiful revenge did nothing to take away the pain.

Soon, solace was sought in the veins of other, at first the living and then the dead. He endlessly bound himself to others, drinking their vitae in the hope it would numb the pain. The truth was, it did a little, if only at first, but the reality was that all he really wanted to taste Corben one last time.

He remembered visiting his grave, a place where he should have felt at home, but he soon found himself being cast out by Stefan. He remembered that night well, as he wandered the streets for hours, trying to find something to do, searching for anything that would make him feel alive again.

He remembered the blood on his hands as he hacked that poor woman’s body into pieces, hoping that the thrill of holding a life in his hands would have been enough to rekindle a fire in his chest. The flesh tore so easily and blood flowed so freely. That night dragged on as he dumped the bags around the small town, and the bathroom still had to be cleaned...

There was only one thing that brought back the feeling of Corben’s love, that made his memory stand out against the every decaying and savage backdrop of his mind, and that was the feeling of aggression and anger he felt as he beat that savage Gangrel to submission. The feeling of hatred he had felt the night that Corben had died came back to him as he tore away chunks of the savages flesh.

One year, more or less, since Corben’s death, and he was not about to let it go yet. Being is dead is shit, unless you have something to hold on to.