Harlequin
Active member
In days gone by I would have been called vampire. In days yet to come I will be called Homo sapiens incruentatus. In days contemporaneous, there is no true name for my kind. Vampires are creatures of myth, legends, night spectres and tales told to children.
It will not always be so. The bloodless wise men as we shall be known will rise from the ashes of our past to inherit the Earth. Your Earth, though it is hardly deserved, given the horrors to which it has been subjected at your hands.
You might find my usage of “your” to be curious. It is not so. I know that it is a human reading my memoirs because I have planned it in such a way. No vampire can enter this domain save one alone: me. And no human other than you.
And I am dead, so do not expect me to arrive any time soon. Ah, but of course, you misinterpret my words. I am not dead now, but I will be dead by the time you are reading this. It is destiny. I do not mourn my fate.
If I am correct it is now a time of great social upheaval. I do not profess to know the details; no, as you humans are wont to say, it is God in the details and I am not God. I do, however, know the generalities.
I am a seer. Or, more precisely, I have travelled to times yet unknown and learnt of what was there. It was a great gift, and one that I cherished to the end of my days. Or such goes my plan. I am not so arrogant. I could not be, given who and what I am.
Ah, it is right that you wonder who and what I am. Your histories will not tell of me, and the future has not yet happened. It is a conundrum, I am sure. Rest assured: we are existing outside of time. This place—imagine an expansive, all-inclusive gesture, if you will—is not part of time.
A curious thing, no? I thought such a thing, once. It became a prison to me—self-imposed, of course; you are free to go whenever you do so choose, but it would be prudent to listen to that which I have brought you here to hear.
In three years’ time you are going to die. I should very much like to prevent this. As has been said, I have foreseen the future, and it is not an attractive place.
You are puzzled. That is to be expected, of course. A world where vampires rule? Of course, you think, that would be heaven for a vampire! But alas it is not. The world I have seen, the world of Homo sapiens incruentatus, is better in some ways than your own but that, again, is to be expected.
Where it counts it is worse. Our kind has always had a bloody history, and human lore recalls that part with keen accuracy. It never captured our loyalty or compassion. It is not a condemnation: we did not show it often to humans. We do not, even now, as you do not think we exist. I am sorry for that. This is my attempt at making up for my species’ sins.
And sin we have done, although that is a tale for another time—unfortunately not another place, given the unique nature of my correspondence with you. Correspondence? No, that does not quite fit, as you do not reply in any way that I can hear, given my unliving state.
I have had years to write this, untold decades folding into centuries and millennia. I did not notice, being outside time such as I am. Was.
I can not countenance your death. It is with you that everything changes. Forgive me, for I do not know why, only that you are. Perhaps you carry a child destined to save the world. I do not know, and I do not think that is the case.
Whatever the case, your death will change the world. The equilibrium will shift in favour of us. That can not be allowed to come to place.
In three years’ time – if I am correct, if I have not grossly misjudged the situation – you will contract cancer. It will be a foul, creeping illness and you will suffer muchly. Assistance will come in the form of a vampire. He will offer to turn you, thus saving your life—in a manner of speaking.
You must not accept his offer. His offer is the catalyst, the point of no return. You will not die: your cancer will be cured if you do not accept his offer. I have seen your future and the future of the world. It is unpleasant.
That is what I seek to change. When this message has stopped playing there will appear a console. From that console you shall be able to access my research. There will be the cure to your cancer. It is locked so that it will only open after you have received the offer from my kinsman. It is necessary, I am afraid.
The cure for cancer did not come until after you had died and ascended the ranks of Homo sapiens incruentatus. I must confess that I do not know if this will help anything, but I must try. It is the last effort of one lone vampire to save the world.
“Save the cheerleader, save the world”? Perhaps you do not remember. Perhaps you were uninterested, but that is the phrase which comes to mind whenever I think of my mission. I have checked: it is contemporaneous with you, my reference.
I will repeat: do not make the same mistake as you did once before. Wait until his offer has expired and the cure you seek will be released. Only then.
Do not confuse my actions for the good deeds of some saintly stranger. They are not. I am merely seeking some from of penance for my misdeeds, and you are the best vehicle for that. That I will be able to save your life in the process—and indeed, the lives of many—only makes the process sweeter.
Go now, forewarned, and do not repeat the mistakes of the past. I am dead and gone, now and forever more. The knowledge of how my sanctuary functions has already been downloaded into your brain; once the transfer of data is complete you will be free to come and go as you wish, should you wish.
Heed my words. Goodbye.
____
Don't ask because I don't know either.
It will not always be so. The bloodless wise men as we shall be known will rise from the ashes of our past to inherit the Earth. Your Earth, though it is hardly deserved, given the horrors to which it has been subjected at your hands.
You might find my usage of “your” to be curious. It is not so. I know that it is a human reading my memoirs because I have planned it in such a way. No vampire can enter this domain save one alone: me. And no human other than you.
And I am dead, so do not expect me to arrive any time soon. Ah, but of course, you misinterpret my words. I am not dead now, but I will be dead by the time you are reading this. It is destiny. I do not mourn my fate.
If I am correct it is now a time of great social upheaval. I do not profess to know the details; no, as you humans are wont to say, it is God in the details and I am not God. I do, however, know the generalities.
I am a seer. Or, more precisely, I have travelled to times yet unknown and learnt of what was there. It was a great gift, and one that I cherished to the end of my days. Or such goes my plan. I am not so arrogant. I could not be, given who and what I am.
Ah, it is right that you wonder who and what I am. Your histories will not tell of me, and the future has not yet happened. It is a conundrum, I am sure. Rest assured: we are existing outside of time. This place—imagine an expansive, all-inclusive gesture, if you will—is not part of time.
A curious thing, no? I thought such a thing, once. It became a prison to me—self-imposed, of course; you are free to go whenever you do so choose, but it would be prudent to listen to that which I have brought you here to hear.
In three years’ time you are going to die. I should very much like to prevent this. As has been said, I have foreseen the future, and it is not an attractive place.
You are puzzled. That is to be expected, of course. A world where vampires rule? Of course, you think, that would be heaven for a vampire! But alas it is not. The world I have seen, the world of Homo sapiens incruentatus, is better in some ways than your own but that, again, is to be expected.
Where it counts it is worse. Our kind has always had a bloody history, and human lore recalls that part with keen accuracy. It never captured our loyalty or compassion. It is not a condemnation: we did not show it often to humans. We do not, even now, as you do not think we exist. I am sorry for that. This is my attempt at making up for my species’ sins.
And sin we have done, although that is a tale for another time—unfortunately not another place, given the unique nature of my correspondence with you. Correspondence? No, that does not quite fit, as you do not reply in any way that I can hear, given my unliving state.
I have had years to write this, untold decades folding into centuries and millennia. I did not notice, being outside time such as I am. Was.
I can not countenance your death. It is with you that everything changes. Forgive me, for I do not know why, only that you are. Perhaps you carry a child destined to save the world. I do not know, and I do not think that is the case.
Whatever the case, your death will change the world. The equilibrium will shift in favour of us. That can not be allowed to come to place.
In three years’ time – if I am correct, if I have not grossly misjudged the situation – you will contract cancer. It will be a foul, creeping illness and you will suffer muchly. Assistance will come in the form of a vampire. He will offer to turn you, thus saving your life—in a manner of speaking.
You must not accept his offer. His offer is the catalyst, the point of no return. You will not die: your cancer will be cured if you do not accept his offer. I have seen your future and the future of the world. It is unpleasant.
That is what I seek to change. When this message has stopped playing there will appear a console. From that console you shall be able to access my research. There will be the cure to your cancer. It is locked so that it will only open after you have received the offer from my kinsman. It is necessary, I am afraid.
The cure for cancer did not come until after you had died and ascended the ranks of Homo sapiens incruentatus. I must confess that I do not know if this will help anything, but I must try. It is the last effort of one lone vampire to save the world.
“Save the cheerleader, save the world”? Perhaps you do not remember. Perhaps you were uninterested, but that is the phrase which comes to mind whenever I think of my mission. I have checked: it is contemporaneous with you, my reference.
I will repeat: do not make the same mistake as you did once before. Wait until his offer has expired and the cure you seek will be released. Only then.
Do not confuse my actions for the good deeds of some saintly stranger. They are not. I am merely seeking some from of penance for my misdeeds, and you are the best vehicle for that. That I will be able to save your life in the process—and indeed, the lives of many—only makes the process sweeter.
Go now, forewarned, and do not repeat the mistakes of the past. I am dead and gone, now and forever more. The knowledge of how my sanctuary functions has already been downloaded into your brain; once the transfer of data is complete you will be free to come and go as you wish, should you wish.
Heed my words. Goodbye.
____
Don't ask because I don't know either.