– Byzantium –

Finally watched Byzantium last night, after cooking vegetable fried rice !! I must admit despite the brutality style of killing/murder in the duration of the film, I quite enjoyed it. Some said the story was hardly interesting (as there are no excitement), but I enjoy it as it was like mystery novels you gotta keep flipping pages… I like Saoirse’s character, filled with history and want to write to let the world know her story. However I have issue with the boy she falls in love, especially when he betrayed her trust by passing her story to the tutors and cause troubles for her and her mum (Gemma Arterton).

Gemma Arterton reminded me of “Mona Lisa” (N.J.s previous film I watched) – they both have been working as sex worker for sometime, both were strong and able to react quickly to situations. However I like Arterton’s character more because of her clean-cut and resourceful characteristics , for example she was able to turn a run-down hotel into a brothel. Also the times when she was able to get up and go with work, such as the time as soon as she arrived the town she began working her way to money as a street sex worker. Sex Work in my eyes through this film was like vampires, both were so against the law (morality more like) yet shared such strong aura for attractions and a deep sense of history.

One of the things I liked and noticed was Neil Jordan’s choice of location, in both “Byzantium” and “Mona Lisa” many events happened at seaside town (my guess was on Brighton). Seaside towns back in the post-world-wars were the most popular choices of working class families for summer holidays, they eventually gone into ruins (part from Scarbrough and possibly Whitby) states when airline travel become accessible. The decadance suit the vampire’s “long histories” well, for their symbolism of memories and past happiness…

One of the most visible thing was the brotherhood – in the film the entitlement of becoming a vampire was just like selecting a barrister: rich, male and powerful. G.A.’s character broke all three entitlements: women, poor, with no powerful family (sex worker too). Yet her seizing chances gave her eternal life and S.R.’s character. While she was able to liberate (well in theory) women to fight for her own life, the brotherhood claimed she has to be killed in the film, the pursuit equals the relentness fight women have to take, to ensure their rights not being taken away.

So yes, overall it was a nice film, actually I need to re-watch “Interview with the Vampire” some point.

– Gothic –

The Art of Gothic: Britain’s Midnight Hours

For the last two weeks I have been listening to Andrew Graham-Nixon (Art Historian) talking about Gothic art in this programme.

First episode was about the original revival of Gothic as an art movement and social movement (in context of how people want to revive the past in some ways), then lead to how people pushed themselves into further revival, in order to deal with their horrors and anxieties over societies in the Industrial Revolution period. With its final episode spoke heavily on vampire, I adore the episode especially on how vampire relates to Capitalism. For example, how the body of capitalism drained the blood and energy of workers.

“Capital is dead labour, that, vampire-like, only lives by sucking living labour, and lives the more, the more labour it sucks. The time during which the labourer works, is the time during which the capitalist consumes the labour-power he has purchased of him.”

” Constant capital, the means of production, considered from the standpoint of the creation of surplus-value, only exist to absorb labour, and with every drop of labour a proportional quantity of surplus-labour. While they fail to do this, their mere existence causes a relative loss to the capitalist, for they represent during the time they lie fallow, a useless advance of capital. And this loss becomes positive and absolute as soon as the intermission of their employment necessitates additional outlay at the recommencement of work. The prolongation of the working-day beyond the limits of the natural day, into the night, only acts as a palliative. It quenches only in a slight degree the vampire thirst for the living blood of labour.”

For the impression on the programme – Graham-Nixon’s investigation seemed indicating that Gothic instead of being seen as a sheer art movement, should be seen as a collaboration between art and social movement under the changes. Through the programme, the perceptions that novelists and artists received toward their experiences with the society, often reflected through their work. For example, Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness. 

In fact – all art in some ways, big or small, related deeply with both individuals and societies through inter-effect.

– Memoir of a Vampire 03 –

 

(clues for this chapter)

George Orwell wrote a book call Why I Write, I presume I could put a title call Why I Live? If the memoir ever get published…                                                                                                                                  I day-dreamed as I typed up the interview content, obviously I have done my seminar work and made some progress for my essay first. Ada wasn’t able to go home to her family in Christmas, they lived far away and tickets were expensive for her to fly back and forth. I persuaded my dad for a while to let her stay throughout the Christmas and New Year, since she was being so good to me in helping me through the situations so far. Ada was anxious about the idea, “Are you sure he is ok with it?” She asked.  “At least my sister was keen on the idea, she has been dying to see you!” I exclaimed, Ada met my younger sister Lizzie when I moved in. Apart from the Christmas day and New Year, my days at home had been very much split between my escort work, essays and typing the transcript of the interviews.                                                                                   In the interview before I got back home for Christmas, I told Mr Greene I would be away to spend time with family, he looked at me sadly and told me he would think of me in Christmas. I smiled as I said thank you, we then talked of the first time he was aware of the changes in him.                                                                                                              It was the dawn when it all began, he said. He woke up to the emergence of sunlight as if nothing had happened at all, but as the sun grew closer he realized something was wrong. He could see smoke and slowly he could feel a sensation of burn, he screamed as he ran into the shadows. The signs of changes became increasingly visible when he instantly spited out the food he normally adored, literally anything but ones with liquid in red like red wine. He took it as one of the signs for the magic he adapted to protect his family indeed turned him into something horrible, his temper he was told changed drastically – especially a craving for violence and feeling blood. He couldn’t help smiling when he slayed his enemies dead with sword (or those sharp wooden sticks), he could not deny the fact the vibe he felt through the sword was addictive as any drug addict would find in heroin. He had to have these addiction under control from his family, he spent so long to protect them and they would be the very last to be harmed he swore. He did everything he could to keep it wrapped, but family could not throw off their suspicions when evidence of his changes were growing. He knew he had to go, he knew he had to do something to avoid any possible regrets. And so it goes, he died in a war – he escaped and the enemy found someone’s head and assumed to be his. He was lucky as the dead man looked just like him, the head eventually was exhibited with voices of triumph from the enemy, while the actual man they ran after were deep in the woods. There was a sense of rejection in his way of describing that part of his life. “Even my family tried to put up with my transformation,” he commented with sadness overflown his eyes, “the people in my country was getting freak out by my transformation, they were growing suspicious over my change of routine.”                                                                                                                         I could imagine that very well, faces of family and friends gone blank in horror of his change, all those people he cared deeply ran off in fear as if he carried a disease. The rejection was so painful my nose was having this sensation of soreness, it would be a sign that my eyes were close to throwing bucket of water into the air. “My army knew my condition,” he said calmly as if it didn’t bother him at all, “They knew what was going on and they devise a plan for me to go, without any nasty endings.” The army was so loyal to him, they even prepared the scenes of his death with a head of an enemy who happened to look like him.                                                                                          “Then what happened?” I asked with curiosity, referring to his post-war life.                        “I was in the wild, in the forest and soaked.” He recalled, as he looked up the ceiling of the hotel room, his eyes fixated onto the yellow light. He didn’t seemed to be in pain at all, as if the wires inside his eyes seemed disconnected from each other – he didn’t blink or turn away from the light. He stroke the polished table in wood as if caressing the skin of someone, I couldn’t help feeling aroused just by watching its movement. My brain began to imagine with his description to the scene: Everywhere was green with moist, he woke up to the sensation of droplet fell onto his face, his mind was hazy as a maze as he looked around the place. He couldn’t entirely remember what happened, there were scenes that he vaguely remembered, such as how one of his loyal servant covered up his escape from the enemy who tried to get him killed. For a very long time he stayed in the forest, he felt a sense of peace, even he had to admit it was lonely as he had no family to share with or anyone to talk to. He worked his way to set the fires, make shelters and hunt with the weapons his servants gave to him. “But obviously if you are really dead…” I asked, suspicious. “You shouldn’t feel a thing should you?”                 “No I never was able to feel a thing,” he commented as he gave a sigh of relief, “I used words such as cold just to describe the situation.”                                                               “How do you mean?”                                                                                                              “For you the meaning of words like cold and hot was about the weather wasn’t it?” “They can also extend to feeling,” I pointed out, “the feeling of things.”                          His face darken.

 

“GET OFF ME!”                                                                                                                    I was sure I never managed to scream this loudly as before, well not in the town centre of my hometown for sure, not when I was at work for sure – my experience was normally very much opposite from the current situation. People passed by glanced at my direction with contempt, some thought about coming to my rescue but no one did – or they were freaked out by my client, who was way too huge for them to fight over.            I wished there was someone to get me off this man, anyone I prayed. Then a man in long black coat emerged from the dark corner, the only light thing on him was his green scarf, where on earth did I see such silk green scarf?  As he came closer, I would be more than happy to just dig a hole and hide…                                                                  How on earth knew I live around here at holidays? I thought to myself, I was quite certain (double checked many times) that I said absolutely nothing about my background at all! He walked to the client, the client let go of me and prepared to fight him. He moved swiftly like a wind, always able to escape when the client tried to throw a punch, the client ended up got too many punches and he fell on the floor. He was conscious for sure, but definitely walking like a cripple when he got up and gave me an unfriendly stare. The bystanders left as soon as the show was finished, “How the hell you found me?” I hissed at him as soon as I dragged him to the entrance of Alice’s Shop, I did not know why I pulled him there but I did anyhow.                                              He looked at me confused, as if he was expecting me to be grateful in some ways. “I…”he stammered, “You mentioned about going to Oxford in passing last time we met, remembered the dates you would be staying with your family.” My left hand seemed to have a mind of its own, it slapped right on the face of the handsome man in front of me, the sound was so loud and clear everything stopped. He replied with a hurtful gaze, as if questioning my ungrateful attitude to all that he did. “You STALKED ME,” my voice was growing louder, “You stalked me all the way from Leeds! What’s going on with you?”                                                                                                              “I thought you would appreciate the surprise…” he looked down guiltily onto the floor, “Bella Swan seemed happy with Edward Cullen when he did it.”                                                              At that very moment, I wanted to slam my head onto the table so badly – Ah yes! He has been reading romantic novels that were born in recent years (range from the 1970s til now), in hope of understanding the current trend of love and relationship under the media’s recommendation. He felt that he would then be able to understand my structure of work, when he understand the current logic applicable on love in modern world. He might’ve been a great ruler, but definitely nowhere near getting a good grade on understanding how to please a woman rightly. I cursed myself secretly for not reminding him that what Edward Cullen did was beyond romantic in a bad way.                                                                                                                               “Vivian!” A man shouted to me from afar, I wanted to hide more than ever – my dad stood in front of the entrance toward Christ Church College, he placed a suspicious gaze to first Mr Greene then to me, he waited patiently til the cars gone by before he crossed to greet us. I looked at Mr Greene sternly, making sure he said nothing. “What on earth you are doing here?”                                                                                           “I bumped into a friend,” I lied quickly, “This is Ladon Greene, dad.” My dad shook hands with Mr Greene, “This is my dad, Philip.” I wished Ada would be here at this very moment, she has been brilliant at dealing with awkward situations – or Lizzie, she was also good. “Well you are more than welcome to come over for dinner if you like?” I looked at my dad as if he was a volcano mountain which just erupted, what on earth was he doing? “If it’s not a problem at all?” Mr Greene looked at me as if asking for my permission, I thought for a little and decided to give Mr Greene a chance, I normally would slap straight away, but somehow I found myself liking the presence of Mr Greene. Dad instructed Mr Greene and I sit at the back and away he drove, throughout the journey, our fingers touched many times and each time I felt a small sense of being electrocuted.

Ada was in the kitchen when we came home, Lizzie was helping her preparing some dumplings from a small Asian supermarkets we went in London a while ago. They were stunned to see Mr Greene came home along with my dad and I, but they both greeted us warmly and escorted Mr Greene to his seats in the dining room. I ran into the kitchen as dad settled himself and Mr Greene a glass of red wine, “Vivian, that guy was proper handsome!” Ada rejoiced as soon as I walked into the kitchen, the steamed dumplings were close to ready with the vegetables. I smiled to her word, yet something was unsettling in my mind.  “You know, Mr Greene had asked me many times if I was certain about inviting him in as dad walked in.”                                                                          Ada looked up at me as she was cooking, often this would mean for me to continue. “He seemed doubting my decision and –”                                                                                  “You did tell him that he has to leave as you requested right?”                                                 “Of course, just because he was my client he yet get to the level of VIP, come on!” “That’s good, that’s good.” Ada commented quietly, her nodding left me feeling uncomfortable. “The reason I asked was what you said remind me about a strange tale about vampire, apparently once you invited the vampire into the house it would be pretty hard to kick it out –” I flinched and almost dropped the plates, thankfully Ada caught them with quick reaction. She nudged me to put the plates down, as I sat myself next to Mr Greene. I tried to remember the times that Mr Greene ate in my presence, but of course I found none, Ada scooped some dumplings and hand a few of them on the plate to Mr Greene. Mr Greene received the plate with a smile of discomfort, but took a bite of the dumpling. “It’s delicious!” He smiled earnestly at me.  Mr Greene and my father had been chatting about politics and current affairs, while Lizzie scoff the dumplings into her mouth, Ada and I talked of our plans to be back in Leeds three or four days after the New Year for our exams in mid-January.  As Lizzie went to wash her dishes, dad went for a shower, Ada, Mr Greene and I watched television. Mr Greene’s speed of consuming the glass of red wine seemed growing faster, as he sat anxiously next to Ada and I, as if he was going to have something blow-up from his mouth in any minute. Funny thing was, Ada and I were perfectly fine. “Excuse me!” He ran into the downstairs toilet in an instant, Ada and I looked at each other with suspicions.                 He came out from the toilet few minutes later, looking pale. “Oh if you are not feeling well you might as well stay.” Dad spent minutes to persuade him from going back to the hostel, he looked at me as if asking for my instructions.                                                           “I mean if you are not well, no point trying to set off as there would be a distance before any toilet available from here.” I said, Lizzie already on her way to get the sleeping bag and pillows.                                                                                                                          “Very well then, if no trouble at all.” He smiled weakly as Lizzie laid out the black sleeping bag and pillows in all kinds of colour onto the big sofa in caramel white.                                                                   Minutes later, Ada and dad had gone upstairs after bidding him good night, Lizzie went to lock the doors, I sat with Mr Greene as he got himself ready for the night. “Oh the sleeping bag is so warm!” he exclaimed with joy all over his face, “I wish they invented it in my days.” He squished himself into the black sleeping bag as I watched.                        “Tell me about your diet,” I said quietly, “Were you not supposed to have human food? You seemed looked as if Henry the eighth got a gout.”                                                     “Henry VIII…I remember him, he was a good lad, but very bad temper for sure.” Mr Greene commented, as if he knew the king all his life, did he really as he claimed lived through all these centuries without anyone knowing?                                                             “I guessed my organs deteriorate so much over the years, it did make me feel very uneasy.” He smiled to me as if he made a good joke, before his expression gone serious, “You should’ve been more careful about letting strangers into your house.” “How so?” I questioned, puzzled, “Aren’t you trustworthy enough?”                            “Even trustworthy people can be disappointing, my dear, so always have reservation to everyone you know.” He spoke with great deal of caution in his voice.  “Tell me about your life, have you met anyone since you exiled from your own countries?”                   He smiled at me as if a father smiling to a child, “I met a girl during the 1780s, her name was Mary. She was very different, if you ask me, not very conventional…” He claimed he was a painter, at the time with a false name fell in love with a girl call Mary, who shared a very different idea about women’s role in society. He was living with a wife, so he couldn’t do anything but to turn Mary away. He knew very little of what happened to her after she left, maybe she lived happily with a man and happy family or she never made it to true happiness. “You guys are very lucky,” he concluded, “Less and less restrains from the social standards.”                                                                                                   “But more and more chaos, as some would be struggling to find their purposes.” I replied without knowing why, we looked at each other without words.                               “Good night, Tippi.” He whispered as I got up.                                                                  “You caught me, you caught my dad calling me Vivian.”                                                    “I wouldn’t call you Vivian unless you allow me to.” He lay down thoughtfully as he spoke, “why Tippi though?”                                                                                            “My mum loved a film call “The Birds”, the gold hair woman in the film was call Tippi Herden.” We then bid each other goodnight, I walked up to my room through the not-so-spiral stiars in white walls and brown carpet.

– Memoir of A Vampire 02 –

I have since been seeing Mr Greene for a month and a half from the first time we met, we have been meeting not just in Tuesday but also some of the weekends, it was toward the end of November when he suggested this to me. He was reading my draft essay on criminal justice on the hotel bed after my service, he was showing interest to read my essays so I gave him my notes to read while I went for a shower. He lay very still as he read, I stood still watching his abdomen moving up and down, before my mind snapped back to the shower I supposed to go for. As I got back from the shower, Mr Greene has been remaining still reading my essay very thoughtfully, “You write very well.” he said.                                                                   “I am sure you will find many students write just as well too.” I replied, smiling nervously. He made a gesture instructing me to sit down, I followed numbly and sat on the bed, he recited my passages on the criminal justice essay as if they were sonnets written by Shakespeare or Browning. He read them aloud with one arm in boisterous movements, I wished I knew what magic he put into my ordinary essay. He smiled back at me with triumph when he finished one of the passage, I smiled back with approval.               “I have been thinking,” he began, sat up straight as if this would be a serious business, I couldn’t help feeling nervous over his gesture so I sat up straight “I would like to write a memoir, to note down my own life.”                                                                                                                                                             “That sounds wonderful.” I rejoiced with the idea.                                                                                              “I would like you to stenograph for me-”                                                                                                        “WHAT?” I screamed in surprise, I was told I wrote well like Sylvia Plath when I was a teenager, but I put the idea of studying literature out of my mind as it seemed less compactable on job search compared to criminal law. While I was amazed by the comment he gave, I was at the same time suspicious of his comment – was he saying it for real, or was he just playing games?                                                            Mr Greene as if he already read my thoughts, flipped through the pages to point the passage that would validate his argument of me writing well, “I really think you made the law looked easy to understand.” He commented earnestly. He then lean toward me, look into my eyes as I was a mirror of his reflection. There was a sense of sadness within his eyes, “Over the years I grown tired of living…I am not even sure why I lived after all these years.” I couldn’t speak, not just I have had no idea what to comfort him with, but also the fact his situation seemed the kind of pain even an empathized word could not cure. “So I hope, through writing out my memoir, I would be able to come to some clue of why I kept on living when I should’ve died.” He looked up at me with guilt as he realized what he had said probably would scared me into pieces, we didn’t speak for the rest of the night, only a goodbye.                                                                                        “Are you serious?” Ada asked me as I told her the news at dinner, she found Mr Greene’s idea was extremely strange and his words seemed suicidal. I was not entirely comfortable about the idea as well, as I have had no idea about Mr Greene’s state of mind. Yet there was a part of me feeling that Mr Greene would not tell me all these things if he didn’t trust me, beside the words seemed real from his lips.                  It was days after the meeting, he gave me a text message as I was on my way to the School of Law for some administration work. “When we meet at Tuesday, please bring some paper and pens with you. I shall provide my own mini-recorder, and some cassettes.”

We decided to conduct this interview at a coffee shop call Froth and Fodder at four in the afternoon, the café was a favorite of mine for its quietness despite its location was right next to the main road. As he was not familiar with the geography of the university areas, so we were to meet outside The Parkinson Building. Parkinson Building was a building that looked similar to temples we normally found in Greece, along with its location and its name stuck at the side of the front staircase in bright gold, it was impossible for anyone to miss the building. I was walking down to the front staircase through the passages to the Parkinson Building through Baines Wing, the home of School of Healthcare. Outside was raining, so I was standing in the foyer of the Parkinson Building. Mr Greene was wearing a caramel coloured trench coat with his black suit underneath, he would’ve looked like a secret agent. He smiled as he saw me through the glass, I presume he was walking up as his polished leather shoes was wet in every corner.                                                         We looked first right then left as we crossed the road to reach to the café, we sat ourselves into one of the corners, there were books and leaflets for events stacked on the shelf. “Would you like anything to drink?” He asked, smiling. I requested a medium size of mocha, he came back with my mocha and a bottle with pink liquid. He then paid me the fees before starting. I got everything ready, my minds was full of questions flying in my mind. I told him that he was more than welcome to stop the tape anytime he like, as I state the procedure I felt I was some kind of scientist. We smiled to each other awkwardly as our eyes met, before I began pressing the button of “start”.                                                                                                                 “Tell me about yourself.” I said, as I switched on the mini-recorder and the circles began to record, I found them more reliable compared to the modern technology on recording. At the very least, you could track down whether the thing was still working.                                                                                                      Mr Greene gave a look of discomfort and confusion, he looked around in distress, before he looked up at me with defeat. “I could not remember precisely when I was born,” he said, “I was born in 1431 because that was what everyone told me so.”                                                                                                                  I looked at him stunned, 1431? Was he kidding with me? “Was the life the historians understood about you, very different from the life you have had?”                                                                                                “I am not sure,” he looked down in distress, as if desperately trying to cling onto the memories he had to the most distant past. “All I remembered about that period of my life was…” He wiped his the side of his eyes with his left pinky finger, he quickly looked around the café with eyes of anxiety, and he even looked down to the side of the chair and under the table as if he was in the edge of the cliff. “A lot of fighting, one fighting the other to death just to have the one thing that was too abstract to have.” He wiped the side of his eyes for the second time with the trembling right pinky finger, “I just want my family to be safe.”                      I gave him a piece of snowy-white tissue for him to wipe his tears, I glanced in horror as I noticed red bloodstain on the tissue. He must’ve noticed too, as he gathered himself with few deep breath, “I am you,” he began solemnly, “and I am not you.” It was my turn to be confused, what did he mean? “I am you and I am not you.” Yet I quickly conjured up the possibility that what I was looking at, was something else under the same skin. “What was your earliest memory, about your life?”                                                                    He took a gulp from the bottle with pink liquid, a melody written by Serge Gainsbourg was playing in the café, I was sure it was Initial BB the café was playing. I hummed into the melody, failed to notice until Mr Greene’s face drawn to mine. He smiled when I told him I liked the song (precisely pretty much anything written by Serge Gainsbourg) and began to ask me about my life. “I thought the interview was about you.” I smiled as he asked me about my earliest memory, the recorder stopped working long ago when he wiped his tears.                                                                                                                                                         “Let’s make a deal shall we say?” He smiled to me sincerely, “When you ask me a question from now onward, you tell me your answer to the question when I answer mine?”                                                           “Deal.” I pressed the button of record, as soon as we made the deal.                                                               “Ok, my earliest memory…” He began speaking of a world that sounded very ancient and foreign from my knowledge, wars between Christians and Ottomans, and the political struggle from one group to another. There was a time the threat from enemy hit his home so badly, he had to consult something supernatural – so supernatural to the point he could never be who he was. In the end, his country was safe for a while, but he had to leave. “I became something that would put my family at risk.” He smiled, the voice filled with irony, “I sold my soul to protect my family from harm, yet it seemed the harm never left us, just a matter of switch – from someone else to me.” He smiled sadly, his eyes looked as if he did not know whether to cry or laugh. I began to understand the meaning behind his “I am you and I am not you.”, I couldn’t be sure if I was ready to see anymore of him.

 

It was the first of December when that happened, I just finished my appointment with another client, he was lovely in character but he seemed to couldn’t help himself being rough on the bed. My vagina was very much in pain since he pulled out, it was a relief to know that he was satisfied but I might put him into a “to be considered” list in the future. When I say “to be considered”, I meant the clients were the group that need my second thoughts. It was already dark even only six in the evening, which to me wasn’t too late to walk home yet.  So I walked through the millennium square up to the roundabouts outside the hospital, through the university campus and toward Devon Road. I was very close to the gate into my hall of residence, I couldn’t help walking faster.                                                                                                            Until he caught me in the dark.                                                                                                                        A gloved hand covered my mouth and pulled me into the dark passage between my hall of residence and another hall of residence further down from the hill. I tried to bite him and kick but he was very strong, someone help me! I thought. I banged on the metal bars next to the passage, please someone! Anyone! Just answer me and save me from this!  I looked in horror as under the dim night a face with eyes about to drop onto the floor, his teeth were incoherent as if someone artificially structured them this way. “Help! Somebody help!” I screamed loudly, my throat was feeling the pain because of the dryness. The man tried to pull me back into his arms, before something I couldn’t see pushed him down the passage. I turned around and saw Ada looking stunned so I turned back, the man was down at the lower end of the passage unconscious. Ada and I looked at each other, tried to understand what was going on. “Did you see something flying at him?” I asked Ada, “I think I felt some kind of movement when he was pushed.” “Something ghost-like?” She asked, dialing in her mobile to get the ambulance, or police, she was always very calm and under control. “Hello? My friend was attacked and the attacker seemed to be unconscious…” We walked carefully like a pair of scared animals, in case he would jump back up at us like a zombie. Yet he didn’t woke, he seemed sleeping peacefully.                                                                          As the police arrived we were able to see the man in a clearer sight, he was for sure dead and gone – blood drained away onto the concrete pavement through two holes on his neck. Police were murmuring with suspicions over the body, they looked back and forth between us and the body, as if trying to make sense whether the puzzles worked together. “I hope you didn’t have a habit of biting people, Miss.” One of the police officer turned to me jokingly. “Our teeth weren’t sharp enough to kill the guy,” Ada in an instant draw herself close to the officer and open her mouth to show her teeth, “It’s my friend you should be concerning with, she got attacked by the freak!”                                                                                                “Sir found a Swiss Army Knife!” another officer handed him my Swiss Army Knife, oh god damn it! “We need you both to come with us to the station.” He said, his gaze – I was more than sure already judged the possibility of us being the murderer.                                                                                                             We repeated our stories for god knows how many times in the police station, the ones who questioned me seemed have a particular interest over my choice of part-time job. I literally have to quote from one of the legislations that I have every right to sell sex to clients as I wasn’t doing it in the streets (I wasn’t poor enough to risk myself standing around the corners going into cars of strangers), therefore the police have no rights to charge me at all. The police upon finding out that I knew my laws rather well, decided to talk me out of selling my body as if I was Dumas’s Marguerite. “Ada!” I never felt so glad to see her when I was let out from the interview room, “Well they did ask if I was a sex worker, I was sure they loved the idea of charging us running a brothel.” We laughed together quietly, while waiting for the result of my Swiss Army Knife, I presume it fell out of my bag when I was being attacked. In the end the Swiss Army Knife was returned with result that cleared my name, we were free to go. Ada and I smiled to each other as we left, good god what a night that was!

– Memoir of a Vampire, 01 –

Been writing some stories lately, will upload them all to here slowly. Until then please feel free to comment (beside grammar which I apologize).

 

He was in the beginning just a client of mine,

I received an e-mail from him for an appointment in a cold October night, I presume he was just another ordinary client who wanted to escape the loneliness within the city through the body of anyone who weren’t afraid of non-string attachment, and managed to find me through the sea of adverts on the internet.

I replied with times I would be available, a reminder of available service (in case he didn’t read what service I do and don’t) and prices I would require for the hours. He seemed happy with it, judged by the fact he replied within half an hour with words of satisfaction. We arranged to meet in a hotel at Tuesday night – I found it easier to do outcall for clients, as I would escape any possible hassles and questions from my housemates with curiosity. I liked this job as it fit the studies and various matters nicely together, even I would have to suffer the stigmas from the world if my occupation ever got found out. I scribbled down the time, the name of the client and a self reminder to confirm with the client on the place to meet in my little black book, in case I ever forget.

For the rest of the week I found myself restless (or agitated?), unlike any other clients I came across, this client – known as Ladon Greene gave me this sense of excitement and mystery. Little was known of him, but from the photo he sent me he seemed rather reliable. I tried to check his records in Ugly Mug app to see if any past record of him to estimate my chances of dealing with violence, nothing was written at all. He wrote that he has been living in the city for some time, working as a consultant in business – according to what was written in his e-mails. I googled him to find out more, indeed he was what he said he was in the e-mail. I couldn’t help letting out a sense of relief.  Strangely some parts of me was looking forward to meeting this man, as most of the time seeing a client was just time for work for me, at least I could say for sure when I was in Oxford.

“Hello there,

I would like to confirm if our appointment still stands if no problems at all.

                                   Regards                                                                                                                         Tippi”

I was panting and my heart was pounding as if it would blow-up from the inside, as the time of meeting grew closer. He replied with the confirmation of hotel room reservation e-mail attached, I quickly scribbled down the name of the hotel and the room number, the hotel was very close to the train station, which wouldn’t take long to walk to it from the university. I packed the things for tomorrow, putting things such as condoms and lube into the conceal of my large black bag with many compartments. I switched off the light to sleep, but instead the entire night my eyes were open, staring at the ceiling.

I dashed to the Conference Auditorium from a classroom in the ninth floor of Worsley the Medical Building, they weren’t far from each other as any other parts of the university, yet it took me a lot of energy to walk from one to another – especially if you have three textbook heavy as bricks to carry with you, textbooks of forensic psychology, criminal justice and criminal law. The smells of chlorine was very strong as I walked passed the Edge the sports centre, through the dim glass you could see heads and arms floating in the water. A slender figure with hair black as raven, short as women in the roaring twenties, it was Ada. I have known Ada for a short time, but we became each other’s alliance ever since an incident which left me shunned from the students of a group in the block I lived in. She was shunned after for defending my choice of part-time job, which we since then became friends if I may say so. Normally if I have an appointment at Tuesday, I would ask Ada to take the bag with those chunky textbooks back to the hall of residence we lived in, as we shared a lecture of Sociological Thinking together before we finished for the day. I felt bad for her carrying things for me, but all she did was shrugged and said it’s fine. We walked into the lecture theatre and sat very close to the speaker’s stand, we were to talk about Emile Durkheim today. The lecture supposed to be in last week, but the other tutor claimed he would not be available today so he did his lecture on Max Weber and his theory in advance. “Where are you meeting this guy?” She asked casually, as we took out our notebooks. Ada, besides being the alliance of mine, was the only person who I would feel confident enough to give details and updates of my meetings in this city.                                       “The Queens,” I answered honestly, “near the train station.”                                                                          “The guy sounded rather mysterious, just saying.” She shrugged, the lecturer came in and the whole room fell from chatter to absolute silence.

I dragged Ada into the women’s toilet right after the lecture, the lecturer was looking at both of us with a strange expression as we walked quickly, not sure what was it about. The toilet was empty, I thanked god secretly as I discovered this. I checked myself on the mirror and quickly refreshed myself with lip-gloss and mascara. Ada leaned on the wall made with cold tiles in white, watching me doing the make-up through the reflections. “You know, I never knew the existence of Fatalistic suicide in Durkheim’s book until today,” she commented thoughtfully, “I was sure it wasn’t written in Wikipedia before.”                                                      “As the tutors say, never trust Wikipedia completely.” I smiled as I replied.                                                       “You know when the word fatalistic was out, it reminded me of Macbeth.”                                                        “How so?”                                                                                                                                                        “He cornered himself because of his decisions…”She leaned her head onto the cold tiles, before we finished the make-up process. We walked out toward The Edge where we parted with “see you later”, Ada walked toward Roger Stevens Building with the chunky textbooks at the right side of her shoulder and her tote bag in grey on the other shoulder. I then wrapped myself tighter by pulling the coat closer to my skin in hope of keeping me from the cold. My small heels tapped on the pavement as I marched my way to the hotel. I crossed through the campus of another university, followed by the town hall and millennium square. The hotel would be reached once you walked through The Headrow (a very busy road in the town constantly filled with all kinds of vehicles) and Park Row, where many offices and banks located.

I looked around as I walked into the lobby of the hotel, I walked quickly without looking up at the people passing by, unless my gaze bumped into theirs. In such situations, I would smile as if I have seen them many times. The lift door opened with very much every interior painted with gold, “Wait!” a man shouted from afar and he stopped the door from kissing each other with his hand, as I was slow to react to his request. We smiled to each other awkwardly, before our eyes turned back toward the metal door.                  I glanced over to him while he wasn’t looking, he body was a combination of a very tall and slender frame, black hair pulled back by gel with force, a black coat without frayed cuffs or dusts. His shirt was white as snow without any lines, and tie was red as blood.  His hand looked very icy based on the colour on the skin was beyond pale, it looked more sinister with his long pianist-like fingers. He was holding a book, a heavy book consisting of many pieces of paper in small rectangles, I couldn’t see the title. I tried to deduct if he was my client, or another man who happened to be in the same floor as myself because of the elevator button have no other light on but number five.                                                                                                    I walked out of the elevator in desperation once the lift door was open, my heels tapped onto the floor so loudly, I almost assumed the man was walking closely behind me. Indeed the man was walking close by as I glanced back, but his shoes was soundless when it tapped to a point him being closely behind me was no different to a ghost. I tapped onto the door with number 510 right in front of me, as soon as I checked the number on my notebook. A finger tapped on my shoulder and I jumped before I was able to look back, it was the man in the elevator! “Did I make you jump?” He smirked as he hold up a card in white in his hand and swiped it into the black line between a small light and the door handle, he pushed the handle right after the light turned green.

We walked into the room – the room consisted a huge bed big as what king could possibly asked for, furniture were made of fine polished wood. I quickly looked into the bathroom, the tiles were white to a point no dirt could stay. The washing basin designed with metal as their legs and glass as the basin, I could feel the chill from the cold tiles next to the shower base. He put his coat and his suit jacket onto the side closer to the window on the bed, as he sat on the chair and scanned me from head to toe. “So you are the beautiful lady I was corresponding then?” He smiled brightly, his voice and accent sounded as if he belonged to no set of time or space. I nodded my head in silence, before he handed me the fees for the session, always ask for the fees before anything can be proceed between a client and yourself.                       He looked at me as if asking for my instruction on what to do, I glanced at the bathroom and back at him, he walked into the bathroom without hesitation or looking back. I sat down in relief as the sound of the water began splattering the wall, before I gathered my toiletries. My heart pounded harder as the time lingered, I inspected myself once more before he came out of the bathroom. He came out of the bathroom with his torso toned up in a perfect scale a human can possibly achieve, the whole of him was so beautiful (part from the part he wrapped up with a towel) to a point I had to look away.                                                    I quickly ran into the bathroom with my toiletries, a quick rinse of my body then putting on the lingerie and refreshment of my make-up, lip gloss, mascara…I tried to make sure my breathing was under control, before I counted and opened the door. He was lying on the bed with his grey boxer shorts back on, I walked to the bed and lie beside him, smiling as seductively as I could. He brought two glasses of champagne and gave one to me, we sipped in silence and conversed casually. Things escalated thanks to the champagne, I began kissing his neck as if I was possessed by an external force. He pushed me from him lightly, “Hmm actually I was hoping for more erm…hugs or cuddles,” he explained shyly or feeling guilty for leading me the wrong way. “Sorry.”                                                                                                              “It’s alright really.” I smiled as I lie flat on the bed, he moved himself to the side of me and hugged me with his right arm. I pulled the duvet up and covered both of us, outside was getting dark and I began to feel sleepy once I put the alarm on.

As the room grown darker, he grown more and more agitated in his sleep. First he murmured words that sound foreign and ancient to me, his voice filled with fear as something was going to happen. This followed by his whole body began to twitch and increasing the volume in a manner of galvanism – head keep turning and arms gripped my body tighter. All these broke into a series of NO! NO! NO! I woke by his increasingly loud scream I had to hum songs to him and stroke his back like a child, to calm him from his nightmares. He eventually fell back to his silence, I fell back to mine as if nothing had happened at all.

“It has been a very pleasant evening, thank you.” He commented as we walked to the bus station outside The Light (a small shopping centre), the night breeze softly touched my face as we head out to the night. He seemed totally forgotten the incident of his sleep, judged by the fact he hardly mentioned it, so I did not say a word after some hesitation on to ask or not while texting Ada. On the way to the bus stop, he offered to have dinner with me but I politely declined, “I am afraid I need to clean the fridge before food goes off.” I said sadly.                                                                                                                                                         “Yes…food we cooked aye?” He murmured to himself, “It reminded me of my wife.”                                      “I am sorry.” I commented, since the way he talked about it hinted that his wife died in an age too unnatural. He smiled sadly at me, before we walked the rest of the journey in awkward silence.                        He waited with me for the bus to arrive, bus number one, six, twenty-eight, fifty-six or ninety-seven would reach a road near the hall of residence I lived in very easily. I didn’t mind to wait on my own, but he felt he would not be gentleman enough if he left me by myself before the bus arrived. As the number ninety-seven bus arrived, we got up along with few other people to queue in order to get on the bus. He held my hand as I stepped onto the bus, our eyes met as I stepped up and a sense of sadness swept over me. Would I see this gentleman ever again? Very unlikely to be honest, men often switched to different girls in unspecific time of their lives. I tried to remember his face and held his gaze on me, before the woman behind me nudged me to the driver where my hand had to let go of his. I paid my bus fare and walked to my seat near the window, I kept my eyes on him to savor his presence until the bus took off and he was gone.                      “How did it go?” Ada greeted me as I walked into the flat, she was holding out two plates with steaming fish cakes and broccoli. I opened the door to her room and we both took the plates and eat, as soon as we dropped everything. I was very hungry to a point I couldn’t help eating ravenously, Ada just slowly cut and ate her food.                                                                                                                                                        “He seemed nice to me,” I commented thoughtfully, there was something about him that was different from other clients I have had in the past.”                                                                                                                  “Is that so?”                                                                                                                                                      I nodded with certainty, we finished the dinner with comfortable silence.                                                          Ada brought both of us a cup of tea after few minutes back into the kitchen, while I was waiting for her I saw a book lying open on the bed-side table. The cover consisted a woman standing in the middle with a very 1980s look and make-up and a bowl-like object behind her, the word “Kitchen” write right in front of her chest. “Just started it,” Ada’s voice made me jump, as I was not aware of her presence in the room. “Sounded as if she was obsessed with kitchen, any kind of kitchen.”                                                           We smiled to each other with ease, I told Ada pretty much everything that happened today, she was the only person I was comfortable enough to have every part of me poured out. I wasn’t sure why I did so since I have always been secretive about myself, yet it was possible her accepting nature helped me to become comfortable that way. “You know, you never seemed so look forward to work before.” Ada commented casually as I bid her goodnight, “you were never from my memory so far, been so keen to go to work.” I smiled on my way back to the room, was I? I thought to myself.

A week later, Mr Greene asked for my service again.

P.S.: Apologies if the structure seemed messy to read, it’s just that no matter how I tried to refine the article into order, the lines of words kept flying off for reasons unknown. Therefore I would appreciate some advise or suggestion, in order to address the problem.