Lamia

I found this when I was cleaning my room today. I barely even remember writing this.

The night was cool and the sky was p i t c h b l a c k. It was as if someone had thrown a moth-eaten blanket over the earth, and the stars were the little holes that had been eaten away by insects. I sat by the windowsill as clouds began to roll swiftly into view, masking the distant suns. The clouds were dark and ominous, though still quite visible in the light of the moon. The street lamp outside my window had gone out a week before and yet no one had been sent to fix the damned thing. I didn't mind, because I saw much better in the darkness anyway. There were few people still awake and wandering the streets this late at night; mostly beggars and streetwalkers and the thieves and rascals. They stayed mostly in the shadiest alleyways anyway, waiting to pillage and plunder the next poor sap that haphazardly wandered into their midst. But I suppose everyone had to make a living somehow.

The clouds had aggressively made their way across the town and hung low, as if they were trying to smother the village with their immense weight. A bright and jagged piece of lightning lashed out in the distance, momentarily blinding me. Moments later, a grumble of thunder growled to life somewhere in the horizon. It happened again; a flash (causing my vision to go stark white once again), and then a low clap of thunder... this time closer and angrier than before.

I sat p.e.r.f.e.c.t.l.y s.t.i.l.l, as I waited for the inevitable rain, by my windowsill. I was on the third story of a tiny inn that overlooked the cobblestone street below. It was the "main drag" and many shops or mobile vendors were meandering along this street during the day. Though, it was but a ghost town at this time of night.

The tiny room I chose for the night was a stifling 90 degrees, but my skin remained cool and recognized no temperature. The only thing that bothered me about the heat was that it made my tongue sticky and it made me so... thirsty...

Another blinding flash and an almost immediate clap of thunder sounded and finally the first droplet of rain struck my window pane. It slid down the glass, leaving a slick trail of moisture in its wake. The little light that was shining in my window from distant street lamps seemed to be sucked into the droplet and its wet trail. Here, the light was scattered and little flecks of color sparkled ever so slightly around it. I found myself mesmerized, as I often was when there was a storm brewing.

I suppose I am getting ahead of myself, I tend to do that. You see, it is very difficult for one of my kind to focus on just one thing at a time. Our senses are so exaggerated that sometimes they manage to overcome us. They fight with one another; sight, the feeling of a soft caress, distance sounds, and particularly the smells. It doesn't ever stop, but I suppose one could say it becomes easier to manage, years of practice to ignore, but never to overcome.

More tiny droplets hit my window or plummeted to their deaths on the cobblestones below. It began to rain harder and heavier, and the flecks of color dancing on the glass moved faster and faster until my eyes were frantically trying to watch each individual sparkle. I fought the urge to swat at them like a fascinated kitten.

I would remain here for the next seven hours, watching the continuously falling rain, closing my eyes only when the white flashes of light s.p.a.r.k.e.d and t.w.i.s.t.e.d through the distant night sky.