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Disciples of Oblivion


The creature’s face caught my attention. It was a grey face with bluish tones, and its skin seemed like
dried leather. The creature looked my way, and I got to see his eyes and teeth.
His eyes were vast, deep pits that contained the fullness of misery and despair. His smile was an
insatiable emptiness that sought to drain all. His teeth were those of a vampire. His entire face was a
nearly incomprehensible series of angles that left my mind reeling, struggling to understand the
incomprehensible.
The vampire, for that is how I now thought of him, moved towards me. He did not walk but glided over
the ground. I think that I would have died that night if not for a sharp scream that drew the vampire’s
attention away from me. Whether the scream came from the young man or woman, I will never know. It
had the effect, however, of turning the vampire’s attention away from me. He headed towards them.
What I then witnessed was a horror so profound that it seared itself into the very essence of my soul.
The vampire fell upon the young man first, tearing his head off and gorging himself on the spurting
blood coming out of the ragged, torn stump.
The woman tried to run away, but her legs betrayed her, buckling as she attempted to move.
I, also, tried to run, but my legs, too, refused to obey me. I stood glued to the sidewalk, witnessing a
scene of horror beyond even my most perverted nightmares.
The vampire took hold of the woman, turned her towards me—I saw the fear in her eyes—and bit deep
into her neck. I watched the life slowly fade away her.
When he had finished draining the woman and her body, like a wet towel, had collapsed, I knew my
time had come; I was next and couldn’t move. The vampire glided towards me, its mouth covered in
dripping blood, half coagulated, mixed with saliva, and pieces of torn flesh.
He placed his right hand on my shoulder. “You,” he said, “whose life I now grant, will come to me when I
call.”
He did not wait for my response but took the two corpses—even the severed head—and vanished into
the amoeba.
When I regained the use of my legs, I walked home. My sanity was in danger, and I struggled to retain it
neither because of the horror I had witnessed nor because of trauma but because the very existence of
the vampire destroyed my belief system.
Madness is a form of truth—perhaps it is even the ‘truth.’ We go through life wearing blinders, and we
get to thinking that we know and understand reality, so that when reality comes along and shatters our
treasured illusions, we, out of necessity, go mad. We really do not have a choice in the matter.
When I got home, I was in a daze. I do not even remember unlocking the door and opening it. Reaching
the couch, I sat down and began practicing the great art that has distinguished my generation from all
others: denial and self-deception. We are all, nowadays, disciples of oblivion.
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