The Birth of Gabrielle

Saturday, 26 January 2013

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Gabrielle lay there very weak. She knew her time had come.

She was a strong-willed woman, much beautiful and a free-thinker compared to many women of her times. She read a lot of books, her only source of education.

Her best feature was her hair – long, thick, lustrous – which she kept in a bun.

Her body, however, was weak, owing to seven childbirths and the many winters she had to endure in near-poverty. It was her lungs. The disease, slowly spread, slowly drew off the life in her.

Now, it was time. It was this very moment that he waited so long for – this reunion of sorts. After years and years of not seeing each other, it was very obvious that they missed each other so much. He, however, wanted it to be a different one.

He could feel her life slowly slipping away. It was her breath – laborious yet shallow gasps. He could smell the putrefaction in her lungs. The blood; alive yet not quite so.

She began to speak, to retrospect , to say how much he was like her. How much they were similar.
He couldn’t quite explain it – why was he feeling this, this loneliness, this longing, this desire to keep her and this fear of losing her. But he couldn’t do much anymore. The disease has already eaten away her body. Her face was gaunt, her bones were showing. Her hair was not as glorious as it once was, but it was still her best feature. Even at this moment of death.

Abruptly, she stopped talking. She began coughing madly.

He knew the time was getting near.

Without warning, she threw up blood. He could smell death inside the room.

He was crushed. He didn’t want to lose her. He had to decide fast. There was no time to think about the possibilities and consequences.

In one swift move, he took her inside his arms. Her head fell back freely. Slowly, he sank her teeth into her neck. At that instant, he felt her heart, her weak heart. And their heartbeats became one.

When they reached that point between life and death, he let her go. He slit his wrist and offered the blood to her. She took it and drank weakly. Then her gulps became stronger and stronger.

He stopped her. For a moment she lay on the floor. Moments passed and his blood began to flow through her veins.

Her cheeks began to gain fullness. Her skin was aglow. Her lips were red. Her hair was once more thicker and more alive.

She stood in front of him. Much different from the person that she once was moments ago. He stood there, satisfied with the thought that he will never lose her.

Mother and son. Father and daughter. The beginning of their journey to eternity.

Based on Lestat by Anne Rice.
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