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Turn, Turn, Turn

‘Turn, Turn, Turn…’

She lifts her breasts and moans as I fuck in her, raising her knees and panting. ‘Do it now, please do it now!’ I rasp my lips at the silken skin at her throat and softly bite. And drink. She screams in passion but not in pain. She bucks her hips and pushes her pussy deeper upon me. I raise my wrist and open a vein with my teeth. I push it towards her lips. She’d swallow anything now. She swallows me. Her little tongue pokes and licks at what I give her and she cries out. I feel it. She comes. I come. She turns. It’s March 1st, 2014. Like that means anything.

‘There is a season, Turn, Turn, Turn…’

Not for me. Not for Her now.

‘A time to live, a time to die…’

Not for us now.


I didn’t die in 1862. I nearly did. I guess I really did. It seems such a long time ago now. Antietam. I remember dying. I’d been shot in the chest. I wasn’t even well enough to be placed inside the tent for the attention of the surgeons, instead, they left me outside with the doomed. I’m sorry? What ‘side’ did I fight for? Does it matter? I fell for the South, Dear Reader. And as it happened, unlike the South, I rose again.

I was almost gone when my eyes fluttered open and I saw him. He was working up the line of the hopeless, ignoring the already dead but what looked like gently kissing the boys who were still alive. The moonlight illuminated his pale skin. When he got to me I begged. ‘Please don’t…’

But he did. He bit me. As he sucked upon me I grasped on my belt for my bayonet. I found it and plunged it into his throat. His essence spurted and I caught some of it in my mouth. He hissed, eyes glaring and angry. But beautiful. Dangerous. Terrifying. I died. And when I woke up he was gone. I never knew my father.

‘A time to kill, A time to heal…’

I was hungry. No, that’s not true, I was thirsty. Over 20,000 soldiers were killed, wounded or missing on the battlefield at Antietam. Some were still warm. I drank. They died. They were dying anyway. When I was satisfied I moved to the shade of the woods. The sun was rising. I had not been supposed to see another sunrise and I rather think the sun resented me. I rested in the shade until the moon bloomed. I was thirsty again. There were enough left half-alive to taste. I tasted. It came so naturally. Or unnaturally. It depends on your point of view.

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