I was wondering what it would be like, to actually have a relationship with a vampire. I'm already in love with one, but is it a wise decision tell him how I feel? A lot is at risk! First of all, there are my friends. If they found out, I would be disowned. Then there is his family of vampires. Would they accept me, or prefer to have me as their next meal? But that is a risk that I am willing to take.

Long about mid-afternoon the Rebels stormed our property. We didn't have much choice in the matter, you see, but it's not like we were in any position to mind; The Yankee army was advancing, threatening our farm. Being a Tennessean and in keeping with the tales of one Davey Crockett, I didn't run. We Tennesseans don't run. We'll fight 'til the end.

There wasn't much use in running at that point anyway. "Unconditional Surrender" Grant was within what seemed like a rock's throw and he certainly was not hiding his presence. You could hear cannon fire for miles, plumes of white smoke filled the air, and I had finally heard that infamous "Rebel yell." Oh that yell..

I guess it sort of lit a fire in me, because I started rushing around from officer to officer seeking the highest in command in an effort to help in whatever way I could. Finally, I spoke to a Confederate general whose name escapes me at the moment.. He commissioned me right there on my own property and politely thanked me for the use of my land and home. That's more than I can say for the gentlemen, if you could even call them that, that we're hurling lead about my fields.

I ran into the house and grabbed my pistol, shoved in the waist of my pants and grabbed the long rifle that was over the mantle of the fireplace and "fell in" as they say. We ran as fast as we could to what ended up being the front lines. I had never seen so many men in one place at a time. It was an astonishing sight, you might even say it was a glorious sight.

I was no solider. The only time I had ever pulled the trigger on my rifle was when I was hunting. Never in my wildest dreams could you have convinced me that I, little ole me, would be aiming down my sights to fire at another human being. This fight, though, was personal. It was instinctual the way I reacted. There was no hiding that in those moments. I was going to protect my land, and more importantly my family.

Just in case you're wondering how we made out; Well, we made out alright. We turned the Yankees away from my homestead, and forced them back far enough to hold a favorable position. That was the end of it for me. The Confederate officers, understanding my plight, didn't require me to fall in as a regular and I was allowed to return to my house which, in the end, served as a makeshift medical facility.

That was my civil war. That was my footprint on 1862. In all honesty it was the most challenging thing that I've ever done. Where as the good book states we don't wrestle with flesh and blood, but instead with powers and principles and what not.. well I wrestled with all of 'em that day. I reckon I'm quite blessed to be able to tell you the story of how it happened.

"For pete's sake, Elliott. Will you get a grip. Quit hiding behind all that charm and go be challenging for once." Harriet caught a glimpse of her brother reflected in the hall mirror. His face showed absolutely no reaction to her tirade. “Elliott Spence D’Arte. Don’t ignore me. You know I’m right. I’m always right.” Now she had his attention.
Elliott slowly turned until he was staring directly into Harriet’s amber eyes. “Yes, Harriet. You are always right. I’m wondering, doesn’t it get boring? Being right?” His voice was so low Harriet had to strain to hear although he was standing so close she could smell his after-shave. There was a threatening tone to his voice she had never heard before. He moved even closer. Harriet took an involuntary step back. Elliott kept coming. “Harriet, dear, you need some excitement in your life. You need to be wrong, just once. And I think today is the day.” Elliott reached down, picked up one of the umbrellas from the stand, opened the door and pushed Harriet out on to the porch. “Let me see. Is this the umbrella from Uncle Bennett’s collection? The one with the hidden dagger? Or is it Father’s? The one with the hidden derringer? Or is it…oh, you know, just an umbrella? You have a 1 in 3 chance to getting off the porch alive. How right do you feel, Harriet?”
Harriet stumbled down the steps without taking her eyes off Elliott’s face. What had come over him? What was he thinking? Reaching the walk, she turned suddenly and began running down Bagin Street. All she could hear was Elliott’s taunting laughter. “See Harriet run! See Harriet run!”

Funny how moments of intense trepidation juxtapose the consequence of tangent reactions when you are selling drugs illegally. Running is the least of your worries when your jeans are at the valley of your thighs and butt cheeks. You often daydream though, wondering who keeps track of pockets that swell laden with crumpled cash and product. Passersby shake their heads in disdain while potential clients just shake, yet for all those that wish you were in hiding, your first customer illustrates the fact that you are in plain sight. So it makes perfect sense that you fictionalize a drug sale into a performance... simultaneously challenging anyone to stop the show. The din of an audience of reverends, old ladies and your own thoughts get drowned out by the applause of your trappings. The former is threatening, the latter is the only reason you smile. You own the block and the show must go on....

John was walking around on the third floor of the abandoned building. It was dark, damp, and he kept hearing footsteps from somewhere inside the large room.
“Hello? Where are you hiding?” He said in a threatening voice. John could hear the boards creak as he walked carefully farther into the room. There were many old crates, and huge machines that looked like they were used for printing. Jess came into the room behind him.
“John I was wondering where you were, I was worried about you.” John turned to look at her, as he did he felt the floor give beneath him and he fell through. He was able to catch himself with his elbows and was struggling to hold on. Jess came running to him grabbing his hands trying to pull him up out of the hole. She was much smaller than John and it was challenging every muscle she had to pull him out, but she finally succeeded. They both were on their backs on the floor breathing heavily. Jess stood up holding her back, stretching backwards to loosen it up.
“Thank you.” John said still laying on his back looking up at the ceiling.
“No problem, next time I’m letting you fall.” They both laughed.