charlotte.
An original piece wtf
Inspired by the ending scene of 30 Days of Night, when the dawn is rising.
Title: Charlotte
Wordcount: 801
---
There are two facts in life.
Vampires burn in the sun, and her name is Charlotte.
You meet her one night. She says she has insomnia, and goes on walks often to combat it. And so you meet her, in the streets of this city that never sleeps, on the edge of the sea.
You meet her at the dock. Beyond the street lamps and the lights from the sailboats, the sea is black, but she seems to glow. She smiles at you, despite your pale features, your feeble-looking frame.
She smiles, and you fall in love.
You fall hard, fast. It's the real version of love at first sight. Scoffing at those romance movies, laughing at couples on evening dates. But you know how it is now and you suddenly never want to let her go.
She is abruptly everything in the world.
Charlotte says she wants to be an explorer. One day, when she's done school, she has no debts, she has no ties. She wants to explore corners of the world no one's set foot on, contaminated. In this city that never sleeps, she cannot explore far, for the drunks and the whores and the politicians stand on every street corner. There is someone no matter where you go.
You say, I have no dreams.
She laughs, then becomes serious. It's a gradient of emotion. Why, she wants to know.
Because how can I do anything when the sun can never touch me? I'll burn, you explain.
What's wrong with you? is her next question.
Xeroderma pigmentosa, you lie. Allergic to the sun.
She accepts the odd-sounding name without question. Whether she believes you or not, you can't tell. It doesn't really matter anyway.
There's still a little bit of beach left. It's too small to party on, so no one goes there, and you sit beside her on the sand, watching the blackness beyond the waves.
She says suddenly, I like the sea. She continues, explaining that she likes the repetition. It never changes, she adds.
Me either, you reply. You reach for her small hand, wanting to take it in your long, spindly one. Caress it, never let go.
But you do not touch her. You can't touch her. Never, never ever.
You sit in silence for a long time. The waves blend together, mix with the sand, pull back out again. They do not expect anything from you or Charlotte, and she seems grateful for it. You don't know what to say to her anyway. You just look at her. The plane of her forehead and the almonds of her blue eyes and her dark hair, her small face smiling at you sometimes, looking without emotion at the surf other times.
No one comes to this beach because it's tiny. There is no garbage, no footprints. The tracks of the pelicans and the many wild housecats that roam the city cover the sand in tiny holes. You trace a wide pelican footprint, its webbed feet snowshoeing across the sand, its short claws digging in. Charlotte is sitting quietly beside you.
The city is never quiet, and the lights from behind you are like the ghosts of dead daylight. It exists but it is artificial, undead. You don't mind because it's like living in the light again, but that's not quite true, either.
Silence from beside you, and a weight on your shoulder. Charlotte is leaning against you. You want to jerk away, but you don't want to scare her, either. So you sit, hoping she doesn't feel what you know she must. She has to. It's impossible not to.
But she doesn't seem to mind.
And you sit there with her and you think how if you weren't what you are, this would all be so different. You would push her hair back, kiss her gently, make it a perfect night. You'd tell her how you want to see her again. You'd say how it was so nice to meet you.
But you don't do any of that. You don't say any of that.
The hours slip by.
You just sit with her, and then you come to a decision.
Vampires burn in the sun, and her name is Charlotte.
And you sit with her, and the sun creeps along the horizon. A bleeding line of bright red slides along the ocean, turning everything so crimson. You sit with her.
And even as you burn, and you cling to her, and you shudder as your skin flakes and your hair is incinerated and you turn slowly, painfully, to fine, fine ash, you think of her, over and over.
Charlotte.
Charlotte.
Her and only her and you're glad to die in her arms.
You burn, and you think of Charlotte.
The only two facts in life.
Inspired by the ending scene of 30 Days of Night, when the dawn is rising.
Title: Charlotte
Wordcount: 801
---
There are two facts in life.
Vampires burn in the sun, and her name is Charlotte.
You meet her one night. She says she has insomnia, and goes on walks often to combat it. And so you meet her, in the streets of this city that never sleeps, on the edge of the sea.
You meet her at the dock. Beyond the street lamps and the lights from the sailboats, the sea is black, but she seems to glow. She smiles at you, despite your pale features, your feeble-looking frame.
She smiles, and you fall in love.
You fall hard, fast. It's the real version of love at first sight. Scoffing at those romance movies, laughing at couples on evening dates. But you know how it is now and you suddenly never want to let her go.
She is abruptly everything in the world.
Charlotte says she wants to be an explorer. One day, when she's done school, she has no debts, she has no ties. She wants to explore corners of the world no one's set foot on, contaminated. In this city that never sleeps, she cannot explore far, for the drunks and the whores and the politicians stand on every street corner. There is someone no matter where you go.
You say, I have no dreams.
She laughs, then becomes serious. It's a gradient of emotion. Why, she wants to know.
Because how can I do anything when the sun can never touch me? I'll burn, you explain.
What's wrong with you? is her next question.
Xeroderma pigmentosa, you lie. Allergic to the sun.
She accepts the odd-sounding name without question. Whether she believes you or not, you can't tell. It doesn't really matter anyway.
There's still a little bit of beach left. It's too small to party on, so no one goes there, and you sit beside her on the sand, watching the blackness beyond the waves.
She says suddenly, I like the sea. She continues, explaining that she likes the repetition. It never changes, she adds.
Me either, you reply. You reach for her small hand, wanting to take it in your long, spindly one. Caress it, never let go.
But you do not touch her. You can't touch her. Never, never ever.
You sit in silence for a long time. The waves blend together, mix with the sand, pull back out again. They do not expect anything from you or Charlotte, and she seems grateful for it. You don't know what to say to her anyway. You just look at her. The plane of her forehead and the almonds of her blue eyes and her dark hair, her small face smiling at you sometimes, looking without emotion at the surf other times.
No one comes to this beach because it's tiny. There is no garbage, no footprints. The tracks of the pelicans and the many wild housecats that roam the city cover the sand in tiny holes. You trace a wide pelican footprint, its webbed feet snowshoeing across the sand, its short claws digging in. Charlotte is sitting quietly beside you.
The city is never quiet, and the lights from behind you are like the ghosts of dead daylight. It exists but it is artificial, undead. You don't mind because it's like living in the light again, but that's not quite true, either.
Silence from beside you, and a weight on your shoulder. Charlotte is leaning against you. You want to jerk away, but you don't want to scare her, either. So you sit, hoping she doesn't feel what you know she must. She has to. It's impossible not to.
But she doesn't seem to mind.
And you sit there with her and you think how if you weren't what you are, this would all be so different. You would push her hair back, kiss her gently, make it a perfect night. You'd tell her how you want to see her again. You'd say how it was so nice to meet you.
But you don't do any of that. You don't say any of that.
The hours slip by.
You just sit with her, and then you come to a decision.
Vampires burn in the sun, and her name is Charlotte.
And you sit with her, and the sun creeps along the horizon. A bleeding line of bright red slides along the ocean, turning everything so crimson. You sit with her.
And even as you burn, and you cling to her, and you shudder as your skin flakes and your hair is incinerated and you turn slowly, painfully, to fine, fine ash, you think of her, over and over.
Charlotte.
Charlotte.
Her and only her and you're glad to die in her arms.
You burn, and you think of Charlotte.
The only two facts in life.