Total pages in book: 209
Estimated words: 196141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 981(@200wpm)___ 785(@250wpm)___ 654(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 196141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 981(@200wpm)___ 785(@250wpm)___ 654(@300wpm)
The shelves are also in the middle of the room, open-back bookcases lined with hourglasses from one end to the other, like an alien candy store with nothing edible in sight, all of it on display for casual browsing. The only source of light is around the perimeter of the room, as if the walls glow, sliced by the shelves—a yellowish-green light shining through the hourglasses, pulsing, creating an eerie, otherworldly aura.
“Have you ever considered, Tristan … ever truly considered how … how meaningless everything is …?”
Tristan moves slowly through the maze of shelves and glass and sand. Through the narrow spaces between the shelves, he sees that George is standing atop his desk, so tall he nearly touches the ceiling, eyes closed as if meditating.
“But then you find the one thing you love most … such as a pouring of sand through two bulbs of united glass … a tool we use to portray the very passage of time … and your entire … no, my entire existence … becomes devoted to that one thing …”
Are you blood-drunk? Tristan comes around another shelf, drawing closer to the middle of the room, closer to George, the sands around him hissing, whispering … I think you need a real meal. Perhaps the chefs can prepare a plate of sashimi over rice.
“A trivial pursuit,” George goes on, “to collect time in the form of sand within glass, but it is my entire being. Some would say even world domination is a trivial endeavor. Or making ten million dollars. Or having a child.”
Butternut squash risotto … Lobster thermidor … A rack of lamb with herb crust …
“What does any of it truly mean in the end, when we are all simply returned to dust no matter what we do …?”
Tristan comes to a stop at the end of a shelf, in perfect view of George. It means that perhaps we should enjoy whatever we please however we please during our short time on this planet.
“And what if our pleasure is hurting others?” George lifts his arms high in the air, seeming positively euphoric. “You have awakened so many memories in me, Tristan, with just a taste, so many memories of my freedom. Did you know I was the one in my dear family who carried out the torturing of humans?”
Tristan moves in front of the shelf, a mere three paces from the desk George stands upon. Through ghastly long monologues?
“Blood laced with fear is the tastiest by far. The adrenaline is intoxicating. You wouldn’t like me to describe the methods of torture I employed to get precisely the taste my family and I so desired. That’s how one gets what one wants—through actions, threats, and fear, I have learned. Violence is a beautiful tool.”
I pray you aren’t suggesting to Lord Markadian that we torture and terrorize our Bloods, says Tristan. Or do I need to perform a bit of rudimentary math to remind you how very outnumbered we are?
“You said whatever we please however we please. My desire is to hurt people.” George hugs himself, eyes still closed tightly. “My desire is to watch others suffer. My nature cannot be wrong. My wishes cannot be evil. They are mine. Is that wrong?”
The rushing sands grow louder all around. No, says Tristan carefully. I suppose it isn’t.
“And if I want people to die?”
Any society, even our own, must be held together by common understandings. This is why we don’t kill anyone we please. Why we don’t steal what is not ours. Or wear brown belts with black shoes.
“Then I cannot do as I please?”
If you wish to be part of the world, you must learn the one principle under which it operates, one principle only: restraint.
“So we all must … deny our natures …?”
Curb your desires, but don’t abandon them. Refrain from your impulses, but always hear them. You must always be satisfied … even if you are starved. Tristan plucks an hourglass right off the shelf behind him, a small one, six inches in height, its sands slightly pink in hue, almost orange. The ones who survive longest are the ones who exercise restraint.
“Is that what you’ve learned, Tristan?”
Tristan stares into the hourglass, doesn’t answer. He finds himself thinking about Kyle, about Brock, about a violinist …
The next instant, George is no longer upon the desk. He is in front of Tristan, towering over him, his manic eyes widened, his breath reeking of sour blood. “The truth is, you are the liar. You know no ‘restraint’. You have lied to every person you ever loved. Betrayed every person you ever loved. Hurt every person you ever loved. Is there even a soul left on this planet you haven’t hurt?”
Tristan’s back is already against the shelves, hourglass upon his chest, nowhere to go.
“You take such a pious stance against the drinking of blood, acting as if you are so afraid to become a true vampire, clinging to your humanity. But I don’t for a moment believe it proves you are not bloodthirsty. All you know is thirst.” His words are as thin as paper. He lifts his chin. “I have stood in this office for hours thinking on the meaninglessness of everything … on our sad little existences … you and I … and I have realized only one thing remains in this world that means anything to me.”