The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

I am finishing my precious cup of coffee, actually my third precious cup. I am comfortable in this chair, with this book, in the company of strangers. The business minds that fabricated the idea of a coffee shop built into a bookstore are geniuses.



Hours go by as I read. People come, and people go. I watch amused at the line of people waiting to place an order for their own special cup. A short, stocky man is impatiently fidgeting while the old man ahead of him fumbles with the new card swipe machine.



Finally paid, the old man takes his cup of coffee, smiles at the counter girl, and then shuffles over towards the corner of the shop. There is an old, fragile woman sitting in a plush chair. I did not see her arrive. I have not seen her move. Her eyes are closed. Her head is down as if she were reading a book. But her hands had long since relaxed and the book now lay loosely in her lap. Even when resting the lines in her face are deep with concern. Her hair is thin and grey and cut short. Her clothes are old and faded. Life seems to have worn heavily on her.



The old man reaches out and touches her shoulder. He slowly bends towards her, whispers something and softly kisses her cheek. Her eyes pop open and they are as bright as day. A smile breaks across her face. She places the book on the table next to her, and she stands. The old gal stands straight unwilling to yield her posture to age. Life and Death will someday win, but not soon, there is too much fight left in her.



She takes the old man’s arm as they depart. She walks with ease taking care to not leave her love behind.

A brisk winter day with blue-white skies, it is a day like any other. It is supposed to be warmer tomorrow; I am glad this cold snap is going to end. This job gets tough when clamps are frozen. The chill does not bother my ears or face much, but my fingers … they become so numb and stiff that I can hardly hook the hoses up to the rail cars.



Thursday, the last day of my rotation, and then a long weekend. Friday, Saturday, Sunday, this will be nice. Jenny wanted to go somewhere this weekend, or did she want me to do something? I cannot remember what she said last night.



What is taking these guys so long? Hurry up already and get these cars pulled out of here. Clicks the radio on, “How-bout you John.”



Click … “Yeah, go ahead.”



Click ... “What’s going on with Rail-serve, these cars haven’t moved in 10 minutes.” Those guys probably went to the parking lot to grab a smoke. I should have told them the switch was a rush job.



Click … “They are having problems with the engine. It’s gonna be another 5 or so, Roberto. Ya might as well come on in here where it’s warm.”



It figures. They could have at least told me before I froze. These hoses are hard enough to drag around, now I have to put it back on the rack. Urgh … we should ask for heaters out here or something.



Alright, time for a break. I’ve spent all morning thinking about that piece of cake Jenny packed for me. Look at these tracks, what a frozen mess, and they expect us to clean this up … how? Ehhhh … I am getting too fat to squeeze between these cars, maybe I should pass on that …



Hey! … what! … Uhhh, DAMN! … Damn that hurt. Shit, I’m stuck … who moved the cars?! Click … “John! Get out here, man, I need your help now!.”



Click … “Alright, I’ll be out in a second.”



Click … “No John, NOW! I’m stuck between the railcars. Urhhh … tell them not to move the cars.” Damn this hurts, I can barely breathe.



Click … “Roberto, you’re pinned between rail cars?!”



Damn, Tom heard it. I knew I’d get in trouble for this. Click … “10-4, I’m in loadout.”



Click … “John, I’ll meet you on site. How-bout you Marcus, get the blue flags across the tracks now! I’ll call the EMTs.”



I knew he’d make a big deal out of this. Just get the handjack and push the car a little, so I can squeeze out of here. Oh, Jenny’s going to be mad if I get written up again. I know that she already thinks I’m a screw up … she must know, but she hides it well.



Oh good, there’s John. Hey, don’t start running, you’ll get in trouble too. Careful John, it’s icy. What? Is someone yelling at me? I can’t even turn to look. Oh, Tom’s here. Good, at least he will get me unstuck so I can breathe again. What’s he looking at. I’ve never seen him look that way.



“Roberto, does it hurt?”



What the fuck does he think?! Wait, actually no. “It’s more of an ache, and I can barely breathe. Get John to move these cars apart.”



He’s got to look everything over, doesn’t he.



“John, keep him company, but don’t move a thing! The EMTs are pulling up, I’ll be right back. I’ll be right back Roberto.”



Where’s he running off to? The EMTs can’t do anything until I get out of here. John, you’re looking funny.



“What’s up, John?” That sounded stupid. Well don’t just stand there, John, say something. Great, I’m starting to cough.



“Can you feel anything? Does it hurt?”



Why do people keep asking that? “No, it doesn’t hurt.”



Wait, I can’t feel anything below my chest. My fingers are still numb. My legs must be too. Here come some more people. Marcus, the EMTs, Tom … Rob … Tammy. Huh, Tom’s waiving the others back. Probably wants to keep things under control.



Uhh … my nose is running. I don’t have enough air to blow. Damn coughing won’t stop, though. What are these guys looking at? Just move the cars already. Hey, now where are they going? Oh, they’re just stepping back; what are they talking about? “John, what’s going on? Why don’t you just move the cars?”



“Oh man, Roberto. I can’t, man.”



Why is his voice cracking, what’s he being so dramatic about? Damn this coughing. The sleeves on these coveralls never did make good snot rags.



“Roberto … Roberto.” Tom’s back. “The EMTs are here, but they cannot do anything unless the cars are pulled apart.” Tom’s looking pale. “Roberto, listen to me, please. We cannot move the cars ….” His voice is cracking too. What’s wrong?



Strange, I have never seen John cry before.



“The cars have coupled through you. God, Roberto, there is nothing we can do.”



What did Tom just say? What do you mean, nothing you can do? Get these cars … when will this coughing stop?



“If the cars are pulled apart now, then it will be over. If we do not move anything … you may have 30 minutes … maybe a little longer.”



He’s holding my face in his hands. I’ve never seen Tom cry either. Did he say … I’m dying?



“Roberto, we can bring Jenny in here. But we have to hurry. Do you want us to call her?”



“Oh my God, Tom. I didn’t mean to ….” More coughing. “I want to see her. What is she going to think?”

This midnight disturbance did not last long. However, it still contained the power to pry me from sleep and the warm encompassing bed.



Questions asked and answered. Solutions at hand. This is what I do for others.



Returning now trying to sleep. What had been so comforting only minutes before, has somehow morphed back into piece of furniture ... cold, uncompassionate. I lay in the darkness listening to the wind beat against the walls. All else was still. This is now my time.



Time to think.



What had been asked earlier? Helping another so that you feel better, is this still altruism? No, it is not. This is superior to the sophomore’s conception of ideal giving. Altruism realizes only part of the action and the good that comes of it. My friend has dug much deeper, and the treasure that she has found casts a richer glow.



So what does that make of me? What of my work? If she is a lover in her aid to others, then I am a prostitute selling my wares.

This is continuing some of my thoughts posted in the Litter Box (and likely long gone).



In regards to the death penalty, I would like to paint a scenario. One that is uncommon and represents similar conditions that have taken place time and again.



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A violent lunatic is shielding himself with a girl, and holding a carving knife to her throat. He has already killed the girl's mother, and is threatening to kill her.



A police officer is in the room with his pistol drawn. However, the only good shot that the office has on the lunatic would be to the lunatic's head, and it would be lethal.



There are several more officers on the way, and should be on the scene momentarily. So if presented with an opportunity, the lunatic should be able to be apprehended without leathal force.



The lunatic begins to cut the girl's throat. The officer shoots and kills the lunatic. The girl is largly unharmed.

==========



My contention is this: in most cities, in most countries, this would be deemed as justifiable action on the part of the officer. In spite of the current responses to polls that many people oppose the death penalty, the action by the officer would be praised.



Why would that action be praised? The officer murdered one person to save another. Interesting that society has just placed a relative value on people. In this case the lunatic had less value than the girl ... at least for this instant in time.



It seems that in the eyes of society all people are not of equal value. Society may be unaware of this value system. However, this ignorance does not eliminate the value system. It is obviously in practice.



Disturbing thought.

This may be a slightly different perspective on the death penalty than has already been presented:



I contend that most of the world is actually in favor of the death penalty, and practices it on a daily basis. However, most of the world may be ignorant of this. Besides the fact that nearly every military in the world supports & practices the death penalty, there is a much more blatant and common execution being performed.



Most of the world’s city and State police officers carry firearms, and use them. These firearms are used to kill potential murders, rapists, burglars and such. In some cases a serious crime may not have yet occurred; such as a police officer shooting a potential murderer.



In the case of the police using their weapons to protect the public, the police are sponsored by the government, act as judges, act as juries, and act as executioners. These same police are often lauded as heroes for their actions … even by those that claim to be against the death penalty.