Species

The night started out normally. It was dusk, and Cyrus and I were hunting. At that time, we lived in a huge city. Don't ask me where it is- I wouldn't know. As we walked down a main street, I stared up at the towering dark buildings, mouth agape. A few of the buildings had tinted glass windows that reflected the people on the sidewalk. That is- the humans on the sidewalk.
Cyrus and I were tracking an elderly couple a little way ahead of us. They were holding hands. They looked so content, as if they could just keep walking forever and be happy, so long as they had each other. A
"Cyrus?" I whispered, "Can we not kill them?"
Cyrus stopped walking and stared at me. But then he gave a faint nod.
"Doll," he began languidly, "why don't you ever want to kill any more?" He cupped my face in his hands. "They're food." I couldn't help but smile at the tenderness of this gesture, although what he was saying was wrong. Very wrong.
Ahead of us, I heard a scream. It was wailing, lonely. Angry.
"No. Don't even think about it." Cyrus said, his tone menacing. His eyes were dark, and it frightened me.
"Please... I'll be back." I started towards the wails, My curiosity consuming me.
"Sirpa," he called, taunting.
I whirled around angrily to face him. "That's not my name," I pleaded, " Please don't call me that."
He sighed then, sadly. "If you want to go see it that badly, then come on. We'll go see."
We approached the alley from which the sounds were coming.
It was a mangy cat, wailing on top of a garbage can.
"See?" Cyrus spoke to me as if I were a little child, "Just a cat." We walked out of the alley.
Behind us, a man in dark clothes was following us. His eyes were fixed on Cyrus. A bulge beneath his jacket indicated that he had a concealed gun.
"Cyr-" I began, but Cyrus has already seen the man and was turned to face him.
Cyrus didn't even have a chance to react.
The man pulled the gun out, and shot first at Cyrus, then at me. I found a dart protruding from my neck. Tranquilizer darts, I hoped.
Cyrus was yanking out his dart and running towards me. I blacked out then.1

I was in a cage when I awoke. Not a prison, but a cage. The kind used for circus animals. There was a chamber pot sitting in the corner, but nothing else.
The cage was sitting in a warehouse of some sort. Stack and piles of wooden crates towered high over my cage.
"Cyrus?" My voice echoed around the room. I heard no answer.
I started crying.
Hours later, a pot-bellied man in a green staff uniform came into the warehouse.
"Hello," he said cheerfully, "I'm your keeper." Keeper. Like for tigers, I thought. "I have some blood in a bottle, if you need it," he maneuvered the bottle of blood through the bars of my cage.
I wasn't planning on drinking it.
"You're probably wondering why you're here," the fat man said, stooping to my eye level, "Well, they just want to research your species. They won't hurt you, I'm sure," he smiled. "These living conditions are only temporary, until we make some room for you in the lab itself."
He waved and left the room.
I sat down on the floor, feeling forlorn. I closed my eyes and thought of Cyrus. I wished I was in his arms. He would kiss my tears away. He would gently chide me for crying about this.
I loved him so much.
A pale moth flitted into my cage and settled in-front of me.
"Tell Cyrus where I am," I whispered to the moth, "Tell him how muchI love him and I miss him..."
The moth flew away.2

 3

The door reopened once more, startling me from sleep.
I thought that I heard a whispered word in the darkness outside of my cage.
"Doll?" Cyrus's face was illuminated by the single, high window of the warehouse. Strangely, he was dressed as my keeper.
Crying again, I ran over to the bars of my cage and pressed myself up against them. Cyrus was just on the other side.
Just then he pulled out a large key ring and jingled them. He unlocked the cage door and let himself in.
"I can't get you out yet," he whispered, pulling me down to sit on the floor with him, "There's people all around this warehouse. But soon, doll, soon."
Cyrus cradled the sobbing me as if I were a baby. His forehead was pressed against mine, and his tears ran into my eyes.
For how long he just held me, I don't know. It wasn't long enough.
All too soon, Cyrus pushed me away from him and left quickly. I stared after him long after he closed the door. He never cried. Never. What was it that made him cry now? 4

Cyrus came everyday, now. He told me how he had followed my captors here, broken in, killed my keeper, and been impersonating him ever since.
Sometimes when he came in he would just hold me, and other times we would talk. Sometime he would bring me a pretty leaf from the outside, or a multi-colored rock that he knew I would like.
"I can get you out of here now," he whispered in my ear one visit, "But you have to follow my directions. Promise me that you can do that this time?"
Feeling a tiny pang of guilt, I muttered, "I promise."
"Good girl," he said, sounding content. Then he gave me my directions, still whispering in my ear.
Cyrus kissed me lightly. "Please be careful, doll." he murmured, and then he left. I don't know what horrors he witnessed that I did not in that place. Whatever it was made him worry even more that usual for me.
We don't talk about those nights in captivity.
I counted to 100, like he had told me to. I tried the cage door, which was open, just like Cyrus had promised. The warehouse door was open, too. I crept ou, cat-like, into the hallway.
I followed his instructions exactly until I saw the glowing red 'Exit' sign.
He promised me he would wait for me at home. He had unfinished business, he said. But he promised.
I slammed on the release bar on the door and started running.5

I warily opened the door to our apartment. The door had been unlocked, and I assumed that Cyrus had left it open for me.
"Cyrus?" I called, padding into the living toom. I waited there, nervously, for an answer.
"I'm here, hon," a mocking voice that was not Cyrus hollered from the kitchen.
I froze. It had to be the people who captured me. They had found out where we lived. Or was it the police? Cyrus had been arrested for murder. A thousand horrid thoughts ran through my head.
I forced myself to go into the kitchen, thinking the entire time: I'm a vampire, I have pointy fangs.
"Cyrus was right. You're gorgeous," the person at the table said, whistling. I breathed a sign of relief. He, too, was a vampire.
"Where is Cyrus?" I asked.
"Not here," the man said, standing up and stretching. "You're Sirpa, right?"
I snapped, "Do not call me Sirpa."
"I talked to Rafael, before his untimely suicide. You're his little Sirpa. Had a nice little jaunt, didn't you? Away from Cyrus?" The man took two paces towards me. I, in turn, took two paces back. His stench filled the kitchen. He smelled nothing like Cyrus. This man smelled dirty.
"You're pretty hot, Sirpa," he leered.
"Get out of my house. Who invited you in, anyway?"
"Cyrus," he replied.
My blood began to boil. "Get the fuck out!" I screeched.
"No," the vampire grabbed my shoulders roughly. I yelped and instinctively sank my fangs into his arm. He pulled away, cursing.
"Do I taste good, little Sirpa?" he kidded, regaining his calm. He pulled me by the small of my back to his body. He took my face in his rough, unwashed hands. His bloated lips closed in.
I closed my mouth resolutely. I knew I would get sick if he actually... the thought even makes me sick.
The kitchen door burst open.
"What the hell is this? Brendan, leave her alone!" Cyrus's voice seemed to flash red fury. Brendan released me and I kept moving from the momentum.  I fell backwards and landed hard.
"She's mine," snarled Cyrus, offering me a hand. A nice, clean, white hand. The exact opposite of Brendan's hand. Cyrus stationed himself between Brendan and I, his eyes seemingly throwing daggers. If looks could kill...
Suddenly, I felt tired from running, falling, and nearly being raped. I leaned against Cyrus's strudy back.
Brendan backed slowly to the door. "Hey, uh, I was just having a little fun, you know?" When he made it to the door, he bolted.
'Sweetheart, I'm so sorry," Cyrus said, picking me up carefully. "I didn't invite him in today..." But I was already falling asleep.6

When I woke up, I was still splayed in Cyrus's arms. We were sitting in an oversized arm-chair.
Even while he was sleeping, he didn't relax. His face was a carefully cultivated mask, which betrayed now emotion.
Closing my eyes again, I shifted closer to Cyrus. And now, almost asleep again, these are my final thoughts.
Maybe tomorrow night we'll go hunt those who captured me. I wasn't a person to them- why should they be one to me? Or maybe we'll go someplace safer. Somewhere that we won't be hunted.
But hopefully, we'll just stay in this arm-chair for the rest of the night.
I close my eyes, and go back to sleep. 7