Five days later.
Derek was rushing through the kitchen, setting the breakfast meja when slow footsteps were heard on the stairs. Derek raced to the stairs and tried to help Damon keep his balance. Damon tried to push him away, but was too weak.
“I made breakfast” Derek said.
“Gee, thanks” Damon mumbled sarcastic. He shuffled to the dapur and fell down on a chair. He looked down at the meja and picked up the blood bag. “This is breakfast?” he asked Derek.
“You have to drink it, Damon” Derek insisted. “It’s been five days. anda will die if anda don’t”
Damon shrugged. “Then I guess I will” he berkata careless. “Elena’s blood is the last blood I’ve drunk”
“You didn’t drink her blood” Derek exclaimed. How many times did he have to say it? “There were two women in your room. One sounded exactly like Elena, probably the chick I met in that bar on Elena’s birthday, remember?”
Damon frowned. “You mean Katherine?”
“I guess, if that’s her name” Derek said. “And then there was another one with a British accent”
“Rebekah” Damon said. He shook his head confused. “I don’t get it. Where anda there?”
“No, but I heard everything” Derek berkata with big eyes. “Rebekah forced anda to watch how Katherine did something to Elena, something painful. And then Katherine compelled Elena to think anda attacked her and Rebekah compelled anda to think the same. And she compelled anda to stop drinking any kinds of blood”
Damon looked at him as if he was gone mad. “That” he said. “is a whole load of crap”
“But it’s the truth” Derek berkata desperate.
“Sure it is” Damon berkata hoarse. He rubbed his eyes. “If anda don’t mind I’m going to lay on the dipan, sofa a bit”
He got up difficult and staggered to the sitting room.
Derek was rushing through the kitchen, setting the breakfast meja when slow footsteps were heard on the stairs. Derek raced to the stairs and tried to help Damon keep his balance. Damon tried to push him away, but was too weak.
“I made breakfast” Derek said.
“Gee, thanks” Damon mumbled sarcastic. He shuffled to the dapur and fell down on a chair. He looked down at the meja and picked up the blood bag. “This is breakfast?” he asked Derek.
“You have to drink it, Damon” Derek insisted. “It’s been five days. anda will die if anda don’t”
Damon shrugged. “Then I guess I will” he berkata careless. “Elena’s blood is the last blood I’ve drunk”
“You didn’t drink her blood” Derek exclaimed. How many times did he have to say it? “There were two women in your room. One sounded exactly like Elena, probably the chick I met in that bar on Elena’s birthday, remember?”
Damon frowned. “You mean Katherine?”
“I guess, if that’s her name” Derek said. “And then there was another one with a British accent”
“Rebekah” Damon said. He shook his head confused. “I don’t get it. Where anda there?”
“No, but I heard everything” Derek berkata with big eyes. “Rebekah forced anda to watch how Katherine did something to Elena, something painful. And then Katherine compelled Elena to think anda attacked her and Rebekah compelled anda to think the same. And she compelled anda to stop drinking any kinds of blood”
Damon looked at him as if he was gone mad. “That” he said. “is a whole load of crap”
“But it’s the truth” Derek berkata desperate.
“Sure it is” Damon berkata hoarse. He rubbed his eyes. “If anda don’t mind I’m going to lay on the dipan, sofa a bit”
He got up difficult and staggered to the sitting room.
Title: To Helen [Poem of Youth]
Author: Edgar Allan Poe [More Titles oleh Poe]
HELEN, thy beauty is to me
Like those Nicean barks of yore,
That gently, o'er a perfumed sea,
The weary way-worn wanderer bore
To his own native shore.
On desperate seas long wont to roam,
Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face,
Thy Naiad airs have brought me home
To the glory that was Greece,
And the grandeur that was Rome.
Lo ! in yon brilliant window-niche
How statue-like I me thee stand,
The agate lamp within thy hand!
Ah, Psyche, from the regions which
Are Holy-land !
-THE END-
Edgar Allan Poe's poem: To Helen [Poem of Youth]
Author: Edgar Allan Poe [More Titles oleh Poe]
HELEN, thy beauty is to me
Like those Nicean barks of yore,
That gently, o'er a perfumed sea,
The weary way-worn wanderer bore
To his own native shore.
On desperate seas long wont to roam,
Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face,
Thy Naiad airs have brought me home
To the glory that was Greece,
And the grandeur that was Rome.
Lo ! in yon brilliant window-niche
How statue-like I me thee stand,
The agate lamp within thy hand!
Ah, Psyche, from the regions which
Are Holy-land !
-THE END-
Edgar Allan Poe's poem: To Helen [Poem of Youth]