Exactly my dear Charlotte.
Exactly my dear Charlotte.
From the archives: Charles Lang and Otto Faulkenbach working on a Triceratops model, 1938
Explore the Museum’s digital archives here.
I just have to think…. they were old when this was taken; would they be ‘dinos’ now? Anyway, the sculpture is beautiful.
Is this a sincere homage to pubic hair or an insincere way to get people talking? I don’t know, but either way I’m cool with it. Here’s why.
I don’t even like mannequins with faces—that is creepy. But this— this— is wrong on so many levels.
Children of The Night
Earlier that day, I was hunting and was bitten in the calf by a wild dog. Thinking nothing of it, I dressed the wound when I returned home.
I did not fell well, so I went to bed early with a slight fever. I was woken from sleep when I heard the sound of breaking glass. Crash! The noise continued for multiple moments.
Instinctively, I reached for my father’s musket and bayonet. I rose from bed and went to the door.
I could hear many somethings coming up the stairs. They were whispering among themselves. The footsteps stopped at my bedroom door. Panic rife in my mind, I dropped the bar to the door. I dropped my weapon and put my back to the door. “I’m not letting you in!” I yelled, my speech slurred with fever.
“Moria, it’s me. Let me in.” It was not a familiar voice. No one knew my real name. This voice, it’s name, would change my life forever.
“No! Who are you?” The room was spinning.
“Deidre,” my fiance said. Duncan, I thought. “Open the door.”
With much effort, I lifted the bolt to the door. It was pushed open; they were who they said they were. My vision was hazy; it was hard to focus on them. I wavered slightly where I stood. My leg gave way. Duncan rushed forward to catch me. “I’m fine.” I told him. “I just—” I blacked out.
When I came to, I was in my bed. Duncan was at the foot of the bed; he had taken the bandages off of the bite mark. He cleaned the puncture marks with a pungent smelling liquid. It burned; but for his sake, I kept still. He stitched the larger gashes closed, and then wrapped my calf in white bandages.
“It’s bad, isn’t it?” He jumped at the sound of my voice, though it was barely a whisper.
“You were bit by a werewolf,” he started.
“Have I transformed?”
“No. Thank God it just made you sick.” He pulled the blanket back over my leg and tucked the edges under the mattress. Then he pulled a thicker quilt up to my chin. “But now you need to rest as the fever takes it’s course.” He kissed my forehead. His lips were as cold as death.
I closed my eyes. For the next few hours I was slipping in and out of consciousness. I suffered through terrifying hallucinations. It seemed to never end. At one point, Duncan used his magic to ease the hallucinations; I slept peacefully for the night.
When the fever broke, I was too weak to be aware of my surroundings. But, I do remember one thing.
“She will die if I don’t,” Duncan had said to his companion.
“Then let it be your blood and not mine,” he said. “Give her the choice, as I did to you.”
I felt him sit on the edge of the bed. He lowered his head close to mine. “Deidre—,” he started.
“I know what you are.” I whispered.
“I also know that drinking your blood will make me a vampi—like you.”
“Then your answer?” I could hear the pain and fear in his voice.
His fangs were at my neck. He bit me; my blood was warm against my seemingly cold skin. The pain was almost unbearable, but instead of fighting, my hand came up and held his head there. My vision flickered. “That’s enough,” his companion said, prizing my hand from Duncan’s head. “ENOUGH!”
He stood up. A long knife was in his hand. As he held his arm over my mouth, he ran the blade across his forearm. Blood trickled into my mouth; as soon as it hit my throat, it burned.
It felt like I was sinking into the bed. Duncan scooped me up and held me in his arms. Pain shot through my body in waves; I remember screaming. “Its only the body that dies,” he whispered. “But not the wit.” The pain stopped. The fogginess from the fever was gone.
He kissed me; I licked the blood from his lips. “We shall give her a few minutes alone?” his companion asked. “She needs to rest.”
“Yes,” Duncan said. “We all need rest.”
What a wonderful birthday present, spending eternity with my true love.
300 Years Later
The year is 2016. Moria has not aged a day since her 18th birthday. Earlier in this century, Duncan was killed by vampire hunters; she killed one of the hunters and wounded the child with him, but barely escaped with her life. She has befriended a seventeen year old girl; not knowing she is the grand-daughter of the hunter she killed and the child she marked. The girl, named Aislynn, starts to uncover her family past and the origin of claw marks on her back; and how both sides of her family, Irish and Mohawk, are linked to monster hunting. Unfortunately she, like Moria, has fallen in love with a vampire. She has been trained—in the modern and old ways; and now she is faced with a decision, kill him, or become like him.
Aislynn stands in the woods. She waits for Brian; now that her mother has learned what he is, they have to meet in secret. But today—today is different; she has reached the age where she has to choose her path. She starts to worry; what if he—no, only he knows she would be here.
There is a whoosh of air and cold fingers touch her neck. “You’re late,” she says. “You know how that irritates me Brian.” She turns and faces him, her face herculean. “I need to tell you something.”
“You sounded very distressed over the telephone,” he said. “What is the matter?”
“Where do I start?”
“The first thing on your mind.”
“The scars….” She starts. “The scars on my back. The longer I stay around you, they seem to reopen; every day they get worse. I think they have something to do with your kind—vampires I mean.”
“May I see?” His voice is tender and loving.
“Just see,” she says. “I don’t think I could keep it together enough if someone to—” The back of her neck started to burn. She reached back and felt something protruding from her neck and pulled it out. The vial on the dart was empty. She started to feel woozy. “This…is…bad.”
Her eyes rolled back into her head. Before she fell, Brian caught her. He could smell something out of place in the woods; and the birds stopped singing. “Aislynn,” he whispered. “We’re getting out of here.” He bent his legs slightly and jumped.
Back home, Aislynn’s brother sits in his mini-laboratory. He takes a puff from his bubble pipe and reads a new article on his groundbreaking ‘solar powered windows’. A preteen genius has grown up!…… groundbreaking tech using complex equations….. C. Victor Kelly is the new Einstein! “Darg Krizbots!” He yells as the door flies open. Alas, it is not aliens from the mother ship, it was worse. His mom was angry and she was looking for his sister.
“Colm, where is your sister?” She asks.
“She said she was going for a walk,” he says smoothly. “I told her to bring the folding sword. She also took one of the backpacks with first-aid supplies, food, and clothes.”
“The backpack has satellite tracker in the lining, right?” An idea popped into her head.
“Why wouldn’t it?” He said with relish and grinned a maniacal grin. “I’ll link up the computers.”
Aislynn wakes up in a one room cabin; the only other person there is Moria; Brian is nowhere to be seen. She stands up from the chair she’s in, but is overcome with a sense of vertigo. She would’ve face-planted on the floor if Moria didn’t stop her. “What was in that dart?”, Aislynn asks. “I feel like—Where’s Brian?”
“You need to sit down,” Moria tells her. “What was in that dart is still in your system.”
“I feel fine. A trifle less lucid than I like, but fine.” Moria let go of her. Aislynn steadied herself against the arm of the chair. “Where is he?”
“Outside, waiting for you to wake up.”
“Brian, you can come in now. I don’t think I’ll be able to walk home.” The door opened and Brain came in. When she saw him, her legs turned to Jell-O; she caught herself from falling by leaning against the chair. His eyes were red-rimmed and wild looking
The Spaghetti Nebula, supernova remnant in Taurus Image Credit: Digitized Sky Survey, ESA/ESO/NASA FITS Liberator.
A nebula named after Italian food?!
does anybody else think tired and sleepy mean two totally different things
sleepy is cute and dozing off and happy but tired is 10 cups of coffee and murder
I’ve tried explaining this to people and they seriously don’t understand that they’re words with two entirely different connotations.
I am tired all the time..
This is sleepy:
This is tired:
this is perfect
AMEN TO THAT!
I FUCKING HATE WHEN PEOPLE POUR KETCHUP ALL OVER THE FRENCH FRIES INSTEAD OF A DESIGNATED CORNER AND THEY OFFER ME SOME LIKE NO FUCK YOU AND YOUR TAINTED FRENCH FRIES
Agreed my friend.
:-( Think I did good on everything but Humanities