Yes. Another story. I know I can't write one story for very long without going to another one. Readers of my other stories, I'm sorry; please don't throw pots or sharp objects at me. Enjoy, everyone. :)
You are a vampire. You've lived a century. You can write about one thing that has happened in those one hundred years. Would you record your creation and you mortal life, how you were stolen away by the beastie in a fairytale, to become an immortal, haunting the earth?
I find that boring. It has been done. There are plenty of chronicles describing every situation and scenario in which a young mortal can be taken. If it was so traumatic, why the hell are you telling it again?
I allow myself to record one thing each century I live. Some spectacular adventure better than all others. Decided simply as a way to get rid of the brooding I experience. More than one, and I might never lift my pen from the page. How frightful.
You know, it can get lonely as a vampire. We are solitary creatures, left alone from the moment we're born. That is, if your creator doesn't stick to you like a mosquito. But that's a different matter. I look forward to this experience, this writing, in hopes my suicide will come a decade or two later than expected.
Boredom kills, you see.
Living forever is an arduous task; after awhile, you've done everything that's worth doing. A couple hundred years, and I'm lucky to get one thing to write about. Which takes me away from my uncharacteristic tangent and back to my topic of choice.
Do you wonder what I will describe for you, out of my long, unending life? I hope so, otherwise pick up another damn vampire story and get the fuck away from mine.
My apologies. Did I frighten you?
It is a rather shameful occurrence, that which I'll pen for you tonight. For no immortal would pride themselves on being bested by a human. Yes, mine is the only (decent) tale of a vampire, defeated by the human heart. I could do nothing.
It was 1983.
Didn't expect a modern date, did you? I've lived too long to bother myself with the past. Besides, beforehand, I had never cared for mortals and never cared for love. I lived alone, away, too, from the kind that rejects its young to drown or float.
I was in London on a whim. I had wandered all over Europe, searching for something that would attach me to the decade. Vampires have trouble accepting everything they understand, the fashion, the technology, the people, die, becoming soil for the new era to come. As if idleness wasn't enough to put a blade to your own throat.
I wandered the backstreets searching for quiet. The cities were overcrowded and even the alleyways were choked with homeless. Their tears and pleadings annoyed me. Superfluous sound. I longed for silence. One simple wretch grabbed y wrist as I slithered through the alley. He thought I'd be easy picking.
"Fancy lad, how 'bout a bit of alms? Surely you can spare it, yeah?" His rotting nails dug into my flesh. No way he would let go.
"Leave while you can, sir. I have nothing for you." My voice was steady, unhurried. This must've puzzled him.
"How about a go then, huh? Unless you have somewhere to go." Other men had flanked us, blocking an exit I didn't care to use. "But I doubt it."
One man caught my other arm while the first lifted himself up. Snickers went through our small crowd, in anticipation for what was to come.
"He sure is a fine one, ain't he?"
"A beauty."
A kick to my midsection toppled me like an oak. I met the street without a sound or move of my own. The first man straddled me easily, my body dwarfed by his filthy frame. I stared up at him with an impatient expression.
"I thought the English were gentlemen. A boy is prey?" He was searching the pockets of my coat.
"Tell that to me empty stomach, lad." He was frustrated. What's wrong bugger, did you find nothing? "You dress pretty for having nothing on you. Come from a masquerade or something?"
Though my coat was near ancient, it still impressed them. My clothes, things I never cared to keep track of, must've been from at least two hundred years ago. I'm surprised they thought me an aristocrat.
"I have nothing for you. Go, before it is too late." Steady breathing. Clear threat.
"I'll be done with you before any cops show up. What's your hurry?" His hand traveled to my breeches. As if it was an afterthought, he smashed the bottle he had in his hand the entire time, and pointed the jagged end at me. "You're going nowhere."
An afterthought occurred to me, as well, "I also thought the English gentlemen could tell a man from a woman."
Ah, did I fail to mention?
I wore the garb of an eighteenth century nobleman, but what did it matter? Corsets were not to my liking.
A collective hush fell over my group. The man pulled down my coat, ripping the buttons clean off. It revealed a bulge that was not at all masculine. He smiled a crooked grin. "Even better," he growled.
The man used the bottle end to cut through the lace beneath my coat. It cut into my white skin, welling thick blood through the delicate layers.
"Ah, that's it." I said simply, snatching the man's wrist with even more vigor than he had mine, "I do hate the taste of vagabonds, but I've warned you twice. I don't wait for the third."
I rose like the dead from the grave, the man peeling off me, stunned. I didn't have the patience to let him recover. I latched onto him, ignoring his screams; superfluous noise. The blood flowed hot, but sour with the lack of innocence his soul contained. As thrilling as the sensation was, the blood was thin, fleeting. In mere moments he was dead, empty as his life had been.
The others screamed, ran, but did not escape. Their thoughts pounded against my quickened heart, and they were dead all too quickly. Six of them. The blood was unfulfilling, serving only as a catalyst to my hunger.
I fed on those who challenged my presence, those who irritated me, and the arrogant who thought that they could take me to satisfy their carnal pleasure. Enemies to be disposed of; distractions to my wanderings.
In minutes I had left the alley behind me, caring not for who found their corpses. I was on the boulevard now, passing brightly painted humans who gave a double-take to my bloodied silk lace and torn coat. No one dared to wake me from my wistful, unfocused stare. They grew horrified, looked to their companion, and forgot once the strange boy had passed.
There was a café with outside seating and I took a chair under a quaint blue umbrella to catch my breath. As tasteless as those homeless men were, the swoon was all the same. Drunk on their souls, I hardly noticed the pretty little waitress that sidled up to help me, moments ago.
"Would you like a rag for that? Or would you like to call an ambulance?" Her voice tinkled like a bell. So deliciously pure. As glutted as I was, I could hardly resist running a hand up her tender throat. To kiss that vein…
I swallowed my yearning. A wave of my hand dismissed the notion. "Bring me a coffee. That's it." I looked up. Her face was unnerved; had my tone been that forceful? I strained a smile. "Please."
She scampered off and I put a hand to my forehead. A moral had scattered my thoughts, that's all. I was never good with people.
The drunkenness was gone. I could disappear into the night, which before seconds ago had been my every intention. But I did not.
Something kept me there. For years I had searched for a feeling as powerful as that girl had forced from me. She lit my soul on fire without even meaning to. And she wasn't afraid of me. At least, she was more fearful of losing her job than approaching me.
She was back quicker than I had expected and cautiously placed the mug in front of me. The skirt she wore hugged her thighs, a horribly revealing uniform she wore with near forced pride. Her laced blouse matched my own in formality, a stunning offset to her outfit. It provoked her curves, accentuating them, yet they were not showy at all. Other girls were skipping around inside the café, dressed just like her. She was exactly like her sisters, exactly like what was expected of this age, but why did she keep my attention?
"Ma'am? Will that be all?" I looked up, half-stunned. She knew I was a woman. How? Even my half open lace could not reveal much. I shook it off.
"Ah…yes." I stuffed a twenty into her hand, money the men miraculously could not find minutes before.
"Ma'am! You should have that looked at" She motioned to my chest, wounds already sealed. But how would she know? "If you need a change of clothes, too, ma'am, I think I have an extra-"
"Please. You're too generous." Was I sweating? My desire for this girl was choking me. I tried to get up from the chair, but I must've stumbled, because I felt the girl grip my forearm right after I got up. She was so close her breasts were pressed to me. Was she seeking death?! "I'll be fine; thank you." My breathing was heavy.
"But you gave me way too much, ma'am. At least let me get you new clothes." Her pleading voice…
Before I knew it, I was being led through the café, to the anxiety of the late-night diners.
The staff room was quiet and dark. My head stopped pounding enough to see that we were the only two there; the other men who happened to be there left, assuming something was wrong. She found a couch for me to rest on while she disappeared into another room for a few minutes. I presumed it was a locker area for their valuables, but I didn't really care. Mostly because I let a mortal lead me around like a lost puppy, caring for me like one of her own species.
Out she came holding a lump of colorful clothing. She held it out for me gingerly, as if I would attack her if she made a sudden move. Did I remind her of a lost pup that much?
I took the garb and it unrolled to reveal a bold green dress. I was confused; I hadn't worn women's clothing in at least a century. I was accustomed to flowing gowns with at least five layers of frills, buttons and lace. This was plain, lacking the pastel hue that I had learn to hate. I took it in my hands. The fabric was soft and stream-line, not at all like the itchy cloth of the 1700s. I did well to hide my amazement, stripping the torn coat at once. Though I had a feeling the girl had grown uncomfortable, I did not slow as the lace blouse was also peeled from my body.
"You don't have to-"
"No worries." I cut her off, dropping the shirt to the carpet, "We're women."
I had a small frame, even for this era of starving supermodels. Although my muscles had been toned from my mortal years on horseback, there was not much to my body beyond my porcelain skin. Beside me, I heard the girl emit a tiny gasp, too quiet for mortal ears. A sharp intake of breath, a shuffle of her step…
"You're so pale." She said in amazement, then caught herself, "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to stare. Forgive me." The girl turned her back in embarrassment.
I slipped the dress over my head and pulled it into place. Nonchalantly, I retrieved my clothes. A hand touched the girl's shoulder, letting her know it was all right to look. As she turned, her eyes grew wide, her hands going to her mouth in bewilderment.
"Gorgeous," she mouthed, smiling wide, "Absolutely gorgeous!"
I smiled back out of courtesy. My head tipped to thank her.
"My shift ends in an hour. If you want, I can take you for dinner and you can stay at my apartment."
I think my eyebrow shifted involuntarily. What an odd girl. But her voice was gentle, and the offer was pure. I nodded.
Her face lit up, and asked me to wait in the staff room until she finished working. I agreed, using the time for my own contemplations.
What a fine pickle in my jar. Whenever did I have the patience for humans and their concerns? It was strange, yet made sense to me at the same time. The couch was comfy. I lounged, contemplating when I would kill her. Would I? Her blood seemed utterly perfect, and yet, I hesitated. For the first time in my long years alone, I was quickened, alert. The world seemed open, new experiences flooding in like an unclouded river. I felt like I was alive, more so than even when I functioned on my own blood. Maybe it was the cocktail dress hugging so tightly it felt like my own skin, but I felt strangely released, free from the wanderings that had filled my life so completely for decades. Probably the dress.
Too soon did the girl return, jolting me out of my thoughts. She informed me that traffic had slowed and she wasn't needed for closing. I shrugged, accepting the change eagerly. My eyes shifted to the wall-mounted clock. It read quarter past one.
"Do you always have dinner this late?" I asked, as we walked out of the restaurant. She had shed her uniform for a less revealing v-cut blouse and dark leather jacket. She still wore the skirt, but at least her bust wasn't so unleashed.
"Do you always walked around with bloodstains on your Halloween costume?" She shot back. Her heels clicked on the pavement authoritatively. "It's March, by the way."
"I'm quite fond of them, actually. It gives the clothing character." As a matter of fact, my coat must've been covered in old blood, but I suppose time kills stains just as well as it does mortals.
There was a pause. She didn't know how to answer that, I'll bet. "I'm more tired than hungry, though." I lied, "I'd prefer if we went to you home, if you don't mind."
The girl looked up at me. She was about a half an inch shorter, I realized, even with the heels. "Alright. I'll fix something up when we get there. I hope you can deal with cup ramen."
We shared a laugh as we turned a corner. Not long until we reached the apartment complex, I expected. "And I grow stronger from it." I said gallantly, flexing a muscle and holding the bare skin. Huh. It was bare. I had to remember I wasn't in my coat anymore.
The girl smiled at me. It was a lovely grin, a lovely expression.
"Why did you decide to let a perfect stranger come home with you? I could be dangerous, you know." It was a question I had been wanting to ask since her offer came up.
"You? No, I doubt it. I could tell you didn't have anywhere to go, anyway, and you looked so good in that dress…" She realized what she was saying wasn't a thought and two seconds after she added, "I mean, you still do, I guess; but I'm sorry, that was uncalled for. I-"
I held up my hand. "Relax. No harm in flattery." I held out my arm to a door we had come across. "Yours, right?"
She looked to where I motioned. "Oh, right." The girl fumbled with the keys, put one into the lock and the door slid open. "Sorry; I hardly noticed us going up the stairs."
Stairs? I looked down. Oh yes; stairs, stairs… I have to pay more attention to what I'm doing, I thought.
"You know…" I started.
"Yes, ma'am?"
"We've known each other for at least two hours, but we don't know each other's names."
"Oh, yeah." It dawned on her.
"Do you have one?" I half-laughed.
"Of course. My name's Sydney."
What do you think? Review with your thoughts. Thanks for reading. :)