Amabamma here! Hello! I am currently looking for a person to look over my work before I publish it to look for spelling errors, ideas, etc. So if you wan this fabulous position that will bring you fame in my story and fortune in the imaginary cookies I will give you! If you're interested message me please!
Now let the story begin!
My love was loud rock music, when you feel the sound throughout your body. When you feel like your heart beat is perfectly timed with the bass and drums. This is my ecstasy.
But it was becoming harder to to find the rock that feeds the soul. My father had taught me guitar when I was little, and I had even started a band of my own. But rock was dying out. Vampires preferred quiet ballroom music to the loud beat of modern music. Venues were closing down left and right and band members were disappearing. But then everyone was disappearing.
First it started with the girls, vampires preferred their blood fresh and young girls could easily be trained to be blood mistresses.
After they took his girlfriend Erika my brother then began to cut my hair short and instructed me to lie in a dumpster every few hours to cover my scent. I also started to wear his clothes to hide my curves.
With the girls gone the families of those taken began trying to rebel against the vampire population. But after the girls disappeared our government officials were replaced by vampires or humans sympathetic to their cause. Our family would gather around the TV watch in horror as the news listed off the sections of our nation under control of the Nosferatu political party. It was only a matter of time before they came for us.
But with the demand for blood mistresses high and so many torn families across the nation, we were slowly dying off as a race.
That's when the breeders came into the picture. They began to breed people. Baby factories, that's what they are.
Our family has survived though, small and pitiful like a lame dog, but we are still here. My poor mother died when they first invaded, but from cancer; human doctors were near impossible to find and we no longer had enough money to pay for treatment. I still blame them for her death. My farther lost his left leg to a vampire during the attempted human revolt. As my fathers missing limb testifies, the revolt failed and the Vampires continued on their world domination. My brother, Michel, is now The one source of income in our family, besides the money from me playing guitar on the streets. I don't know how he gets the money, but it's not much and I don't want to know. My guitar was the only real possession of any value in our house besides my mothers broken locket, it somehow broke so now it can't open at all. I keep the locket wrapped in cloth and stuffed under a floorboard in the attic.
Our house was a small two bedroom one bath that sat right next to the local bar. Dad would spend most of his days a there drinking with money from his panhandling.
Life was hell.
I clung to my music, I played my guitar constantly. I didn't dare sing For fear I might reveal my gender, but my guitar became my voice and I sung like an angel. The streets I played on changed day by day depending on which streets certain policeman were patrolling and which shop owners wouldn't shoo me away if I played in front of their store.
Usually it was the people I knew that walked the streets, like the tailor who gave me a dollar everyday, or the grocer when he had any spare change, weren't generous; they gave out of pity. But it was not uncommon to see a vampire walk down our street. Usually they were the police men patrolling part of the town. Most of them didn't have a real problem with me, in fact some of them gave me large tips which fed me for the day, but to them seemed like nothing.
Then there was Sargent Les, he had a huge problem with my music. If he caught me playing on a street corner he would hit me with his club and take me down to the station to be picked up by my brother.
I avoided him at all cost, I knew the days he worked and the hours and streets he patrolled just to avoid running into him. He gave me three black eyes and several bruises from the times I've ran into him.
His club hurt but it would take more than a polished stick to keep me from my music.
I was playing boulevard of broken dreams by Green day in front of the tailors, he's the only store owner who willingly lets me play outside his store. He always tells me that he likes the music and it helps him to forget. Today Sargent Les was patrolling the main street so I was stuck in front of the tailors. Like most Of the streets in the town nowadays there was no one, except for a occasional banker or policeman. But no one seemed generous today, I continued playing though.
After a while the sun began to set, unwilling to be found outside after dark I looked down at my guitar case to see what I earned for the day. The tailors one dollar bill looked pitiful in the black velvet of the case.
I let out a sigh and stopped playing, I didn't see the point. I looked up and down the street; empty.
"time to go home." I muttered to myself as I bent over to pocket the dollar bill.
"No!" a voice commanded from above.
I looked up to see a man with a black trench coat appear on the once empty street.
"Excuse me?" I said in my lower guy voice.
"Play!" the man commanded.
I gulped, scared at this stranger and his tone, but I played. I began playing yellow by Coldplay, humming with the tune. I focused solely on the guitar hoping that the man would leave a tip and go. He was a vampire. In my mind I repeatedly focused on the phrase go away, leave a tip and go away now! But as I finished the song I looked up and he was still there. He had the pale skin and gold eyes of a vampire.
"That was acceptable." he said stiffly "thank you."
I nodded as a response to his words, but he didn't go away.
"Can you play hallelujah?" he asked.
I was surprised, usually I didn't get requests and this man asked for one of my fathers favorite songs. I learned it by the age of 8, I memorized every verse and the chords by heart. My father would have me play that to him every night when he got home from the bar, and he would sit in his rocking chair singing hallelujah in his rough voice.
I turned to my instrument and began to play the well familiar chords. And as I began the first verse I heard the man humming the tune. Though I was shocked at this I continued playing and when I reached the chorus I hummed along with him. It was a good hum, it was deep and rich, like a hum should be and he hummed the tune perfectly like he knew it as well as I did. I played the five verses I knew and was humming the whole song with him. When I finished I looked back up with a smile on my face. But he was gone, the street was empty and quiet again.
I unhooked the guitar strap from myself and I bent over to lay it back down in it's case. I paused to examine the wad of money that now occupied my guitar case. My grin grew wide and I thanked the man in my mind for his kindness.
