Disclaimer: I own nothing publicly recognizable. However, I do own William, as embarrassing as he is. No money is being made from this work, and no copyright infringement is intended.
The Sorrowful Tale of William von Fliegen
Throughout the centuries, there have been many different kinds of vampires: strange, talented, lacking common sense, completely insane, and even the occasional genius vampire. In fact, you probably aren't aware of it, but it was a vampire who first invented a way to harness solar power effectively and efficiently. Unfortunately, due to his inability to go out in the sun and demonstrate his genius, he was unable to ever patent it, and thus never went down in history or its books. But we'll leave Charles Cassidy's story for another day. Today, our story is about a vampire who had all the traits listed above and more. What's more, this vampire managed to go down in history but not quite the way he'd wanted to.
You see, William von Fliegen was a vampire with an obsession. He wasn't happy to merely hunt, feed, and wander for all eternity like other vampires are wont to do. No, he had a greater passion.
Though he knew it could get him into trouble one day, he adored playing with fire. And explosives. And projectiles.
To put it simply, he liked to make things go boom.
He was pleased when, throughout human history, man's knowledge on the subject grew from making mere cracks and bangs to manufacturing exquisite, colorful explosions of light and sound. He read everything he could on the subject, sneaking into local universities to study his obsession by night and experimenting in the middle of a remote forest by day. But it wasn't enough. Something was missing.
He pondered it for a while, (two weeks to be exact) before finally pitching a frustrated fit while in the middle of lighting a fuse. He kicked his improved version of an ancient Chinese firework some thirty feet away and stared at it angrily. The fuse burnt lower and lower, and soon, he noticed a curious squirrel drawing closer and closer to the lit explosive. His eyes widened, and he watched the scene unfold with gruesome curiosity. The squirrel pounced on the firework just as the fuse ran out.
The carnage was exquisite, and William laughed heartily, suddenly forgetting his earlier annoyance and exasperation. You see, he was happy. Not because he'd watched an innocent squirrel die, (he was mad, yes, but not so sadistic) but because he realized that he could be the squirrel.
No, he didn't want to blow himself up; as the various rodent parts fell to the ground he'd realized just how high into the sky the animal had been blown.
Was it high enough to reach the stars?
It was with that strange thought that William's experimentation took on a new angle and fervor.
He would be the first vampire to launch himself into space.
He knew that he'd have to take care in his new quest, so he moved to the middle of the desert near a hell-burnt town in New Mexico where no one would seek him out or bother him. His experiments began in earnest. Day after day, night after night, he conducted his research, buying, borrowing, and stealing the materials he needed, (but mostly stealing). He found New Mexico a fine place for his needs; the bright sun made his skin shimmer quite handsomely, and the local townspeople had begun blaming their decreasing numbers on a weird, mythical creature that was, most importantly, not a vampire.
His big break came in 1947, nearly six months after relocating.
Using a bizarre combination of cow manure, fossil fuels, and various other sundries, he was able to manufacture a controlled explosion so impressive, it was sure to send him straight to the moon. The fun part now over, he began working, with much less enthusiasm, on an enclosure for himself. (He'd admitted that he'd really rather not end up as the squirrel had.)
Finally, the day had come. It was a bright summer morning, and William was thrilled to test his amazing invention at last. He had thought about doing a test run with a small desert creature, but he was sure that his cabin enclosure and excellent physiology would protect him from anything that should happen. He was, after all, a talented vampire genius.
William was all aflutter as he prepared his wondrous rocket. He set about calibrating different whatsits and thingamajigs, then lit the extra-long length of fuse with a flourish and scrambled into his saucer-like craft. He grinned maniacally, peering out the small window in the cabin and waited for lift-off.
A massive explosion rent the air, and huge clouds of dust billowed, nearly blocking out the bright New Mexico sun. William took in the scene with excitement and pleasure, (which was partly due to the warm, toasty rocket somewhere under his bottom). His craft quickly ascended, and he watched the earth grow smaller and smaller. William let out an enthusiastic cheer, punching his fist into the air as high as it could go in his cramped confines. Soon, he'd be in orbit! Soon, he'd be amongst the stars!
The blue-green marble beneath him was grand, and he smiled in delight. He'd just noted that he could see the curvature of the earth when he realized that something was wrong. His craft, which had been rising at a remarkable rate, seemed to slow. Then all too quickly, the earth grew terrifyingly larger.
William, if you remember, had no common sense. While he'd been completely obsessed with rockets, explosions, and anything that went boom, he'd neglected one crucial part of his research. Thus, William's skills in mathematics, geometry, physics and etcetera were beyond abysmal, even poorer than my own.
His feelings as he plummeted back towards earth could be summed up in two rather crude words: oh, shit.
When humans from the Roswell Army Air Field combed through the mangled wreckage of William von Fliegen's saucer-like craft, they found quite a sight. Bizarre, small pieces of burnt, white marble were strewn throughout the debris. The men scratched their heads in confusion and dutifully took everything from the site back to the Airfield. They studied the odd marble and craft diligently but never came up with satisfactory explanation. Eventually, the news that the strange saucer had been discovered spread nationwide. Conspiracy theories were constructed, deconstructed, debated, and denied. The world became convinced, mostly due to the devious Volturi, that visitors from another planet were responsible for the wreckage.
Attempts were made to find and punish William von Fliegen and his maker, (for anyone who would deign to make such a stupid vampire deserved to be punished) but they were unsuccessful and abandoned by the Volturi in the late 1980s after Aro and Marcus refused to support Caius' search any longer. It is now presumed that William perished in his crash back to earth, however, reports of strange exsanguinations in New Mexico still continue to this day.
Now that you know the truth about the Roswell incident and how it was caused by the arrogance and ignorance of one insane vampire, I must ask that you keep this tale to yourself. I'd rather not be responsible for your deaths by the Volturi. They are not, as you may or may not know, a very friendly bunch towards us humans.
Oh, dear. My doorbell's just rung.
~~~~~~The End~~~~~~
This bit-o-fic is dedicated to my darling Chris, who questioned me incessantly about the characteristics of the Twilight vampires and suggested that they'd make good astronauts. Naturally, I had to prove him wrong.
Rest assured, my next fanfiction will be completely serious and shall feature our beloved Bella and Edward. This was just a fun little distraction from all the angst I've been writing.
Thank you for reading, and please consider leaving a review!