This is a short that I made purely for my own amusement. It has only a hint of a plot, basicly no character growth, no storyline and no, well, point! Oh, well. I enjoyed writing it, and I hope you enjoy reading it just as much. This short is probobly really confusing, and a bit cliche times, but I like it. I made it for no other reason but to expand my writing style; I never write mystery or spooky. I don't even know if this qualifies. Review and tell me what you think.
Night Walker
Outside is was dark. Shadowy. Cold.
So is she.
She is dressed in a tight, black, knee-length dress that contrasts immensly with her flawless pale skin. Her eyes are the color of the storm clouds outside; a light, blue-grey. Her strappy higheels stay motionless as she stands in a marble corner, watching. Waiting. Her hair is cut shorter in the back than in the front; it comes down to frame her perfect face. Her hair is at first glance black, but like a ravens; not black but green, blue, and purple when the light rests in it. Which it rarely does.
She is always in the dark, always in the shadows. When she moves it is with the fluidity of a cat, and when she doesn't, she stands straight-backed and still as a pond on a breezless night.
The only thing that moves are her eyes. They are never still, never quiet; always roaming and searching. Her slender, white hand holds a full martini glass, accepted only in politeness. She does not drink. One time she did, and she hated how the alcohol dulled her senses; making her sluggish and weak. Because only the strong survive.
Her first movement comes presently. A man, tall yet not towering, slender yet not skinny, handsome yet not dashing, dressed nice yet not to fancy for this party, begins to say his good-byes to his comerades and starts to leave. His thick dark hair, cut far enough away to not be short and not be long bounces with each step.
She lithely steps into a walk, mabey twenty feet behind him. There are happy, laughing people at the buffet table between them. She parts her way though the small, happy crowd with only her presence, touching noone. A trailing hand, like the tail of a kite, sets down the martini glass on the thick, white linen tablecloth without a sound, without slowing her even pace.
He strolls through the ornate door, quick-stepped his way down the splay of stairs, and turns right on the sidewalk ahead. Cars rush past in the night, barely visible except for their headlights and tailights. She follows him a distance away.
He turns at the corner of a block. A short while later, so does she. Their heels click against the pavement.
His car is parked in an alleyway not far away. She knows this. She knows many things. He turns. So does she. Although he can not hear her, his dilute human senses feel her presence and turns. She is draws her feet together and is still. She is silent except for her eyes; they move along his neck and jaw. He is puzled by her being here.
"May I help you?"
"Yes."
He waits. No explination is forthcoming.
"Excuse me?"
She steps closer. Now they are ten feet away. Now they are five feet away. Now three. He begins to feel uncomfortable. She stays where she is now. His cologne is amber musk. He is confused.
She steps forward. They are two feet away. He contemplates stepping back, but she is beautiful and he is single. She smiles like a vixen. Her teeth are very white. Very perfect. Very sharp. Sharp? He thinks nothing of it.
She leans upwards into his face. He goes in for a kiss. His heart is pounding with adrenaline. He will kiss a beautiful, mysterious woman in the middle of night.
Her open mouth changes course, and comes down upon his exposed neck. Her sharp canine teeth sink into his skin at the base of his neck. His blood rolls forth obediantly. His shock gave her time to wrap her slim but strong arms around him. He cannot fight. Her teeth remove themselves from his neck, and her mouth takes over. The arms close in like steel cables. All of his strength cannot match half of her's.
She laps at his blood like a cat. When she has had her fill, she lets him drop to the pavement. His lifeless eyes stare blankly at the sky. The first raindrops begin to fall, dappling man and sidewalk with drops of water.
She kicks off her cumbersome highheels, and begins to climb up the side of a brick building beside them. Her strong fingers and toes find niches to grasp.
The Vampire climbs.
The red on her lips is no longer lipstick.
Dinner party guests two blocks away continue to laugh.
Crap? No? Review please. I barely ever write in present tense, so please forgive any errors you might find. I know this is cliche and pointless, but reviews would still be welcome. More than welcome. It would make my day. Or week. Or month. Constructive critisism is nice. Please review! I wanna know how I am... I never ever write like this; check out the differences from my other stories!