Was a while ago I wrote so I just guess I will put it up here :)
There are certain things that aren’t… socially acceptable in modern society, some may consider showing you genitals, or junk as I hear youngsters call it, in public, one thing that isn’t socially acceptable. Another may be to reek of alcohol and sleep on a park bench like you do. What I personally discovered a time back in the 18th century was that ripping other people’s throats open in the middle of the street is one of these things. I assure you, you would be surprised at how late many of my... younger... friends understood this fundamental principle on which we all now days follow. Now don’t get me wrong, I don’t think it’s the killing, or the murder, which some think.
I believe that ordinary humans – whom doesn’t have my... condition... think that it is plain rude, to spoil such fine clothes that people wear, or the harmony of the street or just simply the argument “think of the children”, and I get that.
Now I don’t really care why they don’t like it, I just understand that they do and so I’ve come to terms that there is a certain level of brutality allowed on streets, simple as that. Since the time of my enlightenment into this knowledge, I have gotten into a lot less trouble with local law enforcers, although I do seem to leave them a trail of filled body-bags, as they seem to appreciate me keeping my actions proper, clean and with decent table manners. I’m not sure that all of them understand that I have to do what I do, but I’m sure someone has picked up my pattern and targets and all those little nostalgia things I leave behind. Yes, I know it’s silly, but I was raised with the belief that everyone should be mourned, so if I don’t think that a victim will be mourned by anyone, I make sure that he gets remembered. It can be by raising a little marker at the place, like a gravestone.
You know what? I think I’m going to give you one of those. You seem like you are... or at least was, a pretty decent fellow. I’ll be right back. Amelia left the dead bum on the park bench and went towards the closest graveyard to get a tombstone, or something similar. While searching through the church and its surroundings for something to use as a landmark she thought to herself
"Damn, that guy was drunk. That must have been like what, 3.8-3.9 per mille alcohol-level, my balance is completely thrown off."
When she came back with a rock she found near the church – not a stolen gravestone, she didn’t think taking one from a dead guy to give to another dead guy served any purpose – she wrote in the stone after giving up on finding the identity of the bum – he had no wallet:
Here died a drunk homeless guy
2010 – 12 – 25
Kids, don’t do drugs, or else you might end up like this fellow and then I’ll come get you
She was quite happy with her combined self-saving and social work. Both getting rid of the bad influence and giving the children something to think about. And then that message would get the police all riled up about some psychopathic murderer – murderess – and might actually get out and do some field work, you know, to give them some exercise.
Yes, she was quite happy with herself as she left the peaceful scene behind her in the snowing park. That talk with the dead guy had been liberating in a way, like talking to a psychiatrist. But as she threw the rose – she had been carrying it since nine pm tonight – behind her, she just couldn’t get that handsome young man out of her head. And he had wanted her number! This was like being eighteen again and going on a first date! Although her appearance suggested that such a time wasn’t that far behind her, it was actually longer than anyone would guess. This feeling of intoxication was not from the bum’s alcoholic blood, but from trying to remember that young man’s scent.
She thought of a poem that her poetic younger friend had written a few years back for people with their condition who also were in love as she passed a street lamp and was thus gone, out of thin air.
I’m not after your throat
I’m after your heart
I’m not after your red
I’m after your eyes
I’m not after your taste
I’m after your mouth
I’m not after your body
I’m after you
At dawn Amelia got back to her apartment building in central New York. She liked the city, it was always buzzing with activity and life. Not at all like when she was growing up here. Back then everything was quiet and boring, safe. Now you could get killed in any street corner, or in her case, kill in any street corner. It was just much more fun this way.
As she entered the lobby she said hi to the man behind the reception and took the elevator towards the highest floor, because of course, she had the penthouse suite. This was the only nest on the island and since she was the oldest of the residents, she got to pick her place first.
There were some rules that any person with her condition, that wanted to stay in that condition at least, followed. For one, with all the myths about vampires in modern society, most of her kind has stopped using their teeth. It just leaves too much of a trace. Instead, they have started using razors, to be much more ordinary to the police. Secondly, all bloodsuckers gained full control over their human form when they were turned, and that left them with the 100% capacity of the human brain. This meant that every single organ was under their direct command. Every action a vampire takes is a conscience action, something that they decided to do. If a cursed one wanted to have a heartbeat, then they had to figure out how to manually make the heart beat, or make their irises focus, or breathe. And one thing that was soon learned to a young one is that you want to breathe, because otherwise the air in the lungs would stand still, and in still air, things grow, a nasty business that particular one.
So all these things with no heartbeats, no heat, burning in the sun, it was mostly eradicated in Amelia’s time. I mean, of course it took time to learn how to remain warm, and it included getting a strict diet of not only blood, but of the same food that included all the things a human body needed to keep warm. This sounds more difficult than it actually is for them, to them it’s just something that each of them needs to learn. It was still true that most of vampires thought of it as too much trouble to get their pigments going after their death, but that did not by any means mean that they would burst into fire the second sunlight hit their skin, as described in popular fiction. No, it merely means that they are very easily sunburned.
Amelia stepped out of the elevator and entered her den just as the sun had started to show its ugly disc over the horizon and she quickly hit the switch to the electric shades, electricity had made everything so easy.
“I was wondering when you would show up” Michael said from his armchair. “I wanted to watch that by the way” Referring to the sunrise. Michael had been a black man before Amelia had turned him in her youth - to have a companion in her early misery of the curse - and that made him sort of immune to the whole “vampires can’t stand the sun” thing. Of course, Amelia herself could be in the sun, no problem. It is just that it is tricky to get pigment working after being turned.
“You’re late” He continued. “Why would you be out so late that you risk getting the sunburn of your life? Don’t answer, I can smell it myself. You have the slightest tint of male perfume on you which indicate that you where in a club this evening, getting swarmed by some young charming (eww) boy, but you reek of beggar and that tells me that your meal for the night was not of the same quality as the... Romeos... of the New York nightlife, unless you where greedy which, by the look under your eyes, you were not.” He Turned from the now shut view of New York and faced her, still seated. “This leaves only one conclusion. You have a crush.” He said this with a brotherly teasing smile.
“Oh can’t a girl get to be left alone for once?” It was always the same with him, he was the detective and she was the criminal. He knew her feelings and actions before she knew them and before she had done them. He was amazingly smart and could probably speed up mankind’s technological breakthroughs by a few decades in a year had he only got the resources, and tolerance. Mostly the tolerance bit.
“Nope, I can’t have you running around like a mortal seventeen year old girl who thinks she in love with some twenty year old who’s best quality is that his second button is unbuttoned. You see where I’m going with this?”
“Yes, I know that he is mortal and I, well can’t die, but also have fangs and perfect night vision, the strength of two horses and can’t stand direct sunlight, I KNOW!”
“So who is he?”
“I hardly know him! But he is smart, and funny... and good looking. He introduced himself as Zorro, but when he realized that he actually got a shot with me he got serious... and that was scary, because it was around then I realized that I didn’t want to feed of him. It was just so bizarre! I’ve never experienced anything like it! He was fumbling in the dark but he was perfect, his eyes where perfect, his words and the way he looked at me, not at my body like they usually do but at my face! That is always a refreshing change of pace, I’d tell you.”
“What’s his real name then? And what was the big delay, I mean he couldn’t have been out for more than to... I don’t know, four?”
“I don’t know, he wouldn’t tell me! No, we spent the entire night in this petit café that he led me to, just talking. I haven’t done that in half a century, it was amazing.“
“So he is playing “mystery-man”, charm him and get him to do your biding?”
“I tried! At first... but then it didn’t work and he got more control over me than I got over him. He sort of just swept me of my feet you know...”
"I do not."
I have migrated the rest of this story to figment, if you wanna read more of what I write, please follow me over there! I will try to update something on there every week!
Like John, you somehow managed to put a piece of literature in a piece of literature, which is both cool on its own and also helps other people relate (at least people who are influenced by reading). Really good. *goes to read the rest*
yeah that was worth it. really good - that is to say, I liked it since, you know, I'm no critic.