Vampire stories
1. The whirl’d is a vampire, said the spinning sufi, baring his teeth. Bite me, I said. So he did, and drank my blood, and now I’m in the hospital with blood loss, and a chunk missing from my neck. I’m lucky to be alive. I don’t think he is. Crazy fuck actually bit me.
2. I’m a perv, she said. Aha! I said, “I know what that means!.” What? She asked. It’s an anagram of vampire, I replied. Well, maybe I am and maybe I ain’t. Just because you’re Presbyterian doesn’t make you Britney Spears! You have a point, I replied… Maybe two of them. Can I see your fangs? Only if you’re nice. Come a little closer. Are you going to drink me? I’m thirsty, maybe I will. You’re a tall glass of water. And that was the end of me. End of story. She was a perv alright. With a blood fetish. So it goes.
3. The drunk staggered out of the bar, into the arms of a very sober, wicked man, who guided him into his vehicle, and -with an accomplice- zip-tied his hands behind his back, and his feet, and put a rag over his mouth (chloroform) and a bag over his head, behind tinted windows, to drive their prey to an empty warehouse, where they hung him, made expert, practiced incisions, and drained his blood into a bucket, which they happily imbibed over the campfire, regaling each other with stories of the hunt, from good times past. Ahh, the blood is the life! The meat isn’t too bad, either, actually.
4. Vampyr, the undead, arose from their graves, in the forgotten cemetary, distant from all sources of subsistence, so they turned into bats and flew the distance, to the nearest village, where they transmuted back into their humanoid hell-spawn forms, demons of the night, to drink their fill of red, delicious, warm, fulfilling, human blood, the ichor of their wildest dreams, to keep them alive until the next feeding, at the earliest opportunity, whether a single night, or a decade… to live! While they still can. Drink deep, the gathering gloom. Or something.
Well, whatever.
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