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Fucked Up College Kids File 509
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= F.U.C.K. - Fucked Up College Kids - Born Jan. 24th, 1993 - F.U.C.K. =
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Becoming
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I could smell the bones on the wave of night, and I
shivered in gentle anticipation. I squinted into the
dark. The street was 2 o'clock empty, and the heels of
my boots clacked startlingly on the cracked asphalt, a
stacatto gunshot sound bouncing off of brick and glass.
My pace was brisk but my pose relaxed - just the way
I liked it. I clasped my hands loosely behind my back
and leaned into to my stride, pushing the momentum
of my gait, making myself New York City aerodynamic.
Everything was the dimly lit bluish grey of early
nighttime film. I could hear the electricity buzzing
from the street lamps and watched my shadow undulate
as I passed the occasional lit window. I recalled
watching my first moving picture and chuckling at
the imprecisely timed lighting of the young victim's
bedroom after her curvaceous lips puckered to blow out
the candle. I remembered thinking that the director
must not have been friends with the dark to have robbed
it of its beauty that way. Modern film was no better.
Rapists stalked victims in the half-light, and even
Freddy's world was populated with a hungry fire that
clothed the dark in an acceptable uniform. Too bad
that even now no director can capture the depth of
night. I wished I could show them.
I stopped abruptly and inclined my head. A shop window
had caught my eye. I prowled forward to study the
costume in the window. A milk white mannequin eyed me
unseeingly, an amethyst expression of hopelessness. A
velvet confection hung from her hanger-thin shoulders,
cloudy and rich. I made a mental note to return to
this shop the next night to purchase this burgundy
wonder. I sighed abruptly, longing for the complexities
of the old days. This gown reminded me of those
lost gossamer times. Depressed now, I ambled away
from the window and turned purposefully toward my
destination. The club was waiting.
I could already hear the heavy bass emanating from
the after-hours club, located in an abandoned church
basement. Ghouled men and women lurked around the
door, appropriately attired in fishnet and brocade.
Their pale flesh gleamed in the blued darkness, and
many of them sported freshly oozing wounds on their
arms and legs. Above them hung a cobwebby cloud of
smoke, and their laughter rose thinly to meet the smog.
I approached the bouncer at the door, who recognized me
and waved me in. I descended, gliding toward ecstasy.
I immediately slithered to my regular table, back
in the corner near the empty bar. Ancient velvet
draperies faded to a steel grey adorned the stone
wall behind me. I reclined in my chair, throwing one
booted foot on top of the table. I had not gone out
of my way tonight. I simply wore faded and torn jeans
and a black velvet shirt with my ankle length calvary
coat and a tiny bit of blood-black lipstick. I was
not in the mood for costume drama. I flicked open my
silver cigarette case and drew one out. Suddenly a
flame appeared before me, and I smiled in recognition.
"Vincent."
"Cleo, my love."
I gestured toward the chair beside me and he slid into
it. He had gone all out. Black velvet cape with red
satin lining floated all around his wiry frame, lacy
poet shirt and black leggings completed the picture.
I nodded in approval. He looked pretty. I drew in smoke
and puffed it out, watching the ghoulies, as we called
them, fling their bodies around on the dance floor. The
odor of sweat draped the smoked air. Glittering nail
polish and glow in the dark fangs beckoned from the
human mass in the center of the club. I was about to
comment on this sight when I heard Vincent chuckle,
and I arched one eyebrow at him.
"Nothing, darling. Just bemused."
He lit his own cigarette, and we played out the ritual,
waiting. It did not take long. It never did. A young
couple approached us, swaying slightly, probably from
alcohol. I would know in a moment. They sat opposite
us, grinning inanely. No words were exchanged. The
young man rolled up his sleeve and extended his arm
to me. I watched the sweat bead up on his forehead
and slide over the contures of his face. He worried
his lip in anticipation.
I leaned forward and grasped his arm tightly. With my
thumbnail I made a small cut in the soft flesh of his
inner forearm. The blood beaded on his pale skin,
a nourishing jewel to be treasured. Delicately I
flicked my tongue out and tasted him. I heard him
groan in pleasure.
Diseased blood. I could taste it. I spat on the floor.
Disease did not hurt me, not really, but clean blood
tasted much better. I had a well developed palate. I
narrowed my eyes at the young man, who had a bewildered
look about him, much like the amethyst eyed mannequin
I had encountered earlier.
"Go get a blood test, you disgusting creature."
I nodded at the girl, who had a horrified expression
on her thin face. I was oddly impressed by the
translucence of her skin. I could see her veins
throbbing just beneath the surface of her tissue
paper flesh.
"You too. Now, go."
Tears gathered in the young woman's eyes and she
grabbed her boyfriend's arm and pulled him away from
the table. I laughed.
"Diseased thing."
Vincent nodded. "Many of them are, I am afraid. So
nasty tasting."
"You taste test the next one, then."
I could hear his sigh above the music. I glanced at
him inquiringly.
"Remember when we had to work for a living?" He wore
a sad expression.
"This is a phase. It will pass."
"Perhaps. Look.. here comes another."
A plump young woman, alone, draped in gauze. Her
bare arms were heavily scarred - a good sign. Vincent
took her hand and pulled her into his lap. He smiled
wanly at me over her shoulder. Gently he scraped her
neck with his teeth. Out of her sight he raised one
hand and made the thumbs up symbol. Then he drank,
deeply. As I watched I recalled the month I spent
practicing my bite. It had taken many hours to perfect
my technique. Biting like a human was not as simple
as it would seem. One must always be cautious. The
ghoulies should have no inkling that they were being
attacked by anything but another human with dental
fangs. Vincent was a professional. He was the one
who had convinced me to allow these creatures to
bite me so that I could emulate them. It had been a
sickening experience, but had proved useful in the end.
Vincent passed her over to me carelessly. I chose a
pleasantly soft spot on the other side of her neck and
sank my teeth into her vein. She jerked mildly and then
relaxed in my grip. I breathed in the heady metallic
perfume of her blood. This one had a sweet taste to
her, my favorite. Vampire lore claims that drinking
human blood provides an almost orgasmic sensation
in the vampire. A pile of nonsense. It can only be
compared to a fine meal and the fullness one feels
afterward. Not that exciting really, just difficult
to obtain at times. Therein lies the thrill. I licked
her wound and released her.
"Thank you," she whispered, and walked away,
trembling.
"A victim who thanks her attacker. What more could
one want?" I lit another cigarette, content for
the evening.
"The thrill of the hunt, for one."
"Why are you here, then?" I was annoyed. I wanted to
enjoy my cigarette in silence, not engage in philosophical
discussions about our way of life.
"I am closing the club."
"What?" I glared at him. I could feel my eyes blazing in
their sockets.
"Right now, as a matter of fact." With that he rose
from his chair and snaked through the mass of
bodies to the center of the dance floor. He lifted
one hand and the music stopped. The sudden silence
swelled the room, and the human mass jerked into an
uncomfortable motionlessness. Frenzied expressions
raised to meet Vincent's.
"I am closing the club. Now. It will not re-open."
Human cries of angst and anger rose to the ceiling.
I imagined the timbers trembling with the weight of
their disappointment. And mine. One voice rose above
the others.
"Why are you doing this?"
"Because we are not like you. We are not.. we are not
playacting at bloodthirst, as you do. This way of life
is weakening us. We need the hunt, we thrive beneath
it. That is all."
Then the inexplicable occurred. The mob swelled inward,
and for a moment I could see nothing. Then, just as
suddenly, it parted, a parting sea of lace and velvet.
Vincent. He was on the floor, empty eyes staring into
eternity. Blood flowed like wine at a wedding. His
heart.. his heart was missing. Frantically my eyes
searched the mass, and I spied a male morsel grasping
Vincent's heart, tearing pieces from it with his
gleaming teeth predatorily.
Escape. I must escape this blood-bath. I hugged the wall,
eyeing the stairs and the mob simultaneously. I could
see pieces of my beloved friend being passed around.
They were vultures preying on carrion. The sight sickened
me. Finally I reached the stairs, and I raced toward
the door, freedom within my grasp. Just as my fingers
touched the doorknob an inhuman strength clutched at my
throat. Hot breath tickled my ear.
"Run, vampire. You thought to fool us, when we were the
ones fooling you. We waited, patient assassins, for
this moment, to show you that our power is greater
than your own. Your ignorance will destroy you. Go,
before I insist that you don't."
Suddenly he released me, and I raced into the night,
fear my pursuer.
Monika DeMire
demonika@demonic.com
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