**CW: drug use**
A light, blue-tinged, hot-white, streaks through the room. Jagged, like lightning, splitting the air with a crackle, strobing in my eyes, making even the finest of the fine hairs that cover my body stand to attention.
Where the fuck am I, and how did I get here? Shapes flit around the room so fast I can’t get a bead on them. I can’t focus, can’t tell where one mass ends and another begins. I try to think, try to align my thoughts long enough to make sense of something, anything, but the things in the room won’t let me. Continue reading “Black Widow”
Image used with permission of Cara Thereon
**This story is a continuation of my vampire series, part one of which you can find here. Bloodbath is a wordy piece and a violently bloody, cruelly stabby one, too, so be sure you wanna read it before diving in…**
“Tell me why we’re here again?”
Eamon’s weary eyes meet mine in the light of the tiny flame that appears a few feet from my face. One deep breath fills my lungs with damp air, the next leaves a tang of sulphur dioxide in the back of my throat. I watch a small orange ball crackle, flare, then settle into a warm glow as smoke coils in front of my old friend’s wizened face.
He doesn’t press for an answer to his question because he doesn’t need one. I made the necessity of venturing into this part of the city distinctly clear on the way here. No, what he wants from me is reassurance. He wants to know that when, if, we walk out of this hellmouth of a place we’ll be in the same condition we’re in now, however doubtful that condition may be. As much as I’d like to offer that reassurance, I can’t, Fuck knows what state we’ll be in after our audience with Aziz. Continue reading “Bloodbath”
She’s bound by chains made of shadow. They’re coiled around her ankles and her wrists. Twisting and intertwining, crossing over and through each other until they reach their respective rings around her collar. Holding her, grounding her, controlling her. Each link insubstantial, incorporeal. Indestructible.
Yet every so often she tries them. Fingers flex and take hold. Puckered skin tightens over knucklebones as her hand becomes a fist. Tendons strain in her forearms, her shoulders shake with effort. All she succeeds in doing is binding herself tighter. With each tug the chains get stronger, the wickedness that forged them feeds off the energy she expends. Continue reading “Demonised”
Kicking my slippers off my tired feet, I peel back the sheets and slip into bed. The cold cotton is almost shocking after the heat of the shower, it makes me shiver so hard the bangles on my wrists jingle against each other. I’ve always been at my happiest during the latter half of the year, but since Linc left I’ve dreaded summer coming to an end. It takes me too long to warm the bed up when I’m sleeping alone, and since March I’ve been doing that more than I care to think about.
Yet thinking about it I am. I need a distraction. Something to occupy my mind until the sandy scratching in the corners of my eyes spreads until the only thing I can do to relieve it is lower my lids. I want to sleep but it’s pointless trying before exhaustion forces it upon me. Continue reading “Hunted”
Roger is taking a nap. Up there on the big bed. I’m down here, just beyond the foot, snuggled up in my lovely cosy hutch. I can hear him snoring. A quiet snort in, a soft rattle out… in… out… in… out. It soothes me, makes me feel content.
In the quiet of the room, I consider the way my straw bed feels against my body. There’s an itch and a scratch, but it’s so warm and it crinkles when I move. I like to move a lot because every time I shift my legs, I feel my tail twitch. It’s a cute tail if I do say so myself. Roger calls it my fuzzy white pompom. He likes to tug it. When he does it tickles and strokes, and a special part of it wiggles around inside of me. The more I move my legs the more I feel the straw beneath me becoming damp. Continue reading “I Love My Hutch”
I have a secret. I’ve kept it ever since I was eighteen, and I’m forty-eight now. Not even once have I considered sharing it. Nobody would believe me if I did. Hell, sometimes I don’t even believe it, I’ve managed to convince myself that it’s all in my head many a time. But then I’m faced with it again and I can’t deny that it’s real. Implausible, fantastical, but absolutely real.
You’re probably wondering what my secret is, and do you know what? I think that now…yes, I am ready to divulge it now… Continue reading “Narcissistic Fairy Tale”
If you’ve been following my vampire series, you may recognise Joshua’s name. You, like me, may also be wondering just who in the hell Joshua actually is. Well, he revealed himself to me tonight, so here’s the first glimpse at mister elusive himself.
It’s not often that I sleep, but when I do, I dream. I wander through the corridors of my long history, peering through cracks in open doors and through keyholes in closed ones, acknowledging my past triumphs and failures before moving on.
But sometimes I come across that door. It’s always open. And behind it is a memory I find irresistible. It’s such a perfect balance of intent and accident, of worst and best mistake ever made, that I’ve never been able to resist giving my sleeping self over to it… Continue reading “Joshua’s First”
This story is the third instalment of my ongoing vampire series. Before you read it, check out Part 1 and Part 2 if you haven’t already. CW: all three stories contain much blood, murder, and other gloriously gory things.
Goddammit, I hate being in this frigging club. Black’s is one of those places that’s too shiny for me. Everywhere you look there’s silver metal, black glass and red crystal. Velvet upholstery that matches the red drapes that match the oval rugs that stand out like beads of blood against gleaming black marble floors. Which is exactly what they’re supposed to look like. It’s as if the card holding members aren’t already fucking ravenous enough in club owner, Bartholomew Black’s opinion. Continue reading “We Wouldn’t Dare”
I can’t live without her. That I know for sure. I tried once, and I failed. Back then she’d left of her own accord, just for a while, but this time she was taken from me. Too soon, too quickly for me to do anything more than scream impotently at God for his cruelty.
But I didn’t remain impotent for long. As has long been my motto I thought, fuck God, and snatched her right back. Continue reading “For the Sake of a Pretty Face”
This story is the continuation of a previously posted piece. Before you read this instalment, check out A Pain in the Neck if you haven’t already. CW: both stories contain much blood, murder, and other gloriously gory things.
Is there any point in being quiet? As I kick in the door of another addict shack, I tell myself no. Those who should be running know I’m coming. They’d have caught my scent the second I entered the city. And yet, every single one of the five dealers in the place has remained. I smell them. I hear the way their thick, dead blood crawls sluggishly through their veins.
Are they arrogant or stupid? That’s the question I’m asking myself as I step over the husk of what had once been a trendy young man. Judging by the designer logo on his shirt, the lips still plump from fillers, and the expensive shoes on his feet, he’d come from money. Will he be missed? Might his death be the death that finally begins the conversation every fucking person in power is afraid to have? Continue reading “Bleed All Over Me”