Deadly

How long could I be here, witness to all that I was?




Humid, acrid mist hung in the air that chilled me as I walked into the dimly lit space. So much is gone. As I look around there is a part of me that screams with the loss of it all. I scramble to acquire my losses, I see all of those trying to be what I once was. They are tattooed and layered in black lace; piercings puncture their lips, eyelids, and chins. They will never be me.

A staircase leads to an upper level and as I pass, I know where it leads and a part of me cringes with the memories of all that I have taken part of. But that is the past. The past is the past I once heard someone say. What a stupid statement. It’s just another way to say, now is now or a piece of bread is a piece of bread. At what point are you allowed to just say ‘bullshit, that’s a stupid thing to say’?

Long ago my grandmother told me that if you ate a watermelon seed, a watermelon would grow in your stomach. What a piece of shit lie. I had nightmares for a month. When I ate her it occurred to me that if Karma were in any way real, I would have an old bitch of a woman growing in my stomach in no time. As it was, I consumed her in the style that she deserved, throwing her bones in a fireplace where, despite the many blazes since that glorious day, they still remain.

The bar I was walking into was called the Green Room. I don’t know why and even in my glory days I did not give a shit. The Green Room; a stupid name for a bar with red walls and a glowing backlit ceiling radiating waves of watery light. As far as I could see no green had ever marked a spot in the ostentatious space. Never the less, the Green Room was the name and had been for as long as it had been around and that was a very, very long time.

I wondered if they were aware of me yet. Did they know I had entered into their world? I thought not. Realistically I knew better, but my hope was firmly entrenched in my subconscious just as surely as my need to belong. I shook these feelings away and pressed on, my goal in mind. No mortal or other on earth was going to stop me from discovering what I had come here to discover. Mortal. Funny that the thought was still in my consciousness. Surely I was a mortal, especially now. But what I wanted and what I needed were two very different motivations.

I needed her. She was no longer a trophy as I had once assumed her to be. She was a marvel. A jewel, and even as I thought these things, I felt the silly childish feeling on my tongue as if I had made some declarative utterance. The simple facts were these – I loved her, and I had killed her. Now I would use every ounce of my unearthly power to bring her back, even as she fought me tooth and nail. The irony of my thoughts was never lost on me. Not much is these days. I have lots of time to contemplate my existence and lots of gray matter to work with. In 1925 when I became what I am now my IQ was 165, a genius according to my lying bitch of a grandmother. In the 85 years since, I do not believe I lost any ground, in fact I feel strongly the original number would be greater. If it mattered, or I gave a crap, I would find out. It doesn’t and I don’t.



The only thing I give a shit about is Rya. My sweet Rya; a young, perfect, southern sweetheart with a Piggly Wiggly apron on and lipstick the color of BubbleYumm bubblegum. Her thick, straight, blonde hair hung well below her waist and her sweet smile melted my heart. This was especially startling; because I was completely unaware I had one. That was how I saw her still, in that stupid apron, smiling that sweet smile. I had heard girls from small towns were naïve but holy hell! I was astounded at the ease with which I manipulated that beautiful sassy blonde into allowing me to violate her in ways she had never before imagined. In the end, as she looked up at me with red-rimmed eyes glittering green and gold with unshed tears, I ripped into her neck with no thought to anything other than my need. As her thick sweet blood slid through my teeth, over my tongue, and down my throat I was lost. No blood had ever tasted so sweet. It was glorious nectar that I could not get enough of and I stayed pressed to her neck, my hands deep in her blonde hair as I tried to pull every drop from her dying form. My body pressed to hers as if we were humping teenagers, as the blood flow stopped and I growled in anger at the incongruity of the moment. I knew how much blood flowed from a body and I knew for certain that this girl had not given up her last.

That had been the moment of my undoing. What I didn’t realize then and would only find out years later was she had been bred for me and now that her blood pounded in my veins I was hers. Only hers. Sadly, I rejected this idea and have lived in a sort of purgatory, separating myself from the thing that could make me whole. Why do I do this? Well, it’s simple. I’m a stubborn bastard and I don’t like being tricked.