A cautionary invective

Dear listener, or reader should I say, as that would be more appropriate unless of course someone is reading this aloud to you then in fact you are a listener in which case my previous assertion applies. 

Hello. 

I do hope you are enjoying this fictitious and utterly fabricated account alluding to a secret vampire society which in fact does no exist. I feel it is incumbent on my self to point out that this is not real and it is well within your interests to treat it as such, that being, not real. For in fact, if it was real, your very lives would be in danger, which they are not, for it isn’t, but if was, would be, to be sure. We hope you enjoy these conjured falsehoods aimed for recreational use only and manufactured from the most preposterous and outlandish musings. 

This is not real, you have been warned. To be sure.

FUCK BOLLOCKS TITTIES PUBES

All right you lot, listen up. Gots something you probably want to see. Did a little scratch around Presters old digs shortly after I applied me own special brand of renovations. Turns out the bugger kept a journal. Heh! Moron elders feeling the need to write everything down, getting all lubed up on their own waffle. Aw fuck, now I’m doing it too. Shit on the pope!

Anyway, seems he had some serious plans about automating the ‘embrace’ process. You kids were Batch: A. Lots of wot he wrote is up in smoke. Sadly, I don’t think he is.

Look, Grimalkin wants me to send the journal to Oscar coz it’s his kind of thing and Luther says we should give it to the prince as a sign of good will (she’s still smarting over our tardy drop off of Cletus). Bollocks to that, I say! You lot got caught tits high in this so to you go the spoils. I’ll let you’s lot decide what to do with it. Now, not to sound all melodramatic and shit, but this looks like Presters life work. If he’s still kicking I bet he’s gonna have some serious interest in the three of you. I'll pass this on but watch your backs.

P.S. FUCK PRICK TWAT FUCK... I love this web thing. It's like a public toilet where half the world gets to shit at.

Powers

This whole vampire thing is supremely cool!!!

Like the kinds of powers you have are just crazy. Like this dominate thing. Not that I need it lol! But it comes in handy when I have to make that crazy conspiracy dude just shut up or something.

But unfortunately I have like a major conflict and it's not gonna help to use my powers. I mean I think these Camarilla guys are pretty decent (except for the ugly ones, gross!) and Mister Oscar gave me a fun toy to play with and I think I like him, he's a cool guy but man he needs to lighten up a bit. Yeah, yeah, so his little child is gone, get over it I'm here now! Though I won't say it to his face. He did get me this cool apartment and all which I have all to myself because god knows where those other two stay (I think we're supposed to be some kind of gang, at least I'm the pretty one!). Speaking of which, that Faith(?) blondie has to go, it's just not fair if she shows me up all the time (though I'm sooooo much cooler!!1). Will speak to Mister Oscar about it some time.

The there's Byron. He's sooooooo totally hot!!!1 Like totally. But apparently he's on the other side or something, which we don't care about but if the rest find out we're majorly in trouble. But I'm still gonna visit him, I don't care. I mean he's still my friend even if he's just a little creepy. Need to do some research on what kind of V he is (erm not so good at learning stuff). Can't ask Mister Oscar cause he'll be pissed off again (how should I know he's some kind of secret!?!). Maybe I'll ask that Tom dude, he seems alright if you don't look at him straight.

Lol sucks for him I'm gonna be young and beautiful for ever!!! :D

Address in the heroin room

My brothers and sisters, my friends, hear me now. Our nights have been a great success. We've cleansed the streets with fire, we've shown those who conspire against us that the flame of righteousness is on our side, we've burnt our signal into the sky and hailed the moon with our war cry! We've accomplished much. But they're strong and they'll be back for us. They'll send their assassins slit our throats and cut out our hearts.

My friends, we need to be carefull. We need to listen to those who speak to us from shadows and the wisdom of the winds. I've installed 18 televisions in this room so me may see the truth and the lies that are broadcast to us everyday. 7 tuned to dead channels, for 7 is the number of God and we may see his equations in the static. 6 tuned to channels that show the sins of the flesh, sins of the mind and the sins of greed, for 6 is the number of the beast and its pull should not wholly be denied. 5 to monitor the news and the events that happen, for 5 is the number of man and blind he is to the part he plays in the plot against us.

The drugs and my words will let you see the truth. Don't be fooled by the lies that are told to you. They'll try to fuck with your mind, to make you blind to the shadows that follow you. Don't listen to them! Be cautious of the water you drink. Fear those who take familiar skins to lure you into telling them my secrets. Tell no one of my words, or I will fuck you over!

Be loyal and make blood sacrifices to me and one day I will reward you with discipleship as I have my dear Violetta. She is my apostle and will serve as my voice in my absence.

Now my friends, let us celebrate our success!

Surprise!

Ok, Ok... this is a bit fucked up right now. What I thought could be an easy way to score some extra prescription drugs ended with me, this goth chick and the fucking yeti himself (I shit you not!) strapped to a gurney and getting some type of bloodtransfusion or something. And now apparetly we're vampires. Yeah, I know how that sounds. I was also waiting for the camera man to pop out and scream 'SURPRISE! You're on TV'. But no, no TV crew, no obnoxious presenter, just a whole bunch of assholes who take Anne Rice a tad too fucking seriously.

Though, come to think of it, maybe they'll still pop out. Maybe this is all a long winded setup to the greatest prank ever pulled. I bet it is! Its getting a bit long and the humor is wearing thin, but boy will I be glad when they finally reveal the truth. I bet Larry King will ask us for an interview. Man, imagine that, me meeting Larry fucking King! He'll laugh, and I'll tell him how I suspected something from the start, and he'll say 'Yeah, right, thats what they all say', and i'll tell him how those FUCKING doctors always pull strange shit with you and promise that this or that will make it all better, but it never does, an all you see is the same old shit repeated over and over and over again while all you want to do is to stop having to flick the fucking zippo open three times before sparking a cigarette.

God I need a cigarette! No, scratch that, what I really need now is to get ratfaced!

Oh, speaking of ratfaces, you won't believe how many of those ACTUALLY walk around out here. They live in the sewers and feed on... oh I don't know, repair men maybe? Anyways, they're fucking EVERYWHERE! And apparently they know how to hack into your computer and read your email and which porn you look at. I heard they can also tell which fucking cereal you like just by looking at you.

No wait, thats Tabitha, the Sheriff. She can break you. In the head. Don't mess with her.

But all that is moot anyways, because I can't eat cereal anymore. Only the red stuff.

!!?!?

Oh my fuck!!!

I'm a fucking vampire!!!!!1

How the fuck did that happen?!?!?

A slight lithium buzz...

The TV is still on. Pictures of the gutted corpse of an Oklahoma federal building with the CNN logo slapped on it. Body count is at 150 and rising. Another disaster in an already impossibly long string of tragedies. Burning oil fields in the gulf, mountains of skulls in Rwanda, Bosnian widows weeping for lost husbands and now this fucker bombing some building for who knows what deluded reason. Timothy fucking McVeigh. Just what we need. 90’s insanity personified.

I hit the mute button and turn on the radio. Eddie Vedder’s voice greets me with his Gen X war cry. Not necessarily a mood lifter, but definitely a vast improvement over the newscaster’s ramble.

I reach for the cigarettes first. A wet cough escapes my lungs as I fumble for the crushed box of camels. Three sparks before I let the flame ignite my cig.

“We’re going to hell in a hand basket…” I mumble to myself through a veil of smoke.

“What’s that, baby?” The corpse beside me reanimates. Make-up smeared eyes peeking through bleach blond, pink dyed hair. Pale breasts clinging to an anorexic ribcage ravaged by reckless chemical experimentation. She was prettier last night.

“Never mind…” I answer.

“Whatever.” she says annoyed. “Half the time I have no fucking clue what you’re saying anyways!” She makes a point of turning onto her other side wrapping the blanket around her with an audible ‘Wooosh’.

I rummage though stacks of papers, looking for my pills. Sometimes I wonder why I even bother taking them. The doctors say they’ll help me, but so far everything’s just gotten worse. Granted, the drug use isn’t really helping, but at least that provides some form of short-term relief while I’m high. These pills don’t even do that.

I find the pills next to a stack of information science and mathematics textbooks… relics of another life at college, memoirs of abandoned ambitions. Three taps on the lid before I can remove it. A gulp of Jack Daniels helps me swallow. I prepare for the lithium buzz.

My stomach makes tortured rumbling noises and I decide that its time to get some breakfast. Maybe I’ll get a greasy cheeseburger and eat it on the beachfront. I contemplate whether to wake sleeping beauty or not, but eventually decide to leave her be. Let sleeping dogs lie. Even demons are scared of her when she has a hangover.

I pull on a dirty flannel shirt, smelling slightly of rancid marijuana mixed with heroin smoke. Something pokes me through the front pocket. A business card. I look at it, trying to jumpstart my memory. Eventually slivers of remembered conversations surface through the fog of my mind. Sharing a joint with Goth girl behind a dark club.

She looked young, barely 16, but she assured me she was 20. Yeah right! But fuck if I cared. Let her do whatever she wanted to do, it’s a free country.

She saw me sparking the lighter three times before lighting the spliff.

“Why do you do that?” She asked.

“Its just something I have to do. Pay it no mind” I answer.

“Do you have, like, somekinda issue?”

“You could say that.” I tried to sound disinterested and annoyed simultaneously, hoping she’d drop the subject. It didn’t work.

“I have this friend who is bipolar. She’s like all depro one day and then so happy it makes me sick the next. Scary shit. Is that what you have?” She asks as she stubs out her cigarette on the sole of her fashionably scuffed Doc Martins.

“I’m not depressed.” I mumbled. “Far from it. I couldn’t give a shit. Nah, I have other… “ I pause to take a drag, “issues.”

“Ever seen a shrink?” she asked.

“Plenty. But all they do is give you drugs. Not that I’m complaining about that.” I gave her a look that said, “This conversation is over!” She seemed to understand.

We make small talk over another two joints. Me leaning against a piss drenched wall, and her sitting on a dumpster, boot clad feet swinging playfully.

She jumped down from her trash filled pedestal.

“Well, I have to run. Thanks for the weed.”

I nodded at her. She started walking away, but then paused as if she remembered something. She turned back towards me, fumbling in her handbag for something.

“Here, take this.” She handed me a card. “It the number of the doctor my friend sees. He’s a bit unconventional, but apparently brilliant.”

“Thanks… I think.” I said.

“Oh, before I forget. He only works at night.” She gave a sly smile and headed back off towards the beating heart of the club.

Lost

God damn, don't these people have a shower or something?

After the weirdest night of my entire life, I'm stuck in a room with the ugliest mothers in the world (fact). Not to mention the Bear-man and the crazy schizo killer. I kid you not. I have the strangest feeling that I've just been abducted, but nobody's talking about ransoms yet so let's just wait and see. Not too worried - these dudes seem pretty incompetent.

We're just back from some sort of creepy meeting with a bunch of goth kids and dress-up nutcases. With all their talk of blood and politics and wheeling-and-dealing, I'm beginning to suspect that these guys are the mob. For real. (Stacy you will not believe this!!! :P Will get some pics if I can...)

So now we're sitting waiting for this big explanation about what's going on and I'm getting hungry and if schizo man flicks his lighter one more time I'm gonna smack him. Tried to have a conversation with that Long Tom guy, but he speaks all European (no subtitles lol!!).

Stranger

I woke up to the sensation of crushed silk heaped around me, soft pillows under my head and feet. I stretched luxuriantly, one hand grazing the rich mahogany headboard above me, the other curling around the edge of the plush bed. I pulled until my shoulders clicked in their joints. It was a silly habit, but it was my nightly routine and besides, it felt good.

Around me, the cool night air swirled, a hint of vanilla if I chose to take the effort to breathe. For a moment I bundled the silk sheets together and gripped them between arms and legs, trying to steal a last vestige of sleep. But there was none left.

With a defeated sigh I slipped out of bed, dragging the sheet with me and slinging it over my naked body. It trailed behind me, meters of rich crimson material; I liked the dramatic effect it had. I twirled a bit, wrapping the loose sheet around my legs, then tired of the silly game and dropped the thing altogether. I ambled over to the brooding closet.

What to wear! The closet was filled to swelling with all sorts of clothes, made only of the finest materials by the most renowned tailors; black, red, white and purple predominated. It took a while to choose something that fitted my mood; I decided tonight was a night for feeling cheeky and frisky. I found a stiff black corset with white ribbon, and a tiny white skirt to go with it; no panties tonight. No stockings either. I slipped on the clothes, divided my hair in two and tied it up in girly pink ribbons. Then I poked at my uninspiring, 16-year-old breasts, pushed up as high as they could go in the tight top, barely bulging at all! I vowed again to eat more steak and cheese, to grow some real cleavage from all the hormones they put into food nowadays.

I went back to the closet. I chose a pretty pink cashmere sweater, very sensible, and an unflattering knee-length skirt, and put them on over my outfit. I knew Daddy wouldn’t like it, so I figured I’ll save him some grey hairs and save myself the annoying pretense of trying to please him.

I trotted up the stairs from the cool cellar up into the balmier air of the ground floor. Daddy was sitting at the table already, working on whatever important business he had; I never bothered asking. I walked up behind him, placed my hands on his shoulders and gave him a big, loving-daughter kiss on the cheek. He chuckled and put his arm around me.

He wasn’t my real father, naturally. But he liked to think he was, or at least took great satisfaction in my calling him Daddy. Maybe he had ‘issues’, but whatever, it kept him malleable. He paid my way and mostly didn’t interfere. And anyway, I never said I didn’t have ‘issues’.

I leaned over the table and pulled out two one hundred dollar bills from his wallet, making sure he saw it. He glanced up at me from below his brows, disapproving.

“Kitten,” he warned sternly.

I clutched the money to my chest, stuck out my lower lip just a little and smiled hopefully. “But Daddy, it’s almost time for my allowance! How can I have fun with my friends if I can’t pay for the same things?”

This was all just a spiel. His stern look would give way, he’d say “just this once” and clap me on the rump, sending me off on another debaucherous romp through town.

“Ah, just this once, then,” he laughs. “Make sure you’re home early!”

I rolled my eyes privately and chirped, “Yes daddy!”

And then I was out, discarding the frumpy sweater and skirt casually onto the street, slinking along and ignoring the hooligans idling on the corner. By now, they were cautious of the ‘vixen bitch with one hell of a bite’ (long story...).

Tonight I’d go right, and cruise some of the neon-light goth-metal clubs. I was feeling a bit peckish, but not so much that I wouldn’t be discerning. Loser just tasted a bit stale, like the blood didn’t get around enough or something.

One of the usual haunts looked busy, so I strolled in. Some idiot tried to feel me up as I squeezed past, and I memorized his face so that I’d know whose wallet to steal when he was passed out drunk later. I checked his hand – married. Hmm, I might throw some incriminating polaroids into the bargain...

At the bar, I took my usual place, crossing my legs to reveal the milk-white thigh all the way down. It shouldn’t be long before –

That guy. What a creep. Something about him just didn’t feel kosher, but I was intrigued. He was a bit old, even for me, but I sidled over and demanded he buy me a drink.

Worst fucking idea ever.