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