Twilight of the Vampire

 

I found this while I was doing some housekeeping on the computer. It’s three years old. Enjoy.

* * *

‘Looka me goolies!’

Bella Weller sparkled like a teenage Vampire, she was sixteen, going on seventeen and had never seen anyone’s goolies before. The goolies in question belonged to Henry Hastings XXIII, he was six thousand and sixteen, going on six thousand and seventeen, but he moisturised and kept out of the sun. Exposing himself to young girls in the park was one of the few pleasures he took in death.

Now it was Henry’s turn to sparkle. Bella was the first person who had not run away screaming since a young English girl in Switzerland. She was running wild with wilder men who were high on their own genius. She was writing a novel and having trouble with her dangling modifiers. Henry, being illiterate as well as profoundly stupid, asked if she would like to see his dangling modifier. He whipped it out before she had time to explain. She watched, waiting for something to happen. When nothing did she said, ‘Ah, I see you’re a Vampire.’

‘How can you tell?’

‘Oh my dear boy, you’re as limp as leftover lettuce.’

Henry’s eyes filled with blood. He pounced, magnificent, upon her neck. But before he could do any damage, he was set on fire by Lord Byron and spent two hundred years in recovery.  After that, Henry bought a trench coat and lurked. This is how he started the Great Fire of London, the Chicago Fire, and the Permissive Society.

Henry and Bella lay by the river. He pointed to the sky and drew pictures in the stars. He told her their names and their histories. He told her of his remorse for having blinded Homer. He told her of his sadness at being so misunderstood. He praised her manly beauty and promised her eternity. Again, Bella sparkled, (she had very few responses, it was basically sparkle and pout) she sat up and turned, putting her hand on his chest.

‘Jesus!’ she cried, pulling her hand away, ‘you’re really fucking cold.’

‘I can’t help it,’ he said. ‘My Father didn’t love me, and my Mother died before I was born.’

‘No. I mean you’re fucking freezing.’

He looked away. He was hurt. He thought about crying, but that didn’t always do the trick. He felt Bella’s arm slide around his neck, her body cover his.

‘I’ll keep you warm,’ she said. ‘I’ll keep you warm with my passion, and with my young teenage body.’

She began to move her young teenage body, rocking her hips back and forth. She could feel the love shining from his eyes.  He touched her hand and she screamed. She looked down and saw her finger frozen. She tried to close her fist. The finger broke away. She jumped up, terrified, screaming, ‘Who’s going to marry me now?’

Henry panicked. He knew from experience that being dry humped in the twilight by a marriage minded maiden could only end badly. He sat up, lit a cigarette and watched her stride to the river and back again. She was waving the stump of her finger at passers-by, shouting at them, ‘Would you marry someone like this?’ She went up to Henry ‘What the fuck are you doing? Those things will kill you.’ He shrugged his shoulders.

‘You have to marry me,’ she shouted. ‘No one else is going to marry a freak like me. You’re the one who made me less than perfect. You’re going to have to marry me. Don’t fucking look at me like that. First thing in the morning, you get your arse up to my father’s house, and you ask permission, I’m not getting married without his permission, you ask his permission, and don’t take no for an answer. You’re the one who made me less than perfect. You’re the one who has to marry me. Give me that.’ She took the cigarette from his mouth and stood smoking, shaking her head. She looked at him, ‘Some fucking Valentine’s Day. Prick!’ She spat.

‘I never thought you were perfect,’ he said. He saw the horror rise in her. ‘I never thought you were perfect,’ he said, ‘until now.’

She looked at him, disgusted. She mumbled something that made him afraid. ‘What did you say?’ he asked.

‘I said, prick! You’re no fucking Lord Byron!’ She flicked the cigarette at him. He scrambled up the riverbank to the road and was hit by a car. His body took flight and fell at her feet. She heard his bones break on the rocks. She kneeled at his side, suddenly filled with love. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you. I’ll give you everything you need.’ Gently she turned him over. ‘I love you.’

‘No,’ he said.

He sank his teeth into her neck, drained her blood and left her corpse where it fell.

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