=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= = F.U.C.K. - Fucked Up College Kids - Born Jan. 24th, 1993 - F.U.C.K. = =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Becoming -------- I could smell the bones on the wave of night, and I shivered in gentle anticipation. I squinted into the dark. The street was 2 o'clock empty, and the heels of my boots clacked startlingly on the cracked asphalt, a stacatto gunshot sound bouncing off of brick and glass. My pace was brisk but my pose relaxed - just the way I liked it. I clasped my hands loosely behind my back and leaned into to my stride, pushing the momentum of my gait, making myself New York City aerodynamic. Everything was the dimly lit bluish grey of early nighttime film. I could hear the electricity buzzing from the street lamps and watched my shadow undulate as I passed the occasional lit window. I recalled watching my first moving picture and chuckling at the imprecisely timed lighting of the young victim's bedroom after her curvaceous lips puckered to blow out the candle. I remembered thinking that the director must not have been friends with the dark to have robbed it of its beauty that way. Modern film was no better. Rapists stalked victims in the half-light, and even Freddy's world was populated with a hungry fire that clothed the dark in an acceptable uniform. Too bad that even now no director can capture the depth of night. I wished I could show them. I stopped abruptly and inclined my head. A shop window had caught my eye. I prowled forward to study the costume in the window. A milk white mannequin eyed me unseeingly, an amethyst expression of hopelessness. A velvet confection hung from her hanger-thin shoulders, cloudy and rich. I made a mental note to return to this shop the next night to purchase this burgundy wonder. I sighed abruptly, longing for the complexities of the old days. This gown reminded me of those lost gossamer times. Depressed now, I ambled away from the window and turned purposefully toward my destination. The club was waiting. I could already hear the heavy bass emanating from the after-hours club, located in an abandoned church basement. Ghouled men and women lurked around the door, appropriately attired in fishnet and brocade. Their pale flesh gleamed in the blued darkness, and many of them sported freshly oozing wounds on their arms and legs. Above them hung a cobwebby cloud of smoke, and their laughter rose thinly to meet the smog. I approached the bouncer at the door, who recognized me and waved me in. I descended, gliding toward ecstasy. I immediately slithered to my regular table, back in the corner near the empty bar. Ancient velvet draperies faded to a steel grey adorned the stone wall behind me. I reclined in my chair, throwing one booted foot on top of the table. I had not gone out of my way tonight. I simply wore faded and torn jeans and a black velvet shirt with my ankle length calvary coat and a tiny bit of blood-black lipstick. I was not in the mood for costume drama. I flicked open my silver cigarette case and drew one out. Suddenly a flame appeared before me, and I smiled in recognition. "Vincent." "Cleo, my love." I gestured toward the chair beside me and he slid into it. He had gone all out. Black velvet cape with red satin lining floated all around his wiry frame, lacy poet shirt and black leggings completed the picture. I nodded in approval. He looked pretty. I drew in smoke and puffed it out, watching the ghoulies, as we called them, fling their bodies around on the dance floor. The odor of sweat draped the smoked air. Glittering nail polish and glow in the dark fangs beckoned from the human mass in the center of the club. I was about to comment on this sight when I heard Vincent chuckle, and I arched one eyebrow at him. "Nothing, darling. Just bemused." He lit his own cigarette, and we played out the ritual, waiting. It did not take long. It never did. A young couple approached us, swaying slightly, probably from alcohol. I would know in a moment. They sat opposite us, grinning inanely. No words were exchanged. The young man rolled up his sleeve and extended his arm to me. I watched the sweat bead up on his forehead and slide over the contures of his face. He worried his lip in anticipation. I leaned forward and grasped his arm tightly. With my thumbnail I made a small cut in the soft flesh of his inner forearm. The blood beaded on his pale skin, a nourishing jewel to be treasured. Delicately I flicked my tongue out and tasted him. I heard him groan in pleasure. Diseased blood. I could taste it. I spat on the floor. Disease did not hurt me, not really, but clean blood tasted much better. I had a well developed palate. I narrowed my eyes at the young man, who had a bewildered look about him, much like the amethyst eyed mannequin I had encountered earlier. "Go get a blood test, you disgusting creature." I nodded at the girl, who had a horrified expression on her thin face. I was oddly impressed by the translucence of her skin. I could see her veins throbbing just beneath the surface of her tissue paper flesh. "You too. Now, go." Tears gathered in the young woman's eyes and she grabbed her boyfriend's arm and pulled him away from the table. I laughed. "Diseased thing." Vincent nodded. "Many of them are, I am afraid. So nasty tasting." "You taste test the next one, then." I could hear his sigh above the music. I glanced at him inquiringly. "Remember when we had to work for a living?" He wore a sad expression. "This is a phase. It will pass." "Perhaps. Look.. here comes another." A plump young woman, alone, draped in gauze. Her bare arms were heavily scarred - a good sign. Vincent took her hand and pulled her into his lap. He smiled wanly at me over her shoulder. Gently he scraped her neck with his teeth. Out of her sight he raised one hand and made the thumbs up symbol. Then he drank, deeply. As I watched I recalled the month I spent practicing my bite. It had taken many hours to perfect my technique. Biting like a human was not as simple as it would seem. One must always be cautious. The ghoulies should have no inkling that they were being attacked by anything but another human with dental fangs. Vincent was a professional. He was the one who had convinced me to allow these creatures to bite me so that I could emulate them. It had been a sickening experience, but had proved useful in the end. Vincent passed her over to me carelessly. I chose a pleasantly soft spot on the other side of her neck and sank my teeth into her vein. She jerked mildly and then relaxed in my grip. I breathed in the heady metallic perfume of her blood. This one had a sweet taste to her, my favorite. Vampire lore claims that drinking human blood provides an almost orgasmic sensation in the vampire. A pile of nonsense. It can only be compared to a fine meal and the fullness one feels afterward. Not that exciting really, just difficult to obtain at times. Therein lies the thrill. I licked her wound and released her. "Thank you," she whispered, and walked away, trembling. "A victim who thanks her attacker. What more could one want?" I lit another cigarette, content for the evening. "The thrill of the hunt, for one." "Why are you here, then?" I was annoyed. I wanted to enjoy my cigarette in silence, not engage in philosophical discussions about our way of life. "I am closing the club." "What?" I glared at him. I could feel my eyes blazing in their sockets. "Right now, as a matter of fact." With that he rose from his chair and snaked through the mass of bodies to the center of the dance floor. He lifted one hand and the music stopped. The sudden silence swelled the room, and the human mass jerked into an uncomfortable motionlessness. Frenzied expressions raised to meet Vincent's. "I am closing the club. Now. It will not re-open." Human cries of angst and anger rose to the ceiling. I imagined the timbers trembling with the weight of their disappointment. And mine. One voice rose above the others. "Why are you doing this?" "Because we are not like you. We are not.. we are not playacting at bloodthirst, as you do. This way of life is weakening us. We need the hunt, we thrive beneath it. That is all." Then the inexplicable occurred. The mob swelled inward, and for a moment I could see nothing. Then, just as suddenly, it parted, a parting sea of lace and velvet. Vincent. He was on the floor, empty eyes staring into eternity. Blood flowed like wine at a wedding. His heart.. his heart was missing. Frantically my eyes searched the mass, and I spied a male morsel grasping Vincent's heart, tearing pieces from it with his gleaming teeth predatorily. Escape. I must escape this blood-bath. I hugged the wall, eyeing the stairs and the mob simultaneously. I could see pieces of my beloved friend being passed around. They were vultures preying on carrion. The sight sickened me. Finally I reached the stairs, and I raced toward the door, freedom within my grasp. Just as my fingers touched the doorknob an inhuman strength clutched at my throat. Hot breath tickled my ear. "Run, vampire. You thought to fool us, when we were the ones fooling you. We waited, patient assassins, for this moment, to show you that our power is greater than your own. Your ignorance will destroy you. Go, before I insist that you don't." Suddenly he released me, and I raced into the night, fear my pursuer. 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