The Nightly Darkness of Gloom From Vampiria.
Two.
Elyssia stared at the ceiling in the kitchen. Marks of damp where she had left the bath to run over rippled over the cheap and nasty aertex work. She longer cared that she was shoveling bits of kipper into her mouth. She didn't care about her mother who was now drinking shots of whiskey like so many espressos. She didn't care that for a fraction of a second; a secondary moon system appeared over her head and was promptly destroyed for little good reason and without her knowledge. She didn’t care that the fish she was eating used to be called Winston. All she cared about - in her pathetic and shallow way - about the "attractive" man that was now pacing up and down the hall. It seemed something out of a story - well, actually it is. This is a story. A novel. Fiction. But she doesn't know that. After all, our existence at this moment in time may be a story. Reading about a story within a story. It could go on and on in some transdimensional library.
The bottle getting smashed against the porcelain sink work her out her reverie to see she had given her jumper a fine, fishy coating. She started to panic, rubbing her top with a franticism that is rarely seen in humans. Some of the large crumbs fell away but some it mashed into her top with incredible ease. Pulling it off, she threw it over her mother.
"I can't talk to...to..." she stopped, mid-sentence.”What's his name?"
A muffled, sobbing answer came from underneath the jumper. Elyssia pulled the jumper from her mother's head. "What's his fucking name!?"
"His name's Poopy Face Something." she muttered, going over to the wine rack and opening the limoncello. This is not the correct protocol. Limoncello should always be drunk chilled. Elyssia tutted - not over the limoncello faux pas but over the stupid name that her mother had given. Bypassing her necking in the most distasteful fashion the liqueur, Elyssia wandered off into the hall. The man was standing by the banister, leaning on it in a James Dean I-am-so-cool-I-lean-on-banisters sort of fashion. Elyssia was too young and too ill of culture to get the reference but that is to be expected of the little ghastly tosser.
"You..." she started, pausing. His eyes seemed to eat her whole, digest her, shit her out and let little maggots crawl over the resultant excrement. This notion should nominally disgust people. For Elyssia, this was a sign of true love. "You never told me your name." He drew a look that Elyssia mistook for affection, when it was in fact indigestion.
"My name, human harlot, is Peaupiphace Something, Grand Quintessence of the territory of Vampiria." he spat out, as if addressing the excrement on his shoe. Incidentally, there is an apostrophe to shit that was written by Fallopia Hysteria; female demigoddess of the Hydranonsense Ovum. It was a haiku:
Ode to Shit:
Oh, there is shit on
my shoe. No grass to wipe it
on. Oh fucking hell.
There are most likely copyright issues here but I'm omnipresent so they can wait their turn.
"That's...that's really your name?" she said, disappointed. He coolly sneered at her.
"Coming from a girl whose name means Nasty Little Worm on my planet." he glowered. She was about to ask him a question before he brushed her off. "Now, hurry up and pack. I'm incredibly busy and have no time to piss around with little girls like you." His tone was so forceful and malevolent that Elyssia felt herself weak at the knees. He was meant to whisper sweet nothings, read her poetry in words she had little chance on comprehending, serenade her in Latin songs. Not order her about like some maid servant. But, he was gorgeous. More gorgeous than any other man she's ever met. So, without uttering another syllable, she rushed off upstairs, hearing the call of "And change your shirt! I'm not letting my fathers meet you when you're dressed like a tramp!"
Her door opened up, letting light fall on her bedroom. Her old bedroom, she reminded herself. Without sparing a second thought for anyone else she knew, she started stuffing her black coloured rags into her suitcase, tossing out her cardboarded windows her old shoes that she plain felt bored with. Finally, she left out her favourite prom dress to wear. If she was going to meet what she assumed was European royalty, she wanted to look her best. It was black and red, slightly Latino in style. She looked at the dress itself. It was fine on its own but she needed the finishing touches. Running along the corridor, turning to the left, her second right, left again, through the double doors, the third left, right, right again and into her mother's bedroom in the tiny house, she pulled out her mother's shiny black patent leather court shoes. Elyssia felt that in her good, sound and adult judgment, she needed the shoes far more than her mother. Noticing the dressing table, she has a quick rummage through the jewellery box. She grinned ecstatically at finding a rope of very pretty, very shiny freshwater pearls. She ran back, tripping over her own feet to take off her own boots, she slid the shoes on. Slightly too small, she noted but she didn't really care. The whole ensemble looked amazing: sexy, vampy and royal. Just like she knew her destiny was going to be. Funny that, destiny. She assumes that this was all meant to be but it is merely the product of her free will. But that realisation will come later, much later
Rushing downstairs, she saw a second member of their party. A small, elfin-looking girl was sitting behind...Peaup. Her skin was paler than Peaup's - if that was possible. Elyssia could trace every vein in her skin. She had a small eye twitch: this emphasized her muscles just under her cheek moving, sluglike in appearance. She could see the tusk like teeth behind the thin veil of flesh behind the two maddeningly violet lips. Her eyes seemed pale, watery, rodenty. In fact, Elyssia made a note, she was very rodenty overall. It was the jaw line. Very thin, razor-sharp face. Tiny, pointless limbs stuck on a tiny, pointless body. She was dressed in a very simplistic blue jumpsuit. Elyssia noticed two silver hypodermic looking devices injected into the back of both her hands.
"Give your case to Rhyya here," he barked and Rhyya rushed over, almost as if by compunction rather than willingness. Elyssia felt uncomfortable watching her, more devoid of life, more intense and more fragile than anything Elyssia has ever seen. A knot of an emotion that Elyssia thought she had turned all of onto herself. Pity, humility, a sudden urge to remove the devices from the back of the poor girl's hands. A desire to tell her everything was going to be okay. But the feeling passed - as it always would with such a superficial girl as Elyssia and she placed the bags in Rhyya's hands. She walked over to Peaup and attempted to link arms with him. He batted her arm away. "Aren't you going to say goodbye to your mother?"
Elyssia drank in her surroundings. This was her childhood, her home. But she felt it was her prison too. Escape was definitely needed, she thought in her selfish way. She dashed quickly into the kitchen. Her mother stopped crying long enough to stop crying.
"I'm going now." Elyssia remorselessly said. "Bye." She turned on her heel and walked out of the kitchen for what she was sure was going to be the very last time.
"Onward!" she called brightly to Peaup. He gave a cool little smile and opened the front door wide and the sun shone though the gap.
The bottle getting smashed against the porcelain sink work her out her reverie to see she had given her jumper a fine, fishy coating. She started to panic, rubbing her top with a franticism that is rarely seen in humans. Some of the large crumbs fell away but some it mashed into her top with incredible ease. Pulling it off, she threw it over her mother.
"I can't talk to...to..." she stopped, mid-sentence.”What's his name?"
A muffled, sobbing answer came from underneath the jumper. Elyssia pulled the jumper from her mother's head. "What's his fucking name!?"
"His name's Poopy Face Something." she muttered, going over to the wine rack and opening the limoncello. This is not the correct protocol. Limoncello should always be drunk chilled. Elyssia tutted - not over the limoncello faux pas but over the stupid name that her mother had given. Bypassing her necking in the most distasteful fashion the liqueur, Elyssia wandered off into the hall. The man was standing by the banister, leaning on it in a James Dean I-am-so-cool-I-lean-on-banisters sort of fashion. Elyssia was too young and too ill of culture to get the reference but that is to be expected of the little ghastly tosser.
"You..." she started, pausing. His eyes seemed to eat her whole, digest her, shit her out and let little maggots crawl over the resultant excrement. This notion should nominally disgust people. For Elyssia, this was a sign of true love. "You never told me your name." He drew a look that Elyssia mistook for affection, when it was in fact indigestion.
"My name, human harlot, is Peaupiphace Something, Grand Quintessence of the territory of Vampiria." he spat out, as if addressing the excrement on his shoe. Incidentally, there is an apostrophe to shit that was written by Fallopia Hysteria; female demigoddess of the Hydranonsense Ovum. It was a haiku:
Ode to Shit:
Oh, there is shit on
my shoe. No grass to wipe it
on. Oh fucking hell.
There are most likely copyright issues here but I'm omnipresent so they can wait their turn.
"That's...that's really your name?" she said, disappointed. He coolly sneered at her.
"Coming from a girl whose name means Nasty Little Worm on my planet." he glowered. She was about to ask him a question before he brushed her off. "Now, hurry up and pack. I'm incredibly busy and have no time to piss around with little girls like you." His tone was so forceful and malevolent that Elyssia felt herself weak at the knees. He was meant to whisper sweet nothings, read her poetry in words she had little chance on comprehending, serenade her in Latin songs. Not order her about like some maid servant. But, he was gorgeous. More gorgeous than any other man she's ever met. So, without uttering another syllable, she rushed off upstairs, hearing the call of "And change your shirt! I'm not letting my fathers meet you when you're dressed like a tramp!"
Her door opened up, letting light fall on her bedroom. Her old bedroom, she reminded herself. Without sparing a second thought for anyone else she knew, she started stuffing her black coloured rags into her suitcase, tossing out her cardboarded windows her old shoes that she plain felt bored with. Finally, she left out her favourite prom dress to wear. If she was going to meet what she assumed was European royalty, she wanted to look her best. It was black and red, slightly Latino in style. She looked at the dress itself. It was fine on its own but she needed the finishing touches. Running along the corridor, turning to the left, her second right, left again, through the double doors, the third left, right, right again and into her mother's bedroom in the tiny house, she pulled out her mother's shiny black patent leather court shoes. Elyssia felt that in her good, sound and adult judgment, she needed the shoes far more than her mother. Noticing the dressing table, she has a quick rummage through the jewellery box. She grinned ecstatically at finding a rope of very pretty, very shiny freshwater pearls. She ran back, tripping over her own feet to take off her own boots, she slid the shoes on. Slightly too small, she noted but she didn't really care. The whole ensemble looked amazing: sexy, vampy and royal. Just like she knew her destiny was going to be. Funny that, destiny. She assumes that this was all meant to be but it is merely the product of her free will. But that realisation will come later, much later
Rushing downstairs, she saw a second member of their party. A small, elfin-looking girl was sitting behind...Peaup. Her skin was paler than Peaup's - if that was possible. Elyssia could trace every vein in her skin. She had a small eye twitch: this emphasized her muscles just under her cheek moving, sluglike in appearance. She could see the tusk like teeth behind the thin veil of flesh behind the two maddeningly violet lips. Her eyes seemed pale, watery, rodenty. In fact, Elyssia made a note, she was very rodenty overall. It was the jaw line. Very thin, razor-sharp face. Tiny, pointless limbs stuck on a tiny, pointless body. She was dressed in a very simplistic blue jumpsuit. Elyssia noticed two silver hypodermic looking devices injected into the back of both her hands.
"Give your case to Rhyya here," he barked and Rhyya rushed over, almost as if by compunction rather than willingness. Elyssia felt uncomfortable watching her, more devoid of life, more intense and more fragile than anything Elyssia has ever seen. A knot of an emotion that Elyssia thought she had turned all of onto herself. Pity, humility, a sudden urge to remove the devices from the back of the poor girl's hands. A desire to tell her everything was going to be okay. But the feeling passed - as it always would with such a superficial girl as Elyssia and she placed the bags in Rhyya's hands. She walked over to Peaup and attempted to link arms with him. He batted her arm away. "Aren't you going to say goodbye to your mother?"
Elyssia drank in her surroundings. This was her childhood, her home. But she felt it was her prison too. Escape was definitely needed, she thought in her selfish way. She dashed quickly into the kitchen. Her mother stopped crying long enough to stop crying.
"I'm going now." Elyssia remorselessly said. "Bye." She turned on her heel and walked out of the kitchen for what she was sure was going to be the very last time.
"Onward!" she called brightly to Peaup. He gave a cool little smile and opened the front door wide and the sun shone though the gap.