The Blood Glass
What a Sight!
A flash of multi-colored tattoos, accompanied by silver metal pierced through flesh, shining in the full moon. The creature darts out of sight, so fast that you doubt you even saw it.
"It is only my imagination," you whisper to yourself.
A glimpse of white fangs glistening with clear, crisp venom. A peek at light gray eyes, with black-red irises. Framed with unnaturally long, thick eyelashes.
Just a quick look at black hair, and bright red lips. You notice the blanched white skin again, smooth as glass. No blemishes there, no nasty red spots, brown freckles, no imperfections, just flawlessness in all of it's glory.
You guess that he might be nineteen or twenty. He has sharp, angular cheekbones, and his eyes are so deep-set...
"Something that looks like this can't be moving. He's just lying in a coffin... the shadows under his eyes, the hollowed cheeks, the bloodless skin," you mumble.
As he moves closer, you notice that there are no visible veins in his wrists. He is even closer now, the human face and the immortal face almost touching. He pins you down onto the ground, and you cannot scream. You want to.
"Now, we can do this the easy way, or we can do this the hard way. Either you let me drink your blood and you die quickly, or you decide to put up a fight, lose against me, and I make your death more painful than you can imagine."
You cringe, and he laughs menacingly. His fangs show, and you shudder again. He keeps laughing, again and again. You scream.
"Oh, honey. Don't be scared."
His too-warm body on top of you and the freezing cold concrete against your back are overwhelming. Too much contrast. You shudder, for the third time. His fangs get closer to your neck, and you feel two distinct stabbing pains. You black out for a moment, and come back, black out, and come back.
Warm liquid spills out of your neck, and you look up. Crimson everywhere, faces, clothes, a deep puddle on the ground. You hadn't realized you carried so much blood around in your body, all of the time. Just waiting to be enjoyed by one of them...
The last words you hear before you drift off to sleep, never to wake up to the warm sun again, are spoken in a voice as sharp as needles.
"I'm sorry, baby."
"It is only my imagination," you whisper to yourself.
A glimpse of white fangs glistening with clear, crisp venom. A peek at light gray eyes, with black-red irises. Framed with unnaturally long, thick eyelashes.
Just a quick look at black hair, and bright red lips. You notice the blanched white skin again, smooth as glass. No blemishes there, no nasty red spots, brown freckles, no imperfections, just flawlessness in all of it's glory.
You guess that he might be nineteen or twenty. He has sharp, angular cheekbones, and his eyes are so deep-set...
"Something that looks like this can't be moving. He's just lying in a coffin... the shadows under his eyes, the hollowed cheeks, the bloodless skin," you mumble.
As he moves closer, you notice that there are no visible veins in his wrists. He is even closer now, the human face and the immortal face almost touching. He pins you down onto the ground, and you cannot scream. You want to.
"Now, we can do this the easy way, or we can do this the hard way. Either you let me drink your blood and you die quickly, or you decide to put up a fight, lose against me, and I make your death more painful than you can imagine."
You cringe, and he laughs menacingly. His fangs show, and you shudder again. He keeps laughing, again and again. You scream.
"Oh, honey. Don't be scared."
His too-warm body on top of you and the freezing cold concrete against your back are overwhelming. Too much contrast. You shudder, for the third time. His fangs get closer to your neck, and you feel two distinct stabbing pains. You black out for a moment, and come back, black out, and come back.
Warm liquid spills out of your neck, and you look up. Crimson everywhere, faces, clothes, a deep puddle on the ground. You hadn't realized you carried so much blood around in your body, all of the time. Just waiting to be enjoyed by one of them...
The last words you hear before you drift off to sleep, never to wake up to the warm sun again, are spoken in a voice as sharp as needles.
"I'm sorry, baby."
♠ ♠ ♠
I wrote this in class today. I have a few more chapters.