I'm Just the Worst Type of Guy to Argue With.

I disposed of the scarred and sapped corpse in the common dumping ground for my victims and the sufferers of other crimes and murders. I was most certainly not the only masochist of the Belleville area…

Just the worst.

I walked proudly into the local vampire bar, ordering up a beer, having had my fill of human blood for the night. I smiled at the fearful and petrified weasel of a human bartender, licking the blood off of my lips that I had yet to clean off; frankly, I enjoyed the feel of blood on my skin. I treasured the picturesque contrast of milky skin to the satin crimson of what lie underneath someone’s own skin.

I sighed and made my way to my unrightfully taken home, where bodies lay, as did I, wearied of the dull and dismal atmosphere of the bar. I had bought my drink legitimately, though I really should have just beaten the crap out of Willie the bartender… I suppose I was just feeling a tad more merciful than I had been to the prostitute.

Lucky man.

♠♠♠♠♠

“I didn’t think that you would be able to come today, what happened?” Asked Cierra Trent’s one and only friend, Ashley or something, to Cierra herself.

“My mum had to head into the hospital early for work. I’m still grounded, I think, but I’m not exactly sure…” They laughed about it, they smile, not knowing who, or precisely what was watching. Of course, I had to retreat back to my crypt after a few minutes under the coverlet, in the glaring sunlight. I heaved a relieved sigh when I was no longer forced to revolt against the urge to smolder until I was like my brother’s toast, back when we were human and still ate that form of sustenance, that is. I didn’t miss it, though, I didn’t get to hurt anyone when I was living, sure animals were hurt, but they didn’t ever scream the right way. Humans, however, with all of their bottled fears and emotional hysteria, it was easy to see why their voices screeched in just the right audio frequency.

I wanted to preserve my prey this time, rather than beating her meaningless, that is. I needed a way to tenderize the meat, the blood, in particular, I needed to emotionally pain the girl so badly that it would strike fear in her very marrow, which I planned on eating sometime… hopefully soon.

Inadvertently, thinking of just tasting her blood again made my forehead perspire and my lips chap at the salty-sweet taste of dried blood in my moist, yet desiccated, mouth. I licked my lips, just thinking about how much I could do to the girl, by not even touching her a single time. I could kill her from the inside out and feast off of her swollen and sanctimonious innards.

As soon as the night fell on the sky that once scorned me so, I exited the crypt with a few knifes in my coat and blood on the mind. Her blood. I figured the closest that I could get to her while preparing Ci for her death was her mother… and all of the nurses that she worked with. This was certainly going to be a day of celebration, for a massacre was upon the world, a tragedy of immense proportions. I was in the mood for tragic, it would be a great joy to deprive hundreds of people of their friends and family; I have a deep feeling in my gut that the funeral homes of Belleville were going to be bursting by the time I was through.

As I approached the hospital I could just smell the fresh and fearful blood that pumped so cleanly through the sterile hallways, but they wouldn’t be so sanitary for very long. Swinging a small jack-knife in my hand for a solitary moment, I slipped it back in the pitch black pocket of my trench coat. I took one last breath-taking look at the austere white building against the atmosphere, making the stars seem dull with its unnatural and industrial dissimilarity to the natural banner of stars and silken midnight, before entering its spotlessly clean embrace. Not for long, it wouldn’t be clean.

I was so out of place in the spit-fire rush of the facility, but no one even noticed me, due to the overwhelming amount of cases that the hospital was forced to handle. I passed blood storage and my nostrils flared noticeably, but I moved on, hunting for that fresh, straight-from-the-human taste. I knew that the hospital had a training program for volunteers and nurses; it took up the highest and smallest floor of the tapering building.

I entered the elevator, with a slight humming, but then others entered. I began to snarl, briefly disclosing a sharpened tooth, at the people that opted to join me in the elevator, smirking as they backed away significantly. They exited on the floor right before mine, rushing out as fast as they possibly could. One of them looked back quickly with a glance of curiosity on her pale features, and then when I grinned flamboyantly, with a stare of viciousness obscuring my once-handsome mask, hers immediately morphed into one of fear. I smiled even more as the elevator doors closed in a sinister way.

The warning ding of the elevator doors preceded their opening, and I walked out of them nonchalantly, but first, I ripped the controls out of the wall, making a large amount of sparks fly from the now-empty socket, and startling many. I stepped into a class on how to properly nurse someone, taught by Mrs. Trent, of course.

“I think that you should get a lesson on how to treat the poor, poor, people in the mental ward…” I grabbed one of her students, stimulating a gasp from the clustered scholars. I reached into my pocket, grasping the hilt of a knife; I nearly tore the jacket when I quickly brushed it up to the boy’s throat and cut it cleanly through every artery and vein, decapitating him in an instant. The young and foolish students ran to the already incapacitated elevator, frantically pounding against the cold and unforgiving metal doors, I stared momentarily at their pathetic attempt to cling to their small and pitiful lives.

How undeniably… human.

“Now, who wants to be killed first?” I asked chivalrously, willing to let them choose their own fate, I was being quite a lot more kindhearted than I was towards many of my victims.

A small blonde girl ran away from the elevator, attempting to reach the stairwell, I just used a slight bit of the super-speed that came with the vampire package and she was stopped by two teeth meeting her firm neck. “Anyone else want to try that?” I queried as her body fell to the ground, unconscious and bleeding out until the fountain of hemorrhage died out.

I didn’t bother to wipe the bodily fluids off of my teeth as I advanced onto the next group of mere children. They cowered in a corner, shaking and shivering in the florescent bath of light, their scrubs didn’t conceal enough of their flesh for their own good. I took my longest knife out from my inner pocket, relishing the sadistic gleam that it had in the white light. I cut one boy from shoulder to hip, straight through, his top half slid off onto the feisty redhead next to him, she recoiled in shock, but wasn’t fast enough to avoid my blade connecting with her stomach. Her mouth hung agape in pain, and she fell to the sparkling clean and disinfected ground, which was now bedecked with the blood of innocent people.

The next twenty people I killed easily, severing parts of their body which would allow them to bleed out in massive amount of agony, also retaining their eyesight, so that they could watch their colleagues murdered in front of their eyes, and that the spectacle of mass serial murder would be the very last thing that they saw before they entered the land of death that was supposedly my domain. Soon the walls were almost entirely scarlet, as if they were draped with red curtains of luscious and eye-catching blood, solidified blood, as if the drip of the claret were frozen in time and space. I laughed at myself and my sentimentality towards the vista, realizing that I still had about ten patients to kill… And Ci’s mother.

I took a quick look backwards, smiling cheerily, with pure and untainted glee escaping my glance, at the weeping older woman and passed by her without another peek, as I went on to the other end of the hallway, where a cancer patient lay, debased and lonely, without so much as a visitor to his bedside. I disconnected the breathing tube from his throat, watched him choke on his own air for a while, then, I put the breathing tube back into his throat, but I wasn’t done with this tortured soul quite yet. I started by cutting off his ears, so that he was unable to hear his own dilapidated heartbeat, then I cut his legs off, small section, by small section, then I cut his flesh into the tiniest cubes in front of his eyes, he let tears escape them for as long as he could, but eventually, they dried up, as his body was no longer moist, and was entirely devoid of any blood. Of course, I didn’t drink any of his sordid and radiation-filled blood; I was cunning enough to stay far away from it, unlike the dead man himself.

The next patient was a hemophiliac. She looked around at the blood surrounding her, with tearstains defacing her bitter jaw-line, I cut a simple pattern into her stomach, not even that deep, just on the surface, I took a little time to watch her bleed out, to see the pain that she was in, but was interrupted by the calling of police to rain on my parade.

I’ll show them rain.

The sixteen men weren’t timid at the sight of so much hemoglobin, showing that they had some stomach, but not enough in comparison to my rotten guts. With a giggle of elation, I cut a straight line through the gaggle of cops with my knife, while dodging and absorbing their useless bullets in the depths of my skin. One particularly young cop brought his hands to his waist, only for the squirming and roiling intestines of his to fall into his open hands. His fellow cops looked at him in derision, but then looked to their own stomachs, which were empty, rolling around on the floor, the dunces hadn’t even noticed their own insides taken apart!

The immense pleasure that I showed when they fell to the ground, atop all of their entrails, was their last vision, one of the hell that they would face when their brains finally stopped working, if they ever worked in the first place, that is. The pregnant silence that filed the room after their deaths was only disturbed by the beating of eight more hearts. Eight more doomed than the last fifty-something that were dead, or barely alive, and, most likely, afraid. The next patient was the most hilarious of my recent kills, the pleading, and the begging on hands and knees, I was just about to kill him to get him to shut up. Rather than taking that rash course of action, I decided to cut his tongue out. I dangled the knife in front of his tearstained face, making a swift motion towards the back of his throat; I uprooted his tongue from its soft pallet base, amused at the horror-stricken look on his face.

“What’s your name?” I asked him, he just stuttered blood from the fresh stump that once was his tongue. I wagged his still-moving tongue in front of him, while I took the knife to his femoral artery, laughing in bliss at his aptly placed misery. Blood practically showered me, as it shot out in a warm and transient wellspring of vital fluid from his leg. I let out an elated chortle as I moved onto my next victim.

Six more endless pools of blood soaking my shoes and marinating the corpses that littered the ground, and another group of cops, I was quite drained, even by vampire standards, but I just couldn’t wait any longer. I looked to the tired and old woman, the only living person in a room filled with corpses, and smiled. This was my accolade for enduring the infinite pleas of feeble and deplorable human beings, the immense joy of taking the life of one that created such beauty.

“Mrs. Trent, I do believe we haven’t met, but I know your daughter quite well, I’d say. She might not know me as well, but I know her taste.” I smiled, licking the blood on my teeth, feeling a thrill when I felt the luke-warm cruor flow down my throat.

“What have you done with my daughter?” She asked with anger straining her voice and dried tears and blood on her face giving her a rough and chiseled edge, added to the bright blonde hair that looked so much like my mother’s… Before I committed matricide, that is.

“You should really ask what she’s done with me; don’t you think that she has a fine body to her?” I asked, meaning the exceptionally sweet and heartening taste of her blood, of course, Mrs. Trent assumed the worst of her daughter, such a typical mother…

“I doubt she would… with you… you must’ve forced her!” She argued with herself, denying the omnipresent thought in her mind, that would haunt her until her dying moment, which would be in a few short minutes, I expected.

“No, she was very… willing.” I said, cracking another of my infamous grins, her eyes widened and she stood up.

“I will not believe you, never.” I listened to her frantic heartbeat, she was lying, obviously, since it sped up to an even faster pace when she fibbed.

“You shouldn’t lie to yourself,” I said, while she tried to run towards the staircase, I ran ahead of her, cornering the woman and leaning down to reach her slightly shorter height, I bit her supple and worn neck, piercing the jugular vein and delighting in the bittersweet aging of her blood. Her sanguine fluid reminded me of a wine that I had drunk such a long time ago, it was aged to perfection, much like her fruity and fragrant wine of the body, “It’s not good for your health.” I finished, while her frail and shriveled body crashed sonorously to the ground, I licked my chops clean of her savory blood.

A look around, the once-very-sanitary room showed just what I wanted it to, the walls were showered with the remnants of people that were now passed. The white was obscured by the pantomime of eternal burgundy, the evil of what was once flowing through someone so easily, and now could no-longer flow. The fluidity and ephemeral feeling of it continued as I kicked up some of the dry blood, which was now no more than dust and atoms, even though it once composed the rhythm of life for these lifeless people, who thought that they could live with no time, not enough time to do anything. Lord knew you could not have a song without a rhythm, but then how did I live without one? Oh yeah, I don’t. I don’t bleed as I used to, my heart doesn’t beat as it once did, I don’t feel as I once did: I feel like a God, no longer like I was falling.

In nostalgic irony, an ear fell from the ceiling, I believed it was the cancer patient’s, but I couldn’t be certain. I had my last look at the finality of this room and moved onto setting up the bait for my next prey. Another pelt on the floor, was what these fools would be, compared to the shining beauty that I would make of my Sugar.

I took a pen and paper from Mrs. Trent’s pocket, dipping the pen the mixed blood of many, I began to write:

Dear Cierra Trent,

As you can tell, your mother is dead, and I have killed her. I will kill everyone you love until your blood tastes like honey fresh from the hive. Sugar, you will fear me and it will make your death so much more… playful.

With The Utmost Sincerity,

GAW