As The Blood Is Drained, It's Bad For Business
It's Not A Great Life
I lie in bed, staring up at the ceiling, unable to get to sleep. It’s about one in the morning, but Dad got called in on a drug bust. Whenever he goes out for anything more relevant than parking tickets, I get worried.
“Hey Mattie?” I whisper. Matthew and I share a room; our house is relatively small. Unlike most siblings, we don’t mind that much. We’re pretty close.
“Yea, Scarlett?” he whispers back. Good. He’s not asleep either. I try to find my voice, but it still comes out in nothing more than a whisper.
“What do you think happens after you die? Like, where do you go?” Our family has never had a religion. I have never had any answers to what happens in the afterlife.
“I think…okay. This sounds crazy. But I think that when we die, these-beings-that are better than us, they come out of hiding and show themselves to us. And they’re beautiful. And they take us away, to their wonderland, and we live with them there, completely carefree.”
“You really think that?”
“Yea, I do. It probably sounds psycho, but that’s how I always imagined it.”
“Okay Mattie. Thanks. Goodnight.” I smile myself to sleep, thinking about these wonderful beings and what they must look like to us.
I ended up taking a shower, too. The wonderful blend of human blood that was sticking to my skin would not get off. I walked back out into the warehouse, much more comfortable in some of my dry clothes. A couple months back, I figured it would be a lot safer and convenient to store some of my stuff here, so I could crash every now and then. It turned out to be working perfectly.
Chuckie was behind the counter, desperately working on fixing my bowie. He had assorted sharpening tools, other blades, and poison vials beside him. It was a sight to behold.
“Is my baby going to make it?” I pouted. He bit his lip in concentration.
“I don’t think so, Little Lette.” Little Lette. That had been my nickname, compliments of Chuckie, ever since he decided that the name ‘Scarlett’ was too long. Although I didn’t think ‘Little Lette’ was much of an improvement to how long my name was, it stuck with me.
“I can get you a new one, but it’s going to cost you. Sorry.” He sighed and stopped trying to fix my poor blade. I clenched my fists.
“How much?” I asked.
“Two hundred.” My eyes widened. I huffed as I took out my wallet from my back pocket.
“You’re lucky my Dad left us with everything.” I threw two bills of one hundred on the counter and walked away, rounding my way to the stairs, up and out of the warehouse. I passed the bartender, who winked at me again, and out of the club.
Walking home is always hard. Because I know when I get inside, I’ll be faced with the inevitable truth that my mother is most likely dying, and she’s doing it to herself. On top of that, I walk through the door with the realization that death has stricken that house…twice.
I walked through the door, instantly smelling men’s body spray and sandalwood. The smell never leaves the house. I maneuvered my way through the clutter that never gets picked up until I found Elizabeth on the couch, staring at the TV. The trouble is that the TV was off.
“Mom? What are you doing?” I asked in a hushed tone. She hiccupped.
“I’m watching-hiccup-Emirel on TV, honey. Don’t-hiccup-be silly.” I sighed as she reached for the ground and produced a bottle of whiskey that had been sitting there. And I watched with a torn heart as she brought it to her lips and drained the rest of the bottle. I shook my head and left her there, doomed to kill herself. I walked the short way up the steps to my room, which I hardly ever inhabited anymore. The curtains were closed; I hit the light switch. The light flickered for a minute, and then gave out.
“Stupid house…” I muttered to myself. Nothing worked around here anymore. Not even Elizabeth. I sat down on my bed that I probably hadn’t even slept on in about a week. My pocket vibrated. It was my cell phone. I flipped it open to reveal a text message from Chuckie.
“Informants spot vampire on 6th street,” it read. Perfect. Time to hunt.
“Hey Mattie?” I whisper. Matthew and I share a room; our house is relatively small. Unlike most siblings, we don’t mind that much. We’re pretty close.
“Yea, Scarlett?” he whispers back. Good. He’s not asleep either. I try to find my voice, but it still comes out in nothing more than a whisper.
“What do you think happens after you die? Like, where do you go?” Our family has never had a religion. I have never had any answers to what happens in the afterlife.
“I think…okay. This sounds crazy. But I think that when we die, these-beings-that are better than us, they come out of hiding and show themselves to us. And they’re beautiful. And they take us away, to their wonderland, and we live with them there, completely carefree.”
“You really think that?”
“Yea, I do. It probably sounds psycho, but that’s how I always imagined it.”
“Okay Mattie. Thanks. Goodnight.” I smile myself to sleep, thinking about these wonderful beings and what they must look like to us.
I ended up taking a shower, too. The wonderful blend of human blood that was sticking to my skin would not get off. I walked back out into the warehouse, much more comfortable in some of my dry clothes. A couple months back, I figured it would be a lot safer and convenient to store some of my stuff here, so I could crash every now and then. It turned out to be working perfectly.
Chuckie was behind the counter, desperately working on fixing my bowie. He had assorted sharpening tools, other blades, and poison vials beside him. It was a sight to behold.
“Is my baby going to make it?” I pouted. He bit his lip in concentration.
“I don’t think so, Little Lette.” Little Lette. That had been my nickname, compliments of Chuckie, ever since he decided that the name ‘Scarlett’ was too long. Although I didn’t think ‘Little Lette’ was much of an improvement to how long my name was, it stuck with me.
“I can get you a new one, but it’s going to cost you. Sorry.” He sighed and stopped trying to fix my poor blade. I clenched my fists.
“How much?” I asked.
“Two hundred.” My eyes widened. I huffed as I took out my wallet from my back pocket.
“You’re lucky my Dad left us with everything.” I threw two bills of one hundred on the counter and walked away, rounding my way to the stairs, up and out of the warehouse. I passed the bartender, who winked at me again, and out of the club.
Walking home is always hard. Because I know when I get inside, I’ll be faced with the inevitable truth that my mother is most likely dying, and she’s doing it to herself. On top of that, I walk through the door with the realization that death has stricken that house…twice.
I walked through the door, instantly smelling men’s body spray and sandalwood. The smell never leaves the house. I maneuvered my way through the clutter that never gets picked up until I found Elizabeth on the couch, staring at the TV. The trouble is that the TV was off.
“Mom? What are you doing?” I asked in a hushed tone. She hiccupped.
“I’m watching-hiccup-Emirel on TV, honey. Don’t-hiccup-be silly.” I sighed as she reached for the ground and produced a bottle of whiskey that had been sitting there. And I watched with a torn heart as she brought it to her lips and drained the rest of the bottle. I shook my head and left her there, doomed to kill herself. I walked the short way up the steps to my room, which I hardly ever inhabited anymore. The curtains were closed; I hit the light switch. The light flickered for a minute, and then gave out.
“Stupid house…” I muttered to myself. Nothing worked around here anymore. Not even Elizabeth. I sat down on my bed that I probably hadn’t even slept on in about a week. My pocket vibrated. It was my cell phone. I flipped it open to reveal a text message from Chuckie.
“Informants spot vampire on 6th street,” it read. Perfect. Time to hunt.