FLASH FICTION FRIDAY – F3 – CYCLE 41 – OUT FOR THE COUNT: FALLEN

PAUL D BRAZILL is this week’s moderator over at FlashFictionFriday.com.  Paul has given all of us “flashers” a truly awesome “first sentence” for this week’s challenge.  Thank you, Paul!

Prompt: STARTER SENTENCE: “I slowly peeled back my eyelids and immediately wished I was still out for the count”
Genre: Open
Word Count: 1500 words
Deadline: Thursday, July 28, 2011, 8:30 pm EST

FALLEN

By Veronica Marie Lewis-Shaw

I slowly peeled back my eyelids, and immediately wished I was still out for the count.

Fuck!  My eyes!!

Even filtered through the heavy fabric of the bedroom drapes, the light of the new day stabbed at my corneas like a thousand needles… red hot and jagged… sending bolts of searing pain through my blood-soaked brain.  I slammed my eyes shut and rolled over in the over-sized queen bed, burying my face in the pillows.  That was a mistake.  The sudden movement to my insides sent a wave of nausea through me.  I threw back the covers and made a mad dash for the bathroom.  Barely making it, I dropped to my knees in front of the toilet.  My stomach heaved and a stream of purplish-red vomit gushed from my mouth and into the bowl, splashing everywhere.  My stomach convulsed again… and again!  And… again!!

Oh God!  I want to die!! 

With my stomach emptied, I slid down onto the floor, the stench of regurgitated merlot and fermented blood hung over me like a toxic cloud.  The sticky, sickly-sweet liquid was everywhere… down the front of my I ♥ NY t-shirt… in my long, dark hair… on both the inside and outside of the toilet… on the black and white checkerboard tile floor.

I closed my eyes and slept.

~~**~~

Erin?  …… Erin…… … Erin!

Go away!

You know I won’t… come on dear… open up those baby blues.

Fuck off!

Oohh… nasty!  How about a little ‘hair of the dog’, sweetie?

Bitch!  Leave me alone! Just let me die!

Oh, but you can’t die, dearie.  You know that.

Fine… then, I’ll kill you… later.

It was that last bottle, wasn’t it?  It always is… the last one.  Hit you like a Cassius Clay right cross… one… two… three… fou…

Really?  Do you HAVE a fucking death wish!?

“…eight… nine… ten!  KO!  And… the winner and still champ… Open Crypt!

If I have to get up off of this floor…

Honey… there’s a reason why you can’t drink fermented blood.

Silence…

Why are you still here?

Come on, Erin… tell me why.  You know.

Will you leave if I tell you?

Oh, I’d love to leave, honey… have you smelt yourself?  You reek, doll!

All right… I’ll tell you.

I’m breathless with anticipation!

I’d roll my eyes, but it would hurt too much.

Because.

Because why?  Come on, Erin… you can do this.

Because fermented blood makes me sick.

And why does it make you sick?

God, the bitch will not leave me alone!  If I could kill my conscience… or even just put her in a coma for a few millennia.  I breathe a heavy sigh…

Because vampyres can only drink whole blood.  Fermented blood is a blood product incubated with glycerol… very nasty when consumed in excess.

See?  That wasn’t so hard, was it?

Yeah… yeah… yeah… don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out.

You know, Erin… you have to forget him.  It will never work.  It can’t.  It’s forbidden.

I can’t forget him.

Honey, you have to.  Our kind does not mix with his kind.  Advice here… stick to humans.

Thank you, Dr. Tracy.

Oh!  By the way… I love your new look… real ‘Amy Winehouse morning after’.

Go fuck yourself!

Ahh… the intellectual eloquence of the college-educated vampyre… charming!

I raise my left hand… slender middle finger extended in salute.

I fall back into sleep’s welcoming arms… oblivious to the hard linoleum tile floor underneath my half-naked body.

~~**~~

Twenty-four hours of sleep have loosened the grip of the blood/wine hangover from Wednesday’s little debacle, but a few stubborn tendrils remain.  A pot of coffee so black it shines like a schoolgirl’s ‘mary janes’, half a dozen Excedrin and thirty minutes under a steaming shower later… and I am more or less ready to face the world.

~~**~~

“Good morning, Miss Erin.”  The doorman cheerily greets me, holding the heavy frosted glass door open.  I step out into the grey, wet New York day.

“If only the weather matched your mood, Julian.” I reply, pulling the hood of my cloak up over my head.  It is a short walk to the gallery, so I wave away the cab that Julian summoned and head up West Broadway.  Hopefully, the cool spring air will bring a little more clarity to my brain.  Goddamn hangover!

Goddamn werewolves!

~~**~~

 Do we not feel?  Do we not love?  Do we not ache?  Do we not desire?! 

The fantasy consumes me… becoming an obsession.  From the first moment that I laid eyes on him, I felt the fire.  I wanted the fire.  I needed the fire!  Knowing that it was wrong… forbidden… could not keep the thoughts from my head.  Surely, the being has cast a spell over me… what else could explain this desire?  This unearthly desire… for not only a creature not of our race… but a male creature of the species at that.

I am fallen.

~~**~~

Naked… running across the mountain meadow… the full August moon casting its glow over the field of edelweiss.  I can feel the creature behind me, gaining ground… his deep, steady breaths… the low growl… feet pounding on the lush meadow floor.

I turn my head, looking over my shoulder at him… laughing… “Catch me, if you can!”  Just then… my toes tangle in the grass and I fall to the ground.

He is on me in an instant… dark eyes flashing… a low growl rises up from his chest.  I reach up and wrap my arms around his haired body, rolling over.  In the next moment, I am on top and in control. 

The chase was our foreplay… I am ready.  Straddling his chest, I feel his heartbeat against my sex.  I slide down his body, leaving a wet trail of my desire across his torso.  Leaning back… my breasts glistening in the pale moon light… he enters me… the delicious fire of his passion thrusting up… filling me… spreading through every fiber of my being!

I want this to last forever, but the sensations are too strong… his presence inside me… overloading my senses.  My sex surrounds him… clutching… squeezing!  All too soon… the moment comes… and time stops… 

I tilt my head back… jaws opening wide…orange eyes blazing in the night… the primal shriek rises up from deep inside…torn from my throat… filling the night air.

His guttural howl chases my scream across the meadow as our bodies explode in climax!

~~**~~

I know that I must soon return to the dark mistress, my Queen… only she can cast out this demon that plagues my mind… that threatens all that I have plotted and fought for.  But… my confession will have to wait.  It will not be tonight.

I have to do this… I have to see him one more time.  I know that I am tempting fate… I can’t help it.

Tonight… I fly.

~~**~~

I closed the gallery early and left New York City.  The jet stream carried me a little farther north than I wanted and when I dropped down out of the cloud cover a few hours later, I recognized the lights of Glasgow beneath me.

Tired from fighting a cross current over the North Atlantic, I decided to take a short rest before continuing south to my destination.  My friend Nicola dj’s at the Cathouse Club on Fridays.

~~**~~

Niki is not at the club though; the barman tells me she is home with a cold.  She has a walk-up a few blocks from the club, so I make my way there.

Dusk is settling over the city and I’d only gone a block when a couple of rude boys in their faux Goth attire accost me.

“Ooh… you look a right tasty bit, doll.”  The taller of the two punks leers at me.  I look back at him, then over to his friend.  I offer up a little smirk.

“Would you boys like a bite, then?” I ask.  Tall Goth gives me his best lascivious look.

I look at them for a moment, and then blink.  My eyes blaze red… I stretch my jaws wide… canines extending… a long hiss rises up from my throat.

Both boys faint dead at my feet… the acrid stench of urine rising up to my nostrils.

Time to leave.

~~**~~

I walk in the bar.  Julie London is playing on the jukebox.  The man is sitting at the far end of the bar… a long, black overcoat conceals his powerful physique… a drink in front of him.  I take a seat a couple of stools away.

“Vodka, rocks… ” I tell the barman.  The song ends.

We drink in silence.  I cast furtive glances over at him… remembering every detail… I may never see him again.

“Do I know you, miss?”  He finally asks, not unkindly.

I turn to him and swallow hard… my heartbeat doubles.

~~finis~~

Advertisements

About VeronicaThePajamaThief

Bio: Veronica Marie Lewis-Shaw Born in Lisboa, Portugal to parents of Portuguese/Russian descent, Veronica Marie and her wife, Christina Anne, call the Pacific Northwest home, where the couple are “still very much on honeymoon!” When not teaching and finishing her own studies for a Masters in Sociology, Veronica writes fiction, primarily noir - "I love dark!". Her long fascination with noir fiction prompted Veronica to try her own hand at writing fiction several years ago. She has been published in Pulp Metal Magazine, The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology, the horror anthology 100 Horrors, from Cruentus Libri Press, Nightfalls: an End of the World anthology, Drunk On The Moon 2: A Roman Dalton anthology and Gloves Off: Near To the Knuckle's debut anthology. Veronica has also appeared in the inaugural issue of Literary Orphans magazine and her horror/urban fantasy short story SOUL TAKER was recently chosen for inclusion in Lily Childs' february femmes fatales, an urban fantasy/horror anthology. Veronica counts among her mentors - Carole A Parker, Lily Childs, Paul D Brazill, Richard Godwin, Joyce Juzwik and Vicki Abelson. She is currently working on the third draft of her first novel – a memoir – as well the second draft of her first fiction novel, a fantasy novel and the publication of a collection of her flash fiction and short stories. Lily's The Feardom and Vicki Abelson's Women Who Write Facebook writing group have both been a tremendous source of support and inspiration for Veronica. Veronica’s writings can be found athttp://veronicathepajamathief.blogspot.com/ andhttp://veronicathepajamathiefwritespoetry.blogspot.com/, andhttps://veronicathepajamathief.wordpress.com/
This entry was posted in Fiction and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

6 Responses to FLASH FICTION FRIDAY – F3 – CYCLE 41 – OUT FOR THE COUNT: FALLEN

  1. Pingback: F3, Cycle 41: Stories | Flash Fiction Friday

  2. Beach Bum says:

    …real ‘Amy Winehouse morning after’.

    Great line! It was so cold though I felt a chill go down my spine. and its 104 degrees outside right now.

    As usual, your stories continue to be beyond excellent.

  3. Thank you, Beach. I am uplifted by your compliments! 🙂

  4. You create a whole complex universe with this story. Werewolves and Vampyre’s have been done so often of late that the meme has become something of a joke. But you’re take is different. You have this whole background. that we just get touches of in 1500 words. Excellent.

  5. Thank you, Mike. I very much appreciate your comments.

    I agree… werewolves and vampyres have been a bit overdone of late. My “writer’s ego” thought that if I could offer up a little different take…

    Ever since I introduced Erin, a young lesbian vampyre who steals for a living, in a flash story – Cycle 29 over at flashfictionfriday.com – I have wanted to write more of her.

    As you may know, Paul Brazill has a werewolf P.I. as protagonist in his DRUNK ON THE MOON stories. I consider Paul sort of my online mentor (as well as Carole A Parker), and I wanted to do a bit of an homage to his character, Roman Dalton. A “thank you” if you will, for all the support Paul has given me.

    I thought “what if my character became obsessed with Paul’s? But, not in the classic and overdone “love story” sense. Roman has no idea that Erin even exists.

    Here the 1500 word limit actually helps me, because I don’t have to come up with a complete backstory… how Erin came to know Roman… why does she have this obsession…” you know… all that stuff.

    So, I put pen to paper and hoped that my small talent might come up with a short story that would please a werewolf/vampyre weary audience.

    Like I said… “writer’s ego…”

    Thank you for your most kind words!

  6. Pingback: F3 – Pulp & Crime Anthology | Flash Fiction Friday

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s