Some Fiction Up In Yo Face!

Okay, the last time I said I was sharing a story it was a thinly veiled testimonial (in case you didn't catch that). Now, for all the stress and depression accepting a shit-job has affected my writing, I did write the opening of either a novella or novel...not sure how I want to string this out. But I'll share it with you here today and maybe some people can opine on my entry. And a disclaimer: this is a one-shot, not edited, so please be forgiving of any glaring grammar errors. I do not claim to be a technically proficient writer...that's what editors are for. :P

(Working title withheld to avoid spoilers)

I could hear the scuffling. Another victim. My eyes burn like sandpaper is being dragged across them, yet there are no tears left. I think my last drink of water was last night. So it’s been about a day. We’ll go through this again, he’ll get frustrated, but he’ll succumb. Only after another victim, though.

There’s a startling jar as he grabs the wheelchair’s handles and leans over me to unlock the wheels. He doesn’t say anything, yet. I’m carefully wheeled back down the steps. It bothers me how delicate he is with me versus the victims. We’re back on the tile, turn to the right, turn to the left, I can hear her gasping for air. Dammit, it’s a woman this time.

He takes the hood off, but not the cloth covering my mouth. Just a bandana folded over, not a gag, not tied so tight I can’t even speak, just covering my mouth.

“We have a young one, tonight,” he says with no remorse. “Maybe the right kind of temptation.”

She’s been beaten pretty bad, I can tell because she’s laboring for breath. Her face is fine, scared and confused, but he never hits them in the face. God! She can’t be any more than 15.

“You have to stop this…” I plead, barely muffled by the bandana.

I can’t see his face, he never lets me see his face, but I can hear him sigh with disappointment. “Not until you admit what you are. I’ll find what you desire, it’s just a matter of time…or you’ll die of starvation and the world is less one more monster anyway.”

“This is bullshit, you’re fucking crazy!” I scream rattling in the chair.

“Careful, now, you’ll fall in.” He says.

I look to my left, right on the edge of the pool.

The girl isn’t coming around. Her eyes are searching, but I can tell she can’t even tell what she’s looking at. She’s not bound at all, just dragged back here and laid at the edge of the pool so I can see her.

He comes around from behind me with his hood on as always. He shows me the box-cutter, as always. He stands over her for just a moment.

“Get up! Wake up!” I scream.

He bends over and slices her neck so deep I hear the pop of air as her throat opens up. Blood gushes out over the tile. Awareness suddenly comes back, but her scream only results in a hideous gurgle as the air finds the new hole instead of her mouth, the blood bubbles and foams as she tries to struggle. But the sudden loss of blood and the last of her energy cause her simply to faint.

I shut my eyes tight, refusing to look, but I can still hear and smell, knowing yet another victim has died.

“Why…” is all I can whimper as I want to cry myself to sleep again.

I hear him move, then his hand is on my face, wiping blood all over the bandana covering my mouth. I can smell it, his initial force slipping cloth through my lips and I can taste it. I choke but have nothing to vomit up.

“This is why. Show me, show me what you are, just once. Let yourself feed!”
Just like always.

“I am not a vampire!” I scream with such vehemence that I startle even myself.

He gets in my face, his breath stinking through his mask and the blood, “Quit lying, just do it, just feed on her blood, admit what you are…just show me.”

I have no strength to scream or yell anymore.

He makes a disgusted sound and walks away, leaving me alone with the poor young girl. He’ll be back soon. He’ll continue to “tempt” me as he puts it, and finally give up and hose me off where I’ll finally get some fresh water.

Four nights now, I’m starving, he hand feeds me undercooked meat and the only liquid I get is when he hoses me off. Four nights and this girl, probably a runaway, the fourth victim. Every night he accuses me of being a monster, a vampire, that he’s going to reveal the truth to the world. But he’s the monster, murdering these people in front of me. Sometimes I wish I was the monster he thinks I am…I would gladly tear him apart.

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