A wiDDle StOWee u miGHt wike...
(missing part here)...
...His neck clenches as the fangs pierce his skin. Veins coming up under the
skin as if trying to flee. JoN's eyes close, his mouth opens, his knees
buckle and all his muscles harden and lock. He would normally scream, but he
always kept to himself, besides, he would never let his attacker know he is
scared. He does not fight, his attacker has already proved she can take him
out without making a sweat.
Suddenly, he goes numb. From the tips of his toes to the very ends of his hair. Like some wicked buzz just came over him.
He leans back, as if drained from his very strength. His head rolls back in
the pillows. Weak. He stares at the ceiling fan. Nice fan. How miserable
must the life of a fan be. Forever spining, turning. One wing fleeing from
the other, never catching up, never falling behind. What is going ON????? He
is being drained of his blood and yet is fascinated by a FAN??? Is he
hallucinating? Did he get drunk? No drug HE has ever taken can produce this
feeling of ecstatic pain. He is too weak to even prevent his eyelids from
closing. He has a feeling if his eyes close, he will die. He tries with all
of his might to keep them open, but still they fall. Like some giant
beanstock. The last thing he sees is hair coming off of his neck and staring
in his eyes, revealing a milk white face, eyes of pure warmth, a smile red
as....as blood. Blackness all around him. The only sense that makes sense
now is his hearing. He hears the sultry moves of his assailant agains the
covers of the bed, and his stereo pumping out slow, pulsing, gothic music.
Music he used to know the words to...but now, it sounds different, it sounds
real. He's so dry, he can't even breathe, he's not sure where he is
anymore. Suddenly, his lips come alive. A warm liquid dripping down to his
mouth. Like a twinkelling stream of life. He reaches up, a sign he knows
what to do. She presses her breast up to JoN's lips, and he drinks. Like an
infant feeding from his mother. His eyes slightly open, he sees what he
thougth. He is drinking blood. He feeds for what seems hours.
Later, he opens his eyes. He looks around, half awake. He is in his bed.
Covered in heavy, warm blankets. The fan is still spinning. Poor fan. The
music has changed, Bob Dylan is now singing about how it feels.
"It feels good Bob, real....good." JoN whispers as he curls up in the blood
soaked covers. He feels so warm and comfortable he could stay here forever.
Wrapped in warmth.
"I have to go cher." A voice out of an old gangster movie. The dame in the
corner. The broad with the last case. Anyway, a sexy voice. JoN mumbles
something so incoherent, it is ignored by both of them. "I'll come back,
when you've gotten rid of it." Whispers the voice. JoN, not even knowing
where the voice is coming from, looks around the room.
"...rid of wha..." are the only words he can pronounce.
"You'll know, when you find it." And then a brush of fresh air sweeps across
JoN's skin, waking him up very rudely. He gets up. He does not even take the
time to get dressed. He shuts the window, pulls down the blinds and slumps
into a corner. Where he starts to talk to himself.
3 days later...
... She peeks around the corner. No one in the street, perfect. She walks
the wet streets, and turns in an alley. She starts up the fire escape. Like
a cougar stalking her prey she opens a window, slithers in. She falls to her
knees, gets up, and shuts the windows. The room is pitch darkness. Her sense
of smell is attacked by putrid odors of decay. She runs her hands across the
wall, searching for the light switch. She flicks it on. If she had a living
heart, it would skip a beat. The room is ransacked. The floor is busted, the
computer smashed against the wall, blinds torn, walls smeared with a dog's
blood, making bizarre drawings. Only the bed seems to be as she left it. But
her childe is not in it. She pushes the broken door aside, and steps into
the hallway. Again carnage. And the bloodless corpse of a middle-aged woman.
She hears crying coming from the bathroom, after stepping over a dead cat,
and tip-toeing over the body of a gutted balding man, she's at the bathroom
door. She gently turns the knob, and pushes. There's JoN, lying in the
bathtub. Covered in dry blood. Not a pretty sight. She leans against the door.
"...I...f-found...IT." grumbles JoN "First...I thought you..you meant mom
and dad. Then I thought you meant...my identity or something...but THEN..."
JoN turns his head slowly to gaze at his creator. "...I found...IT."
"Good." Says the woman. "You know what I meant. What did you do to it?"
"I kIlLed It." JoN raises. He is still naked and has a disturbing grin on
his face. He also as a gunshot wound in his head. " I dID iT...I diD it FoR
yOU... I am BLeeDinG noW..b-but THaT doEs'nT maTTer...I kIllEd It." JoN
walks over to the woman and put his hand next to her face against the wall.
He leans very close to her face. " I killEd It, ThE _EVIL_. It'S
dEaD...FOrevEr. I hOpE...no, I _KNOW_ iT wOn'T be BaCK. It's DeAd aNd BurIEd.
OH, it FoUgHT bAcK All rIGhT., bUt I stILL KiLLEd the fUckER. It'S DEad. It
won'T be easY nOw, buT StILL, I'Ll maKe iT. IT's DEAd, whAT'S lEft to sTop
ME?!?!?!? NOTHING!!!!!! 'CauSe it'S DEad. I kiLLed it, I dId. I cAn be WIth
yOu Now. It can't StOP mE. NOTHING CAN!!"
He lowers his head, laughs a bit, and then looks straight at her.
" I maY NoT bE "nOrMAl" anymOrE, No maTTer, it'S DeAd. DEAD. IT hUrt Me. And KePT me FrOm MysELf. FoR thaT IT haD tO dIE. Its DEath cAMe at A HIgh Cost, BUT ITS DEAD!!!!!!! Now, it'S JuSt me and YOU. 'CauSe _IT'S_ DeaD. I prAY you Won'T beCome lIkE It or I'll HAve to KiLL you tOO. ANd I doN't want THAt. 'CauSe it'S deAD; AnD if YoU haVE tO dIe Too, I'LL bE AlonE, AND ThEn I'll havE to DiE. So, I hOpE yOu wON't BecOme lIkE....IT."
(Missing part)
There are 3 kinds of people,
Those who make things happen,
Those who watch things happen,
And those of us who wonder...WHAT THE HELL JUST HAPPENED?!?!?!?
-- JoN dOe
You can find out more about JoN at Erehwon's Malk page
or
you can write JoN at jondoe@atlas.odyssee.net.