Flash Fiction No. 15



He looked down at his hands. It looked like black tar in the darkness, sticking to his fingers and clinging to his face. The floor was covered in it and so was he. He started to shake. Wide, anxious eyes darted about the piercing silence.

It was sprayed about like paint, but this was no artist’s workroom.

He stood up, staggering back with jelly feet that slid on the wet floor. The mirror flashed at him in the dark. A crisp beam of moonlight had sluiced the air and hit it, illuminating his fearful reflection. Wide eyes absorbed the haggard image.

His jaw was flecked with stubble like he hadn’t shaved in days. His pale skin shone eerily in the icy light, except for the swathes of wet crimson. Blood clung to his brittle whiskers as red as rust. He reached out, red fingertips brushing the cold surface.

This was too much.

In fear of himself, he stumbled back. Legs connected with something heavy. He tumbled. His head connected with the floor but the expected ache didn’t come. It was like somebody had ripped out his pain sensors and replaced them with ice. Everything was cold and distant.

He tried to remember what had happened but it was all haze and long sounds that only served to confuse. He raised his head, ready to push to his feet, but that was when he saw it.

The body was stiff and cold, lying motionless beneath his clumsy legs.

He scrabbled away from it, hiding in the darkest corner and peering out with frightened, dead eyes. It was coming back to him with the slow river of hunger that crept into his belly. Everything was coming back to him.

The screaming was fresh in his head. The murderous eyes that laughed in his face swam before his thoughts. The taste of blood infected his lips. And then…

That glory. That horrible, disgusting glory of tearing through flesh.

He looked down at his shaking hands where the blood clung in slicks and congealed pools. It had been the hunger. It had gotten to him. It had raged through him like nothing else. He’d been blinded by it, his morals torn away.

A deep hatred uncurled inside.

It was like he’d been violated in the cruellest way. Somebody had taken his soul and snatched it straight out leaving nothing but the emptiness and the hunger.

The eyes of the corpse stared back at him, glassy, unseeing. He wanted to tear them out. He wanted to wreak his vengeance on every living thing that dared to cross his path.

She’d turned him into a monster.

All he’d asked for was a dance, but she’d taken him for more than a spin on the dance floor. She’d devoured him, body and soul. She’d turned him into one of her kind.

And he’d been so willing.

He’d thought she was just another girl. He’d thought she was sexy and smart. He’d wanted her.

But now he was hers.

Her mindless vampire slave.

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