lostpunk5545
Bluelighter
Pretty random but this was inspired by a friend's comment on my FaceBook status that it was a nice story but needed more vampires. My status update was me whineing about accidentally jumping into a fountain the night before under belief it was solid and not full of water. And yes that is a Poe quote at the end of the second paragraph. I'm not stealing it, it's a tribute!
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So eleven PM finds Ashley, Corinne, Bearded Man, and I emerging from Trop Fest and taking to the streets, drunkenly walking towards Martin Place, full of beer and wine and in some cases Hot Dog. Bearded Man is not actually named Bearded Man, his name has been changed to protect the innocent. Meaning I was too drunk to remember it.
I was midway through verbalising a thought, totally in line of course with my dedicated, personal, P.C. ethos, like “Which short film won again? Was it the one about the retard? It was wasn’t it? Yeah the retard was awesome,” when something beside us caught my eye and halted my poor attempt at remaining upright and moving forward at the same time. Centre piece to the court yard of some monolithic, city, business building, was something resembling a black platform. In a row down the centre of this platform like structure mysterious blue lights emanated, giving the illusion of a death trap designed to fuck over every living mosquito in a square kilometre radius. The marble material the platform was constructed of was the black of a Lovecraftian nightmare, of an aeon of moonless nights. The platform had a trance-like hold on me. Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.
The structure was drawing me but the presence of my friends asking if I had gone crazy snapped me out of its hold. I asked them if they knew what the thing was and then rudely didn’t really pay attention to their answers. Corinne said something about it being ‘rippleless,’ but I was barely listening. I decided that I needed to know what the platform was. Fuck that, I needed to dominate the platform. There was only one way to do such a thing, and that was to jump on it. Maybe fancily, I hadn’t thought that far ahead yet.
The court yard had a three foot security fence enclosing it and using my amazing powers of athleticism, and wicked Parkour skills, I vaulted effortlessly over it. I vaguely heard Corinne asking what I was doing and Ash, more knowledgeable of my life’s desires and daily direction, replying that I was probably going to jump on something. Bearded man said nothing. I don’t think he really cared much. Ours was an incipient relationship, and no threads of ‘giving a shit’ had had a chance to fasten hold as of then. Or now.
Approaching the platform I became aware of a couple embracing against a pillar of the business building. They were fairly visible from where I had been standing formerly with my friends, but I was too busy being captivated by the platform structure at that former point in time. The guy appeared to be some goth douche judging from his attire which included a frigging cape, and the girl some dumbshit, eighteenish, teeny bopper, judging by the fact that she looks like every other teenage girl one has the misfortune to encounter anywhere.
It became apparent as I took more notice of the couple that they weren’t exactly kissing. In fact it looked a lot like the guy had his oversized canine teeth buried in the girl’s throat, a fact that seemed more factual considering he was making a lot of blood slurping sounding noises. The girl moaned softly, mostly a moan of desire and bliss, but with a detectable undercurrent of fear in it as if she was aware subconsciously on a visceral level that things weren’t right.
The whole warped scene I hadn’t really had a chance to think about and dissect intellectually was interrupted by a womanish scream. Looking around I saw Bearded Man diving cowardly behind the girls. He had obviously had a chance to dissect what was going on as next he rose to his feet and ran screaming down the street, “VAMPIRES! A FUCKING VAMPIRE! WHAT THE FUCK?” I decided on the spot I was going to bitch slap that motherfucker the next time I saw him, if ever.
The vampire all the fuss was being made about stopped the molesting thing, allowing his victim to slump to the ground. She offered one last orgasmic sigh on the way down and appeared to be restfully sleeping. Well as restful as one can be sleeping on concrete.
Turning to face us the vampire’s wizened and age filled face was visible for the first time, his blood covered mouth taking on a purple hue in the blue light shining from the marble platform. For a moment our eyes connected and I felt our minds meld. In flashing visual instants I was told the story of his past. It was the story of a bored, small town, Transylvanian vampire with big city dreams, dreams of managing a chain of Kernel’s popcorn stands and feeding off the blood of a McDonald’s engorged populace. Interspersed of course with the occasional diet of Fitness First freak. One doesn’t live hundreds of years without watching one’s cholesterol. Bored with his dreary castle and local infamy, the vampire sold up his Romanian Real Estate and bought a first class ticket to Sydney to fulfil his dreams.
It dawned on me that this wasn’t your regular run of the factory line vampire. This was fucking Dracula. From the opposite perspective, peering into my own mind, I’m sure Dracula saw many drunken nights and failed attempts to impress girls by jumping on things. But moving on...
Ignoring me Dracula turned his focus to the girls, who were still standing behind the court yard fence, and moved towards them barely touching the ground as he strode the distance towards them. Seeing this the girls took defensive positions. Ash took up her typical kick boxing pose, a pose I’ve seen many a time when she’s kicked my arse for grabbing her arse. Flicking her dark blonde hair out of her face, her blue eyes flashed grey steel. Corinne assumed the pose of one preparing to harness the power of ‘having watched a fuck load of awesome movies lately.’ Her petite frame shook with energetic fury as a storm of Benjamin Button and Thin Red Line quotes flew frenetically around her head. Together the two girls threw out a force of Amazonian ‘don’t fuck with us’ beauty that rivalled the strength of nuclear fission. An obviously Catholic passerby seeing them threw his hands to his face and fell yelling, “FUCK, MY EYES! THIS MUST BE WHAT BEATIFICATION FEELS LIKE!”
It was obvious in any normal case the girls could handle themselves. But this was fucking Dracula! Seeking only to distract the puissant vampire I fumbled in my wallet for some type of weapon, anything. With plastic cards flying all directions I chanced upon the stainless steel, card sized bottle opener the gorgeous Ash (surely that’s worth about 10 friendship points, right?) had given me for Christmas. Using my best San Remo bogan twang I screamed “OI CUNT!” at Dracula. Knowing my manly non sexiness would not be enough to hold his attention, as he turned distractedly, I grabbed the ice-skate sharp (read: not very) bottle opener and scratched with pressure at my neck until beads of blood appeared and started running in rivulets down it.
Blood lust appearing on the vampire’s face he advanced cautiously towards me, trying to perceive my level of threat. With no other option to consider I returned my attention to the marble platform. Surely the drawing power I felt in it before could help me? Turning and running I launched myself onto the platform. Milliseconds later I had an overwhelming feeling of ‘wet feet.’ You know the feeling you get when you tread unexpectedly into a puddle? I mean one second you’re all dry socks and shoes and the next not. Wet instead. It’s happened to me before, once on a moonlit night treading into a non reflective rock pool, thinking I was treading onto dry sand. And yes Jibs, there were werewolves involved in that story. But I digress...
“Fuck” I thought, “My goddamn mysterious platform is just a regular fucking water feature. With pretty lights. And now fucking Dracula is going to fucking kill me. This is not one bit good. What would Douglas Adams do?”
As Dracula advanced a ridiculously implausible idea came to me. Desperate times call for desperate measures and not only was this a desperate time it was also a ridiculously implausible one. I grabbed my mobile out of my pocket and hit the internet button, calling upon the great god Google for help. As Dracula drew within ten metres of the fountain my fingers deftly flew around my phone’s keypad, swift with a dexterity gained from years of posting on BL whilst procrastinating starting TAFE assignments. Within seconds I had been ordained the minister of my own church and founded the Presbrytarian religion, the certificate proving it on route to my house and due to arrive in six weeks. I had also been charged a modest ten dollar fee of course. Evolution bless the internet.
At that moment Dracula having decided I was easy prey, obviously too busy checking the latest Britney clip on my phone to enact the defeasance of my demise, launched himself the last few metres through the air. Crossing my chest with the sign of an A I blessed the water with the power of rational thought. Dracula, landing in the water in front of me was confronted with the unlikeliness of his existence in a materialist world and logically burst into a vampire consuming flame, melting away into nothingness.
I had barely time to flash the girls a triumphant smile when the forgotten, crumpled teeny bopper rose to her feet, unwittingly flashing the world via her scanty mini skirt an underwear shot a Ralph magazine photographer spends most nights dreaming about. Moving with a grace that had nothing in common with the awkwardness of a new born calf the freshly sired vampire had leapt the fence and was situated in front of the girls. Her wicked fangs reflected the street lights as she hissed with venomous intent.
Corinne, with her wits well in attendance, launched a brutal and unrelenting assault of decent movie quotes into the hissing teeny bopper’s face:
“What do you do when your foundation falls apart? I don't know. They don't teach you that in school.”
“Some people were born to sit by a river. Some get struck by lightning. Some have an ear for music. Some are artists. Some swim. Some know buttons. Some know Shakespeare. Some are mothers. And some people — dance.”
“I realised that my training was useful in less than ten percent of the calls, and saving lives was rarer than that. After a while, I grew to understand that my role was less about saving lives than about bearing witness. I was a grief mop. It was enough that I simply turned up.”
And then shouting into a crescendo:
“This great evil. Where does it come from? How'd it steal into the world? What seed, what root did it grow from? Who's doin' this? Who's killin' us? Robbing us of life and light. Mockin' us with the sight of what we might've known. Does our ruin benefit the earth? Does it help the grass to grow, the sun to shine? Is this darkness in you, too? Have you passed through this night?”
The poor vampire, raised on a diet of American Pie 4 and Bring It On 3 stopped dumbstruck, a vacuous and confused look betraying its inner vapidity. Using this chance, Ash, her dark blonde hair flowing in a manner much more SMG Buffy than the blonder blonde of original movie buffy, launched a sweet kick straight into its face, crushing it. The Vampire, gurgling in a mess of shattered teeth and ruined face collapsed to the ground and lay still.
“And that’s how we kill a vampire,” quipped Ash, followed quickly by Corinne, “You just got WikiQuoted skank!”
Joining the girls I asked “Hey you fine, kick arse women, want to grab a drink?” simultaneously slapping Ash firmly on the arse, taking the emphatic approach. And that’s how we ended up spending the rest of the night in casualty at the hospital, waiting to get my bleeding face stitched. Lesson learned. Bitch!
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So eleven PM finds Ashley, Corinne, Bearded Man, and I emerging from Trop Fest and taking to the streets, drunkenly walking towards Martin Place, full of beer and wine and in some cases Hot Dog. Bearded Man is not actually named Bearded Man, his name has been changed to protect the innocent. Meaning I was too drunk to remember it.
I was midway through verbalising a thought, totally in line of course with my dedicated, personal, P.C. ethos, like “Which short film won again? Was it the one about the retard? It was wasn’t it? Yeah the retard was awesome,” when something beside us caught my eye and halted my poor attempt at remaining upright and moving forward at the same time. Centre piece to the court yard of some monolithic, city, business building, was something resembling a black platform. In a row down the centre of this platform like structure mysterious blue lights emanated, giving the illusion of a death trap designed to fuck over every living mosquito in a square kilometre radius. The marble material the platform was constructed of was the black of a Lovecraftian nightmare, of an aeon of moonless nights. The platform had a trance-like hold on me. Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.
The structure was drawing me but the presence of my friends asking if I had gone crazy snapped me out of its hold. I asked them if they knew what the thing was and then rudely didn’t really pay attention to their answers. Corinne said something about it being ‘rippleless,’ but I was barely listening. I decided that I needed to know what the platform was. Fuck that, I needed to dominate the platform. There was only one way to do such a thing, and that was to jump on it. Maybe fancily, I hadn’t thought that far ahead yet.
The court yard had a three foot security fence enclosing it and using my amazing powers of athleticism, and wicked Parkour skills, I vaulted effortlessly over it. I vaguely heard Corinne asking what I was doing and Ash, more knowledgeable of my life’s desires and daily direction, replying that I was probably going to jump on something. Bearded man said nothing. I don’t think he really cared much. Ours was an incipient relationship, and no threads of ‘giving a shit’ had had a chance to fasten hold as of then. Or now.
Approaching the platform I became aware of a couple embracing against a pillar of the business building. They were fairly visible from where I had been standing formerly with my friends, but I was too busy being captivated by the platform structure at that former point in time. The guy appeared to be some goth douche judging from his attire which included a frigging cape, and the girl some dumbshit, eighteenish, teeny bopper, judging by the fact that she looks like every other teenage girl one has the misfortune to encounter anywhere.
It became apparent as I took more notice of the couple that they weren’t exactly kissing. In fact it looked a lot like the guy had his oversized canine teeth buried in the girl’s throat, a fact that seemed more factual considering he was making a lot of blood slurping sounding noises. The girl moaned softly, mostly a moan of desire and bliss, but with a detectable undercurrent of fear in it as if she was aware subconsciously on a visceral level that things weren’t right.
The whole warped scene I hadn’t really had a chance to think about and dissect intellectually was interrupted by a womanish scream. Looking around I saw Bearded Man diving cowardly behind the girls. He had obviously had a chance to dissect what was going on as next he rose to his feet and ran screaming down the street, “VAMPIRES! A FUCKING VAMPIRE! WHAT THE FUCK?” I decided on the spot I was going to bitch slap that motherfucker the next time I saw him, if ever.
The vampire all the fuss was being made about stopped the molesting thing, allowing his victim to slump to the ground. She offered one last orgasmic sigh on the way down and appeared to be restfully sleeping. Well as restful as one can be sleeping on concrete.
Turning to face us the vampire’s wizened and age filled face was visible for the first time, his blood covered mouth taking on a purple hue in the blue light shining from the marble platform. For a moment our eyes connected and I felt our minds meld. In flashing visual instants I was told the story of his past. It was the story of a bored, small town, Transylvanian vampire with big city dreams, dreams of managing a chain of Kernel’s popcorn stands and feeding off the blood of a McDonald’s engorged populace. Interspersed of course with the occasional diet of Fitness First freak. One doesn’t live hundreds of years without watching one’s cholesterol. Bored with his dreary castle and local infamy, the vampire sold up his Romanian Real Estate and bought a first class ticket to Sydney to fulfil his dreams.
It dawned on me that this wasn’t your regular run of the factory line vampire. This was fucking Dracula. From the opposite perspective, peering into my own mind, I’m sure Dracula saw many drunken nights and failed attempts to impress girls by jumping on things. But moving on...
Ignoring me Dracula turned his focus to the girls, who were still standing behind the court yard fence, and moved towards them barely touching the ground as he strode the distance towards them. Seeing this the girls took defensive positions. Ash took up her typical kick boxing pose, a pose I’ve seen many a time when she’s kicked my arse for grabbing her arse. Flicking her dark blonde hair out of her face, her blue eyes flashed grey steel. Corinne assumed the pose of one preparing to harness the power of ‘having watched a fuck load of awesome movies lately.’ Her petite frame shook with energetic fury as a storm of Benjamin Button and Thin Red Line quotes flew frenetically around her head. Together the two girls threw out a force of Amazonian ‘don’t fuck with us’ beauty that rivalled the strength of nuclear fission. An obviously Catholic passerby seeing them threw his hands to his face and fell yelling, “FUCK, MY EYES! THIS MUST BE WHAT BEATIFICATION FEELS LIKE!”
It was obvious in any normal case the girls could handle themselves. But this was fucking Dracula! Seeking only to distract the puissant vampire I fumbled in my wallet for some type of weapon, anything. With plastic cards flying all directions I chanced upon the stainless steel, card sized bottle opener the gorgeous Ash (surely that’s worth about 10 friendship points, right?) had given me for Christmas. Using my best San Remo bogan twang I screamed “OI CUNT!” at Dracula. Knowing my manly non sexiness would not be enough to hold his attention, as he turned distractedly, I grabbed the ice-skate sharp (read: not very) bottle opener and scratched with pressure at my neck until beads of blood appeared and started running in rivulets down it.
Blood lust appearing on the vampire’s face he advanced cautiously towards me, trying to perceive my level of threat. With no other option to consider I returned my attention to the marble platform. Surely the drawing power I felt in it before could help me? Turning and running I launched myself onto the platform. Milliseconds later I had an overwhelming feeling of ‘wet feet.’ You know the feeling you get when you tread unexpectedly into a puddle? I mean one second you’re all dry socks and shoes and the next not. Wet instead. It’s happened to me before, once on a moonlit night treading into a non reflective rock pool, thinking I was treading onto dry sand. And yes Jibs, there were werewolves involved in that story. But I digress...
“Fuck” I thought, “My goddamn mysterious platform is just a regular fucking water feature. With pretty lights. And now fucking Dracula is going to fucking kill me. This is not one bit good. What would Douglas Adams do?”
As Dracula advanced a ridiculously implausible idea came to me. Desperate times call for desperate measures and not only was this a desperate time it was also a ridiculously implausible one. I grabbed my mobile out of my pocket and hit the internet button, calling upon the great god Google for help. As Dracula drew within ten metres of the fountain my fingers deftly flew around my phone’s keypad, swift with a dexterity gained from years of posting on BL whilst procrastinating starting TAFE assignments. Within seconds I had been ordained the minister of my own church and founded the Presbrytarian religion, the certificate proving it on route to my house and due to arrive in six weeks. I had also been charged a modest ten dollar fee of course. Evolution bless the internet.
At that moment Dracula having decided I was easy prey, obviously too busy checking the latest Britney clip on my phone to enact the defeasance of my demise, launched himself the last few metres through the air. Crossing my chest with the sign of an A I blessed the water with the power of rational thought. Dracula, landing in the water in front of me was confronted with the unlikeliness of his existence in a materialist world and logically burst into a vampire consuming flame, melting away into nothingness.
I had barely time to flash the girls a triumphant smile when the forgotten, crumpled teeny bopper rose to her feet, unwittingly flashing the world via her scanty mini skirt an underwear shot a Ralph magazine photographer spends most nights dreaming about. Moving with a grace that had nothing in common with the awkwardness of a new born calf the freshly sired vampire had leapt the fence and was situated in front of the girls. Her wicked fangs reflected the street lights as she hissed with venomous intent.
Corinne, with her wits well in attendance, launched a brutal and unrelenting assault of decent movie quotes into the hissing teeny bopper’s face:
“What do you do when your foundation falls apart? I don't know. They don't teach you that in school.”
“Some people were born to sit by a river. Some get struck by lightning. Some have an ear for music. Some are artists. Some swim. Some know buttons. Some know Shakespeare. Some are mothers. And some people — dance.”
“I realised that my training was useful in less than ten percent of the calls, and saving lives was rarer than that. After a while, I grew to understand that my role was less about saving lives than about bearing witness. I was a grief mop. It was enough that I simply turned up.”
And then shouting into a crescendo:
“This great evil. Where does it come from? How'd it steal into the world? What seed, what root did it grow from? Who's doin' this? Who's killin' us? Robbing us of life and light. Mockin' us with the sight of what we might've known. Does our ruin benefit the earth? Does it help the grass to grow, the sun to shine? Is this darkness in you, too? Have you passed through this night?”
The poor vampire, raised on a diet of American Pie 4 and Bring It On 3 stopped dumbstruck, a vacuous and confused look betraying its inner vapidity. Using this chance, Ash, her dark blonde hair flowing in a manner much more SMG Buffy than the blonder blonde of original movie buffy, launched a sweet kick straight into its face, crushing it. The Vampire, gurgling in a mess of shattered teeth and ruined face collapsed to the ground and lay still.
“And that’s how we kill a vampire,” quipped Ash, followed quickly by Corinne, “You just got WikiQuoted skank!”
Joining the girls I asked “Hey you fine, kick arse women, want to grab a drink?” simultaneously slapping Ash firmly on the arse, taking the emphatic approach. And that’s how we ended up spending the rest of the night in casualty at the hospital, waiting to get my bleeding face stitched. Lesson learned. Bitch!
