[Vorcla]

VAMPS DON’T CRY
(written from a hospital bed under the influence of drugs with an IV in my arm!)

Synopsis: a beautiful vampire comes to realize the consequences of her hunting.


My name is Lia, and I’m a vamp.

I’m hunting tonight.

It’s not the way you think, the way you’ve probably seen it in the movies. It’s not Bela Lugosi stalking through the Transylvanian woods with his cape over his face, or flapping around as a bat. It’s not like “Van Helsing,” either, where the vampire babes turn into these hideous humanoid bat creatures with six-foot wings and swoop down on their prey – although the producers of that film have no idea how close they got it!

It’s like neither of these things.

I cruise around in my black Corvette, looking for prey. It usually finds me.

Oh, I can turn into a vampire bat, or a cloud of fog, or even a wolf. And I can turn into the bat creature, too. But it’s so energy intensive. And I like to drive my ‘Vette.

The excitement of the hunt still stirs me; it’s about the only thing that does anymore. I suppose after 400 years I was bound to become a little jaded. Once in a while I'll take down a young woman or a girl for variety, but I prefer to prey on young men. The sex is nice, of course, but there’s nothing like sinking my fangs into warm flesh and feeling hot, thick blood course down my throat as I slowly suck away my victim’s life. What was that line Dracula had in “Van Helsing” – “It’s almost like being alive again.”

That’s the best a vamp can hope for – almost. Because I'm not really alive - I'm Undead. Sometimes I wonder what it’s all about, why I even bother.

Lia’s not my given name; it’s just the latest in a long list of aliases I’ve been forced to adopt over the centuries. I’ve been so many people that I don’t know who I am anymore. I’ve lost myself in the mists of antiquity. I guess I’m an actress; I've spent the centuries playing someone else. Lots of someone elses. I was born Elizabeth Williamson in London, England, in 1602. I came to America on the Mayflower, and I was killed and “turned” when I was only 24 years old. I’ve been stalking the night ever since.

It's sticky and humid tonight, but I don't feel it. I don't sweat, I don't get hot. All I can think about tonight is the hunt - and the kill. I'm driving through Centralia. It's a small town with pleasant, tree-lined streets. I got tired of hunting the underbellies of the big cities, picking off the garbage - the freaks and the druggies and the criminals. Sounds weird, but I want to hunt "normal" people. After 400 years I feel I'm entitled to a few perks.

I'm driving past a Shoney's Big Boy when I see him through the window.

To say he's "handsome" does him an injustice. He's a beautiful boy, with wavy brown hair and striking green eyes. His lean face is chiseled; he has dimples and perfect white teeth when he smiles. He's in a tee shirt and jeans. He has a nice body; he's athlete-lean, like a runner.

He's the one; he is mine.

I whip the 'Vette into the lot and park. I'm wearing a short-sleeved top that bares my well-toned middriff, and low cut jeans that accentuate my rounded butt and long legs. As usual, all eyes are on me as I walk into the restaurant. I am beautiful. My skin is pale, I have long black hair done in crinkle curls, and my eyes are sea blue. I've been told I look like Kate Beckinsale and I am flattered. I can only see the resemblance when I touch my victim's mind and look at myself through his eyes. It's easy to see why they are drawn to me.

Just call me Selene.

There's a knot of them sitting in two booths. Kids; their minds are so open and guileless that I can read them without making physical contact. I tune out the rest of the crowd. His name is Mike, and he's sitting with a cheerleader-cute little blonde named Judy. They're a couple. He is a runner, on the cross country team at his high school. She's not a cheerleader; she's on the debate team.

My left eyebrow rises. They're virgins! Well, sort of - they've never fucked, but they've done "69" a few times. He thinks she's hot because she swallows. The fact that he's a virgin arouses me. I can feel my pussy getting wet; icewater juices are soaking my panties, and my scent rises up.

Mike looks at me now, and I've got him. He's interested; he's thinking about me, what it would be like. Well, I'm going to show him! The rest of them have noticed me now, too. The boys are staring appreciatively. The girls are frowning. They feel threatened by me. They think that, even though I'm not much older than they are, I'm a woman, and a beautiful one. Instinctively they reach for their boyfriends. I stop at his booth.

"Mike, we have to talk." I use my most seductive, Kate Beckinsale-ish voice.

"Ex-excuse me?" He is genuinely confused, but his interest is piqued at the same time.

"Alone." I put special emphasis on the word as I stare at the little blonde. Judy starts to get up, and I push her back in her seat. "Sit down, sister!" I growl. "This doesn't concern you. Your boyfriend got me pregnant!"

I'm working on her mind, kneading it like bread dough, and she believes me. Her face crumples in betrayal, and the tears flow.

"M-Mike - how could you?" she sobs. She turns to one of the other boys. "Steve, would you take me home, please?"

"Judy - I didn't!" Mike's face is red, and he's in shock. "I don't even know her!"

Judy's not listening, and she pulls away from him. Steve is more than happy to escort Judy home, and as he and Little Miss Debate Team flounce past, I plant a suggestion in their minds.

Little Judy is going to get her cherry popped in the back seat of Steve's car on the way home tonight.

Just call me vindictive!

I turn to Mike, I gaze right into his eyes and he is vanquished. Any reluctance or resistance he may have had has evaporated in the high beams of my bedroom eyes.

"Let's get out of here," I whisper. He follows me happily; we leave hand-in-hand, and all the men stare after us enviously.

We get in the Corvette, and after he straps himself in, I give him a savage kiss, using a lot of tongue. He eagerly responds.

"I told your little girlfriend I was pregnant. Let's go back to my place and see if we can't make that happen."

There's a sloppy grin plastered on his face as I back the 'Vette out of its spot. I wheel around and lay a patch as I tear out of the parking lot.


******


"Oh, God, Lia - that feels so good!"

I'm sucking him off. His big, beautiful cock feels like velvet in my mouth and tastes faintly of soap. I can tell he's never been sucked like this before. I've clouded his mind so that he perceives cold as warmth, so he isn't shocked by the temperature of my icy mouth.

Mike's way too hot, so I'm going to take the edge off his excitement before we get down to some serious fucking. I know he won't last, and he doesn't. Before too long he explodes in my mouth, and I swallow every drop, just like his little blonde girlfriend. He likes that.

I turn to look at him. He's beautiful in the flickering candlelight, and his cock is still half erect. He looks like he belongs on my huge bed.

I have a wonderful house; I've accumulated a good deal of wealth in 400 years, and it shows in my bedroom. The bed is sunken in a pit in the marble floor. There are candles everywhere; the lights are low, and I have make-out music pumping through my Bose system. No mirrors, of course. The men always seem to appreciate my bedroom; Mike does.

I want to make him happy and comfortable. It will be the first - and last - time he'll ever make love to a woman.

I go back to work on his cock with my mouth. He can't resist me, and he's hard again before too long. I squirm around until his head is between my legs, and I lower my wet mound to his face. He's good. He laps and licks and nibbles, and I hear myself moaning as my belly clenches and I come.

It's almost like being alive again....

He's ready, and I mount him. I sit astride him and raise and lower myself slowly and sensuously, sliding up and down his cock. I want it to last - for him and for me. He's making incoherent little noises. I touch his temple to make full contact with his mind. I flinch in surprise. He is really so innocent. He's so good looking that I never would have expected that, just as I never would have expected he would be a virgin. I guide him so he instinctively knows what I want, so that he can please both of us. He does.

When he comes, his climax is so shattering that he almost blacks out.

"Thank you, Lia," he whispers when he catches his breath. "I never realized it would be this good."

"You're welcome," I reply, kissing his cheek. My blood lust is aroused now; I don't want him to see that my fangs are extended and my eyes are glowing like red coals. I don't want him to see that my skin is now as gray as that of a corpse. I'm still touching his forehead.

He is surprised when I plunge my fangs into his neck. He's not alarmed - not yet. I drink his blood slowly, savoring it. He's hard again as the pleasure-inducing venom injected by my fangs does its work, and he starts to thrust his hips. I suck out more, and now the leading edge of panic is slicing through the fog in his mind.

"L-Lia - what are you d-doing?" I can hear his heart beating faster and faster.

I'm snarling like a rabid animal now. It's frightening him, and he cries out in terror. I don't want to frighten him, but I can't help it; I'm too far gone. I continue to drain him.

"M-Mommy?"

I freeze.

I called for my mother when my vampire master slew me 400 years ago. I'm reading his thoughts and I am shocked. I've never done this before - read their thoughts as they died. Do they always feel this much terror? Is it always this painful? I thought the venom blunted their fear; I can see now that it does not. His thoughts are much like mine were four centuries ago, and I am devastated by the similarity. But I can't stop; I'm past the point of no return. I keep feeding until there's nothing left.

His last conscious thought is of a beloved black cat named Buzzy.

I look down at him, so innocent. His beautiful green eyes are glazing over with a milky film. They stare up accusingly at me.

I have to glance away......


********

I'm driving back from Darke County. I buried Mike's body with a stake through its heart in Oxford, and I buried his severed head in Blytheville.

I'm driving along with the windows open and the stereo blasting out Coldplay. I'm crying, sobbing. I'm crying for innocence lost - mine 400 years ago, and Mike's tonight. Icewater tears are streaming down my cheeks.

And vamps don't cry.

Why does it bother me? I am a predator; he was prey. Nothing more.

But there is more - so much more. He was an innocent young man, and I destroyed him. His family and friends will grieve, his little blonde girlfriend will grieve, even that damned cat Buzzy will grieve. Their lives will never be the same. It's like throwing a rock in a pond; the ripples just keep spreading.

And I am the rock.

The sky is getting bright in the east, and I come to a decision. I pull off into an overlook in a city park and lock the 'Vette. There's a bench that looks down on a beautiful gorge, and I sit down to enjoy my first sunrise in 400 years.

I know what will happen. The pain will be excruciating. My skin will bubble and run down over my body, melting into a puddle of rotting slime. It should only take a few minutes. I fancy it will be rather like the Wicked Witch in the "Wizard of Oz." I'm not afraid. It seems right somehow. It's time; 400 years is long enough.

As the orange limb of the sun peeks over the horizon, I suddenly find myself thinking about the Corvette. I hope someone will give it a good home. The thought is so inconguous that I laugh out loud.

And then the sun bursts out from behind some low haze, a blood-red disc. The sky is an incredible, cloudless blue, and there are birds singing.

It is beautiful, glorious, and I am cleansed, I am cleansed......


FINIS

['Ginnis]

None too shabby for being written whilst on Vicodin! A couple gramatical and textual errors but really good work. I liked that your approach to this one, the awknowledgement of guilt and remorse was refreshing as opposed to typical Boris Karloff Monster Madness.

I whip the "Vette into the lot and park. I'm wearing a short-sleeved top that bares my well-toned middriff,

'Vette

Sorry, I'm THAT OCD...

That was the only one I recalled finding, but I'd still give it another sweep. Again, big kudos for writing while doped up! Good job indeed.

[Vorcla]

Originally posted by Little Red:

Quote:
I whip the "Vette into the lot and park. I'm wearing a short-sleeved top that bares my well-toned middriff,

'Vette

Sorry, I'm THAT OCD...

That was the only one I recalled finding, but I'd still give it another sweep. Again, big kudos for writing while doped up! Good job indeed.

Thanks, I fixed it. I was lucky I could even hit the keys when I was doing this, so I guess that's not too bad. Thanks for the nice comments, Kara.

BTW: anybody who's reading this; read Kara's "Tinseltown" series. You'll see why it was nominated for a "Pick of the Month" for January. It is truly amazing work!

Rick

[Venomous Vixen]

This has a different feel from most of your work, very different. Though the subject matter is similar this one is haunting... and not in the gory sense, for there is not much of that, but more so... the whole thing is chilly and icy, the voice spoken from the woman is just vacant and distant, in a good way. It took me a bit longer to get sucked into this one. I am used to you having some in your face kind of thing right off of the bat but here you kind of eased into the storytelling and characters. You explained more than usual as well, the mind control, the sensations, the emotions and feelings. It was actually quite a sad story, another side of the undead. The ending especially, to be damned for so long and then make the choice to let go. Anyhow, I am rambling, but this was wonderful and so different. Hehe, wonder what some viccodin can do to the tone of your writing!

[Vorcla]

Originally Posted by Venomous Vixen

This has a different feel from most of your work, very different. Though the subject matter is similar this one is haunting... and not in the gory sense, for there is not much of that, but more so... the whole thing is chilly and icy, the voice spoken from the woman is just vacant and distant, in a good way. It took me a bit longer to get sucked into this one. I am used to you having some in your face kind of thing right off of the bat but here you kind of eased into the storytelling and characters. You explained more than usual as well, the mind control, the sensations, the emotions and feelings. It was actually quite a sad story, another side of the undead. The ending especially, to be damned for so long and then make the choice to let go. Anyhow, I am rambling, but this was wonderful and so different. Hehe, wonder what some viccodin can do to the tone of your writing!

Ramble all you want; I love to listen! I didn't know what to expect on this one. When I re-read it later with a clear head, I was pretty happy with it. It is DEFINITELY different, the mellowing effects of the drugs, no doubt! Thanks for taking the time to comment. As always, your input is more valuable than you know.

Rick

[Nupur]

I completely agree with Bri. This was very different from the rest of your works, and I mean this in a very good way.

Honestly, I liked it. I loved how you took the story forward, and the ending was really nice.

Just a little thing: (sorry about that, but I'm the editor of my school newspaper, and those particular habits die hard )

"M-Mike - how could you?" she sobs.

You forgot to capitalize 'S' of 'she'.

And there was a place where you forgot to put a full stop. I saw that when I was reading it, but forgot to note it down.

Apart from the really minor errors, awesome work! It's good to see that Vicodin can't stop Werewolf Boy!

[Vorcla]

Thanks, Nupur. I appreciate the comments. It is different, that's for sure. Maybe I should chug some viccodin before I write! Very slow and somber compared to my "rip 'em up, tear 'em up, give 'em hell, werewolf!" stories. I'm surprised I didn't miss more stop signs considering how doped up I was. I've still got a pretty good buzz; I'll have to go back and fine tooth comb it when I'm straight.

BTW, you DON'T capitalize "she" - and I teach Composition and Creative Writing at the University of Cincinnati - so I'm pulling rank on you, editor!

Seriously, thanks so much for your comments; they mean a lot to this frazzled druggie!

[Nupur]

I'm so glad to see you're doing better! And yeah popping in a Vicodin pill before you write definitely sounds like a great idea!

[Vorcla]

Originally Posted by Nupur

I'm so glad to see you're doing better! And yeah popping in a Vicodin pill before you write definitely sounds like a great idea!

Thanks, Nupur. I feel really good, man (I know you're a woman, but that's how druggies talk!). REALLY good! Until they wear off!

[ea_blue]

Nice one, Rick! I also enjoyed the change in tone of this one. It's a lot more reflective on the part of the undead.

You hit on a lot of cool details. I liked how she didn't usually change into a bat creature, even though she could, because she liked the 'vette so much. Ah! Nice touch. I liked how young minds were so open that she didn't need touch to contact them. This is a nice detail. If gives her a strength and a weakness at the same time. I thought it was interesting that she used her mind control to convince her lover that her coldness was actually warmth. Very cool attention to detail!

Found a ding here...

I know he won't last, and he doesn't Before too long he explodes in my mouth

Missed a period after "doesn't".

I am pleased that her decision to die was linked to her own creation as a vampire. This gives the story and elegant symmetry. Good job!

...And get better soon!

Good Health!

ea_blue

[Vorcla]

Fixed the ding, Eric. Thanks. I was pretty spaced when I wrote this. I was in a hospital bed with a 102 degree fever coked up on vicodin with an IV in my arm. I wasn't really sure what I was doing; I just let it flow. Overall, I'm really happy with it. Thanks again. I appreciate the comments, as always.

[RENA HANDS]

Lots of someone elses. I was born Elizabeth Williamson in London, England, in 1602.

What about saying…

I remember being born in London, England, in 1602. My birth name was Elizabeth Williamson.

Something little more dramatic possibly, possibly not? But this is the only “flatness” that I found with the story.

I must honestly state that I have lost track of your writings and will have to make a check list of what was read and what is to read further so with that said, I will say “bravo,” this is truly another marvelous write.

[Vorcla]

Thanks, RENA. As always, I really appreciate your comments. Thanks for taking the time to do it.

[Jimbalaya]

Very cool, Rick. It speaks to me and the words are saying "Come see the softer side of The Undead."

I like very much how this one turned out, stoned or not, you've got it goin' on.

And when you stated that people thought she looked like Kate Beckinsale, I lost it. She needs to be my third ex-wife. She is so beautiful it stings a little.

Great Job! And get better!

(I read this yesterday but was to far gone to commit a comment at that time. So, here you have it.)