Vampire Diaries - The Midnight Snack.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
Do vampires have a routine, or that is left only to the poor mortals running wildly in the world? In this first installment of The Vampire Diaries, follow an age old count’s ramblings as he walks into a Midnight Snack.

Submitted: September 08, 2008

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Submitted: September 08, 2008

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It was such a clear night, not a cloud in the sky; just stars or what resembled stars, but were actually nothing more than urban pollution. Such a shame that not even here, in the murky corners of Transylvania, the firmament had been spared: the Wallachia's Voivode missed being able to look up at the heavens and be greeted by the sight of an infinity of tiny sparkles of light. Everything had a price though. Mankind wanted progress… the environment paid for it; civilizations cried out for wars… the future generations paid for it; men wanted the world and it was given to them… and now, the night would forever be damned, because creatures like him – children of those men – were destined to silently march the darkness. The later being yet another fact worthy of disgrace, for some were never meant to walk in silence: in some notes the nightingale is still a bird; then it rises above its class and seems to suggest to every winged creature what singing is truly like. Goethe was a wise man; was he a vampire? Did he know of the laws they should abide? Dracula didn’t think so. But the Count had yet to find a better way to explain his own philosophy… if you wished perfection within your own kind, you’d need to transcend those around you; become something else entirely. Otherwise, you’d always be just another bird.

Perhaps the peaceful tones permeating the streets right now – almost like a sweet invisible companion – were due to the moon, reigning in the sky, so magnificent and powerful even if not in its full radiance. Whenever those silver rays bathed everything on their path, the sun was no longer a threat and the coppery smell of blood would certainly arise: what a joy! A nostalgic smile came to his reddish lips as the infamous Vlad Tepes walked the cold and gloomy side avenues, and he contemplated on his enthrallment with a thing so simple like the moon. Watching how the soft beams of light fought their way through every and each crack the buildings in the vicinity allowed, projecting the young looking man’s shadow forward, Dracula remembered the stories and myths he used to hear as a little child about the civilizations that related the moon as the ultimate sign of purity. With one last glance at the night sky, he shook his head and let a low chuckle escape 'not a real surprise I like it so much.' A turn on the next corner, and he reached what seemed to be yet another hot spot for restaurants… though how anyone could call some of the things sold here ‘food’ was a mystery to him.

Walk; nothing less and nothing more. Vladislaus had been repeating the action of putting one boot clad foot in front of the other, and pushing his body forward for the past ten minutes or so; each step accompanied by a fluidity of movements that was at the same time mechanical and graceful… that was it. Such a simple feat, much like all the infinity of other things most took for granted; however, he knew that even amidst a plethora of walking feet, there’d always be those meek enough to pass through life looking down, never ahead, or around, or up, or making a stop to stare into people’s eyes – well, maybe when crossing a street for fear of a car running them over – then breathe, and keep going. These little birds enjoyed hugging themselves tighter; shutting the world outside, making it clear by their body language they were not up to chitchat or niceties, while secretly hoping against hope nobody would really care to see them, but at the same time, wishing to be somehow noticed and have their silent screams heard. So dramatic. To these poor things usually there was nothing left, other than continue with their wraith like motions throughout a crowd of unseen souls.

Nonetheless, he also knew someone – or something – was always there, watching, wanting… waiting. Ready to come out of the darkness, satisfy its blood lust with ever increasing ferocity and vanish leaving no trace, except for the now puzzle pieces of what used to be a human body… or mind. The life of a creature is in the blood, said the book of Leviticus, though a vampire certainly had no need of a book – especially him, and specially a holy one – to be shown the importance of this particular corporal fluid. Those whose lust for blood could also be satisfied without shredding a single drop of the crimson ambrosia were the most treacherous predators; they've thirsted for another's soul and would not rest until complete surrender was achieved: whatever it took and the sky was the limit. Whilst breaking a naturally strong individual was always an interesting challenge, these scavengers would have a feast at the carcass of the weak… the scent of a pretty little sheep who believed herself to be way too insignificant was in fact, oh so tempting for the wolf to ignore. In the end, walking around with fear oozing on each step did nothing but alert the children of the night that there was fresh blood in town; it was just like throwing a ball of wool to a kitten to play with.

Funny; Vlad was quite fond of wool balls. However, if he was perfectly honest with himself, the aged vampire would have to face the harsh truth that a good part of him was – or has become – bitter. It was sad really, to hear from those strong lips that he’d rather rule in hell than serve in heaven; where has his dreams gone? Did he ever have any? Was there any hope left, or better yet, was it of any good to offer hope to someone who so actively refused any deliverance? But in the name of all this newfound honesty, then Dracula would have to say… screw heaven and hell; he was a bloody saint! And the vampire could prove it.

Sin. Such a simple word, but such a heavy meaning. Personally, the vampire believed sins were overestimated… an invention of sexually frustrated individuals. What about the other side of the spectrum? Holy. Now that was an interesting concept in Dracula’s un-life philosophy. Generally speaking, he pretty much thought it was all a matter of perspective: was a person considered a saint because they lived their whole existence feeding the hungry, dressing the naked and helping the helpless? Well then, Lord Vladislaus’ image should be scattered around the altars of many churches over the world, because he was a blessed creature whose bite and blood brought back from the dead more than one fellow over the centuries; the vampire could dress the unclothed, even though he preferred taking the clothes off his lovers, and he most certainly helped anguished souls, when he saved them from the horrible fate of humanity – another overrated concept in his point of view, for he’d seen corpses more alive than the some of the so called mortals – either by putting an end to a wretched reality or by introducing his selected few to an entire new level of… sanctity.

But wait. Perception usually had more than a single standpoint. When an individual loved someone and presented them with a very special gift, say, the most beautiful jewel one could find, for example; what would make the giver happier? Watching the person they loved enjoying said gift and being truly happy, or having them sacrificing it for the good of others? So, if life was a bequest from God to mankind, why should a person be called a saint when they willingly wasted God’s legacy, especially in the behalf of people who didn’t give a shit? Once again, Dracula was the holiest of devils, because he did not fritter away a single second of his immortality. No remorse, no infamy, no regrets… only pleasure. And that was what he had to offer. That was his deal… his hidden bargain. Or part of it, anyway.

Fingers distractedly slid into the pocket of the knee length coat, and once sheltered from the cutting edge of Transylvanian’s winter - though the cold wasn't really a bother - the tips came in contact with a coin, instantly beginning to twirl the circular metallic object from digit to digit in a way to keep his hand occupied. Could it be anymore mundane? At least if it was a medallion, or other piece of jewelry, but a simple coin? For a split second he contemplated the idea of throwing the thing at the back of the first jackass’ head he saw, though the vampire gave up on such plan as his eyes focused on a most peculiar scene. An unreadable expression graced the Lord’s face as he took his time inconspicuously watching the lonely figure seated under the old boutique’s sign… what a sweet little morsel, so nae looking she was, there, accompanied by nothing but her sketchbook and darkness. He stood at the opposite side of the street, as if posing for the young woman, even if the vampire was hidden by both the shadows of poorly lit area and the unthreatening visage of a friendly curl of lips, as he pretended to be just another passerby.

Yes, he was quite fond of wool balls indeed.


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