Ello ello!

So, since I have yet to finish my Marshall Lee story and nearly all of my Tokka stories, I apologize to those who are waiting. I'm having writers block for them -_-

Anywho, this story might not go anywhere in particular. I con't even know if I'm going to keep it. Meh. We'll see how it goes. :)

Enjoy!

December 21st, 2012.

They said the world was going to end, but I never paid much mind to it.

I never paid much mind to what the government, the establishment, the man said.

Charlie did, though.

He didn't know what I was, some half-demon half-vampire queen being. I had a pretty good way of hiding it. I knew Charlie from college. It took me years (decades, even) to get around to going to college, but when I decided enough was enough, that I'd move from Seattle to the Big Apple to attend, Charlie was the first person I became friends with. It was freshman orientation, something I was high above but had literally nothing better to do, when he came up to me, a goofy smile plastered on his face. He waved, extended his hand, and shook mine.

I cringed. The bastard was going to smear my body makeup. The kind that hid my undead pallor.

I saw his eyes drift down my body and I grimaced, snapping my fingers. "Hey, dude. My eyes are up here," I quickly lectured.

His green eyes snapped up and he laughed nervously. "No! No! I was looking at your name tag!" He points to the sticker on my chest, to make sure I'm seeing what he's seeing. "See?"

"Yeah, yeah," I roll my eyes, allowing a little smile. "So, what's your major, Charlie?"

"Personal finance," he boasted, holding onto his red plastic cup tighter. "I'm gonna be one of those taxmen. Make the big bucks."

That was the first time I decided I'd hate Charlie.

We got into an argument that night at orientation, which carried on as we marched across the pavement, onto the subway, as a hoard of us freshmans traveled to Central Park. In all my years since being born, all the way back in the good ol' 1960's, I'd never bothered to visit. We argued about politics, though I was on uneasy ground with that. After the Vietnam War, I stopped paying attention to any of that crap. I had a friend go overseas to 'nam, but that's an entirely different story. We fought about politics and taxmen, and how they stole money and Wall Street and the government was greedy and really grubbed for profits. When I started prattling on about something I can't now remember, he started laughing.

"I like you," he told me. Flat out, just like that. Kinda set me back a little, I have to say.

"I like you, too, Charlie," I told him, knocking back a bottle of cheap ale.

Once we got into our sophomore year, he changed his major. We ended up getting a place together, sharing with about four others. He told me he was switching, how things were going to shit lately with the economy and he didn't want to get caught up in it. Didn't matter to me, how the economy was doing, really. As long as I could keep buying my body foundation and ramen soup at cheap prices, I was set. He switched from personal finance to journalism. And I was pretty proud.

He asked me once why I carried an umbrella around. He never pried, but this really bothered him, how rain or shine, I always had my umbrella over my head in the daytime. I told him a thousand things: I hate the sun, I'm allergic to the sun, I'm albino, I burn easily, I'm the Ozone Layer incarnate and with every fossil fuel we burnt, I would get weaker. Shit like that. And he'd always shake his head, laugh, click his tongue, and look up at the sun. The light bounced off his eyes and I was always tempted to take a peek myself, but refrained at the last moment.

Charlie and I only had sex once. It was pretty inevitable, living together in college (the other four, Molly and Damien and Francis and Kate, were in on it, too...just not all at once. We weren't like that). Usually, getting it on with a friend changes things. And it was a fun time, we both acknowledged, but we didn't feel that way about one another. We were sure of it.

Charlie came to all of my gigs...well, all but one, but that was because his mother had a big emergency pregnancy scare down in Hoboken and he wanted to be there. Molly was in the band as our drummer, and we usually rocked the shit out of whatever venue we played. We were a low-profile band (I had been in a few big bands, and I shunned the fame from time to time...however I never missed the male fans and dope). It was nice, all of it was a low kind of nice.

So, when December 1st of 2012 rolled around, we were juniors. He shook his head as we sat in a coffee shop and he looked out the window, away from the grainy television on the wall, tuted at the sun, and said, "End of days are a'coming."

I rolled my eyes and blew on my coffee.

"Whatever you say Charlie."

Winter break rolled around, and for the first time ever, Charlie decided to not visit home. His mom had passed and he didn't want to take another round of pity-pats on the shoulder and the "I'm sorry"s his relatives would deliver. Instead, he stayed with Kate, Francis, and I in the apartment as we decorated as the weeks began to turn to days until Christmas. I'd always loved Christmas. Kate hung the tinsel on our crappy plastic tree and Francis pinned the stockings on the wall. I was in charge of hanging ornaments on the tree and pinning the white lights around the kitchen bar. When we drank, we liked to watch everything glow. Charlie took charge of only two things: putting the star on top of the tree and taping the mistletoe to the threshold of the living room.

December 16th, we all elected to go out to Macy's for some late shopping. On the way, we ran into a group of crazy doomsday enthusiasts, who stood among the Salvation Army Santa's, holding cardboard-and-acrylic-paint signs reading, "REPENT. THE END OF THE WORLD IS UPON US" and "THE END IS HERE" and, my personal favorite, "IT'S PROBABLY GONNA BE ZOMBIES". We bought our gifts, plopped a collective twenty in the red metal bin for good-will, and moved on home. The traffic was killer, but thankfully we stuck to subways and sidewalks. I couldn't even bother to count how many cars were trying to leave the city, head somewhere safe, with their belongings strapped on top of the automobiles. I remember a similar scare back in 2000, that whole Y2K thing. I just sat in the little hostel I was in while crashing in San Francisco, watching in the lounge as people were drabbling on about the impending apocalypse.

I thought it was the same shit on repeat, like a broken record.

December 20th came all too quickly. We were excited, we were buzzing. Christmas was upon us and the snow was falling as thick and sticky as they made it. It was nine o'clock when we heard a frantic knocking on our apartment door. I didn't move from my seat on the counter; instead I washed down my Tollhouse cookies with some more beer. Francis answered the door, only to find another college attendant we vaguely knew to live in the same complex with us. I think her sister lived upstairs, in a snappier apartment. She was talking rapidly, animatedly as I half-watched, half-listened to Charlie re-enact a Saturday Night Live re-run sketch. Francis looked worried. She looked worried. They quickly ran for the futon, scooping up the remote for the TV.

Kate and Charlie noticed me watching them and we joined them as we watched the President speak.

"Damn, he looks old," Kate muttered.

"America," he began. "We are in a state of emergency."

He went on to describe very briefly the state of things: relations with overseas countries (I couldn't remember now. Maybe it was all, maybe it was a few, maybe it was just one) had gotten bad. Very bad. The bombs were launched from both their sides and ours. They were headed straight for us, as well as Los Angeles, Miami, Chicago, Houston, D.C., Boston...the list was numb and drowned out. His mouth was moving, but I heard no words.

Why was I even worried? I'd live. I'd persevere.

These humans had finally done it, though. The finally succeeded in destroying themselves.

The girl from upstairs was crying, snot and tears running freely into the arm of her sweater. Francis ran his hands through his hair, burying his head between his knees. Kate stood up and began rummaging through the drawers in the kitchen. Charlie tutted, looking out the window, like he was looking for the sun.

I watched Kate storm out the window, onto the fire escape.

"Shit," Francis sighed, following her. I joined them, expecting to arrive just as her body soared through the snowy air. She had always been a little melodramatic. Instead, Francis and I found her leaning against the rusted railing, looking out at the snow-caked city, smoking.

"Thought you quit," I stated. I frowned. My voice sounded so heavy. Or everything else was too quiet.

"Last one," she replied, her words as chilling as the wind seeping into our apartment.

Turning back inside, I find Charlie still on the futon watching the girl from upstairs cry into the nappy blanket draped lazily across the futon's back. He looks up at me, shaking his head.

A thought sparks inside of me. I could turn them. I could take them with me.

I sit down beside him. "Charlie, do you know what I am?"

He shakes his head. "I had a weird feeling about you though."

"I'm not human," I draw out cautiously.

"I feel like part of me knew that," he chuckles to himself.

"I'm a vampire."

He grins. "Guess I know why you hated Twilight so much."

I mirror his mouth. "Yeah. Get it now?"

He nods.

"My question is: want me to turn-?"

"Turn me? Into a vamp?"

I shake my head 'yes'.

He looks at the wall a moment, and I sit watching. I've always had a weird affinity for watching him.

"Marceline, I'm going to miss you."

"No, then?" I wonder. I can feel the tears prickling my eyes. I didn't want to lose my friends. Not so soon; not with so little memories.

"No. I want to go out. It should be quick, y'know. Bang, boom, flash, gone. Lickity split."

I sniffle, nodding my head. "Yeah." It's all I can muster and it's weak and whispery. I've always been a crier, I guess.

I can see the tears forming in his eyes. Death is hard. You can't prepare for it, even when you're an undead being.

A siren goes off outside. Francis and Kate are still on the fire escape, probably watching the chaos unfolding in the streets. The girl has dug out her cell, and it exchanging frantic goodbyes with someone on the other end of the line.

"You're not going to die?" Charlie asks.

I shake my head. "Doubt it."

"Well, I want you to enjoy yourself then, okay? Promise me, you'll make the best of what you can."

"No problem," I wrangle out.

I hear the shrillest, most calamitous collection of screaming I've ever heard. Screams of impending death and desperation. Like screaming will help them, shouting will be their salvation. It's only a second as I see something whiz by the Empire State Building, then a flash of intense and blinding light. I hiss, feeling the skin on my body prickle and burn as the heat scorches us all and the flaming light engulfs us.

So, I don't know how far I'll go. probably until she meets and spends time with Ice King, at least. Don't worry about the whole age thing! I'll figure it out! Reviews are greatly appreciated! :D

Peace, L.