~ woodstock ecstasy ~
Spike T. 665
How he adored the sight of so much boisterous life all in one place! Even the scent of human sweat as it dripped down the mortal faces seduced him and the sweet fragrance of thick smoke which streamed out from cigarettes was ensnaring. Soft humans, so fragile and weak, slid past him and brushed up against his immortal limbs...
Not a glance was cast his way. He was invisible to them.
He laughed, deep and husky, and made his way further into the crowd. How innocent they all were! How naive and pure! Apples hanging from the tree, ready to be picked by his hand on a fickle whim. This, he thought, was the modern day Eden. Mortals, give me your blood!
Thirst. Hunger. His throat ran dry at the sights, the very sounds they made. Deeper and deeper into the crowd he traveled, searching for the next victim, craving. Loud, pulsing heartbeats thumped in wet rhythms like a crescendo of drums.
After what might have been long nights of starvation—or maybe the stirring of eternity, or perhaps a few seconds of horrible withdrawal—he found her. A little minx of a girl, wandering all alone, forlorn and used. He took her little hands is his and twirled her around in his arms, sending her blond hair flying.
"Lovely," she breathed. "So lovely."
His brilliant blue eyes twinkled with mischief. What a simple creature she was! Her eyes danced wildly with passion, taken in by his undead beauty. Her pink lips split into a sloppy smile, her cheeks flushing with a lively glow.
"Are you to be my Prince Charming then?" she giggled playfully, locking her slender arms around his shoulders as he brought her tightly against his chest. He pressed his lips to her throat with bruising greed and sank his fangs deep into her skin.
Blood filled his mouth and he gulped it down in large swallows as if it were water on a hot summer's day. It stuffed his mouth like the juiciest of meats. It was whiskey, or tender ham freshly cut from the bone; watermelon and strawberries.
He faltered as his mouth became numb, the blood flow moving slower and slower and he sucked weakly at her throat. The taste of something odd, unfamiliar and foreign in the bloodstream, washed over him and he immediately pulled his fangs from her neck. His mind reeled in confusion, spiralling into bewildered misunderstanding.
"Poison ..." he gasped, reaching his hand out and clutching at the place in his chest where his heart used to beat. Poison in the lifeblood. Poison in his very veins. He groped his throat fearfully and watched in terror as his hand seemed to move in slow motion.
Shades of black and red sparkled in front of his eyes, the colors falling like rain on to his pale dead skin. The sight perplexed and amazed his vampiric mind with its beauty. It was the very picture of exquisite art, such a paradox that he could hardly handle it. And he was becoming a part of it! The colors bursting into life on his flesh...
How marvellous! How grand!
Everything around him bent to his will and it seemed as if the very world was fashioned simply for his amusement. He had, at long last, found the perfect way to forget. There was no need anymore, in this insane state of mystifying color and beauty, to chase the past back down the neck of a bottle. No need for the adrenalin rush of fist mashing together with flesh as he tried to make himself let go.
There's a wondrous, malleable joy here, he decided, as his now clumsy body sank down onto the ground where a group of young mortals lay. There is a peaceful bliss and an understanding of sorts.
He raised his hand high up into the air and stared wide-eyed at the brilliant liquid rainbow that ran through his veins.
She was right... it was lovely.
first draft: 10-26-08
revisions: 10-26-09 & 6-25-12