The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

Miranda's Song
08:35 Feb 28 2006
Times Read: 551

+ she thinks it and it is +



the flames reach up around her

enveloping her lone form

emanating from her

into the space between things

uniting all

with her sweet embrace

of fire



-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+



a full length story of the evil exploits of Vincent and Miranda is on the way...



-Minski

vOdKa tEars #4 (excerpt)
22:54 Feb 26 2006
Times Read: 553

after it rains

he can see them in the reflective streets

after it rains

he can feel them lurking in the shadows

talons

and beaks

and eyes

watching him with their eyes

watching him with their eyes...



-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-



the rest is lost. i am quite convinced it will allow itself to be found, if it feels like it.

vOdKa tEaRs #1
07:37 Feb 25 2006
Times Read: 557

The unmistakable shadow of a large wingspan once again crossed over him, darkening his field of vision for a moment. And once again he had been looking down, too late to look up and see if it was one of those damn birds. He had never actually seen them directly – only as shadows or as reflections. Shadows and reflections would certainly count as real, for they were the breaking of light, or the reflection of it through a polished surface. And what was seeing something anyway? The reflection of light. So surely the blockage of said light was, if not the same, at least as qualifiable.

As real.

And the same went for reflected light which had been mirrored back at him via, say, a shop window.

No, it was real all right. But real had become something of a slippery fish for him of late.



FADE TO BLACK



Shop windows. Had he been thinking of them? Dreaming again. They had betrayed him lately. Can’t trust anyone anymore. The reflections were all twisted.

Fun House.

So he kept his eyes down, gaze on the sidewalk lest Medusa look Perseus in the eye.



Trying desperately to convince himself of three things:



1. I don’t love you anymore

2. It’s just fine to let the standard of reality

quietly slip away.

3. Vultures are not following me. And if they actually

are, see #2.



As though on the verge of something. The surfer not knowing if this is the wave, or maybe the next… Terrified that the seas might remain calm. Did Hunter Thompson know when it was happening, or did realization come only after the wave had broke, leaving the sad high water mark for Vegas eyes?



“Why didn’t you try harder to keep me?” she had asked.

Why did he no longer know where he had left his soul?

Was it in a cardboard box somewhere, perhaps under the stairs?

Another drink.

Two dollar drinks are almost as good as one dollar drinks.

Fuck your sugar mouth until you spit.



“Any grrls?” she had asked.

Why does he only dance now to her favorite songs?

Turn the knife and make a bed inside my ear.

Baudelaire nightmares

realized fears

De profundus clamavi

And vodka tears

VoDka TeaRs
10:03 Feb 23 2006
Times Read: 564

tHose daMn biRds #3



+ satan have mercy

on my long distress +



he read the words aloud

- or had he? -



the red paint was still wet -

someone had done it with a wide brush,

the drips still running down the wall

and onto the garbage and newspapers

blowing around in circles

in the dead end alley.



there - he heard them again.

bastards.

always following,

always there.

vultures had been tailing him for weeks now -

- made it impossible to go on a date -

he couldn't focus, his mind wandering

thinking of those damn birds.



he had been having dreams again,

(when he was able to sleep at all -

which wasn't all that often)

dreaming of Icarus.

flying up up up

escaping the carrion creatures

that were his shadow.

he was free!

free!



oh, but no. NO

the wax was melting -

his lovely wings were falling apart -

but it was night

there was no sun

he was flying by light of the moon

how could this be?

how?



and he was falling

falling down to where the shadows

would find him

and make a bed inside his ear

and he would wake

saying "No No No!!"

over and again

no



satan have mercy indeed

and he was only half surprised

to see the brush in his hand,

and sticky blood all over himself.



As he turned to go,

a plastic bag took wing upon an updraft

and escaped the alley,

up towards the lights of the impossible skyscrapers

(the souls of ancient giants imbedded in their bones)

and out of the corner of his vision

- or did he hear it? -

a flutter

as they perched like gargoyles

a block ahead of him.

they knew where he was going.

all roads, for him at least, lead to Hell.



Lift the veil

Undress the fear

De Profundus Clamavi

And vodka tears



-Minski

Vodka Tears #2
19:30 Feb 22 2006
Times Read: 566

They're up there, circling.

Catching the updrafts between the buildings.

Bastards.

My only friends.

They're always with me.



If I stop at the cafe,

they'll stop too.

They'll alight on the building being demolished

across the street

perching in the shadow of the huge orange crane

which rakes away at the bricks

like a child playing with blocks.



All my thoughts

wasted rumours

And step by step

I walk the thousand mile road

to Hell.



The wash machine smells like Hawaii

and the sunshine makes me think

of the little black parasol

I bought her to protect her sensitive skin.

And I hold my head, pushing in on the sides,

trying to compress a change.



My memory

My memory is confused.

Why can't it understand

I don't want to remember any of it.

None of it at all.



Oh no! I don't want to lose her!

To forget.

She's gone so so far.

Under my feet through

to the other side of the world.

And she left so so fast.

No memory. Nevermind. Keep her.

And jumble her up with Hawaii and sunshine

and make it all happy and good.

I can't bear to lose that black parasol

spinning as she walked beside me

babbling nonsense.



And now (of course, could it be any other way?)

the shadow of a great wingspan crosses over me

and I just catch a glimpse

of the vultures taking wing.

What was I thinking?

I'll never forget.

They won't let me.



Lift the veil

Undress the fear

De Profundus Clamavi

And vodka tears

toxin #1
06:12 Feb 22 2006
Times Read: 569

“louse, you’re pissing me off,” she says without much enthusiasm.

languid, lazy.

the drugs were, of course, finally kicking in.

otherwise her words would have had teeth.



“am i?” his voice a perfect mask.

but she knew better. knew his game.

she had, of course, not touched her drink.

she could smell it: almonds.

liqueur my sweet ass



“what’s that, my sweet toxin?” his eyebrows raised.



“i said i like this song.”

their eyes hold for a long moment.

then smiles.

the teeth still hiding.

waiting...



...remembering

she walks slowly away from him, the walls and floor closing on her like the jaws of a huge gaping maw. he advances. she knows fear, and it becomes her with every tenuous step. his heels are thunder on the painted cement, slowly advancing. the jaws close and he is upon her. hands on her neck, fingers strong. squeezing.

her eyes. so expressive right now. so true. and he loves her as he crushes the life out of her. and she sinks into him like he were the sea.

sinking...



he breaks away from her and casts his eyes upon the sultry dancing curves of flesh encompassed as a girl, over there. he must be careful lest toxin read his thoughts. she could do that, at times.



“what are you thinking?” she asks him.



“oh, nothing,” his voice a chocolate sweet, the lie a rum cherry hidden within.

stay over there - get toxin to look

“that slut needs a good spanking.”



she runs her tongue across her teeth, careful not to cut herself.



he waits, eyes unblinking, from the girl to her.

and back again. feigning lust wasn’t difficult, but he had to be careful not to get lost in it. she’d see it and he would be caught.



her eyes go sleepy, lids sinking.

languid, lazy.

she turns to the girl as though resined. or bored.

but inside, she knows.

she sees his posture change as she turns, notes the shoulders pull back ever so slightly.

he thinks he’s tricked me



she allows herself a crooked smile on the side of her mouth facing away from louse, revealing fangs like little shards of glass. she watches the girl dance, moving, turning like smoke.

“i think i just might dance,” says toxin. “why don’t you order us some champagne? i think my drink has gone flat."

sucker

+ + + + + + + + +



his eyes bulge and his face turns purple.

but how? i’m dying



she smiles around her glass of champagne.



his eyes recede like the waning tide into her wicked visage. “how?” is all he can manage as his throat begins to close.



she rubs her lips together, regarding him, then kisses the air towards him, blowing him a spell, allowing him...



...to see... she rises, saying she wants to dance...he sees her moving through the crowded dance floor. now she is before the girl, dancing sultry. he sees all this even though his back is turned, ordering the champagne at the bar. she is rubbing a salve onto the girl’s lips.

whispering in her ear. a tiny vial and a careful drop of viscous death.

now he is at the table, the three of them. pop goes the cork. the girl is kissing toxin. kissing him.

poison mouth



toxin carefully rubs her lips with a paper napkin. they retain the waxy coat from the salve.

the girl is gone. she has been paid off and waved away.

now toxin smiles, fully revealing all her teeth. sharp little shards of multicolored broken glass. triumphant eyes.

"gotcha!"



as his vision blurs and he can no longer really see, he reaches out to her. she takes him in her arms, holding his head to the swell of her breast, calming the convulsions as his body dies. his throat is closed now and he cannot speak, but she hears him all the same.



toxin my love, you have murdered me yet again. how sweet is death in thy loving arms



and toxin replies,



please try harder next time, louse my love, so that i may perish with you. death is so much the sweeter when we share it together. now hush, i feel flames rising - one of the dark ones must be near.

it is time for us to be going

toxin
03:25 Feb 20 2006
Times Read: 581

toxin is a series of short stories i have been writing for a while. i will be posting them here in my stories journal, for your pleasure and my, something. writing the stories is an opiate to me. the pain is less for a while.



there are three different story lines:



- vincent and miranda - demon twins who have just recently escaped hell and chosen new bodies. they are pure chaos, and love fucking with people, because it's fun but mostly because they can.



- toxin - two little monsters, toxin and louse. they really ought not exist here, and because they are so impossible, no one can see them. well, almost no one.



- vodka tears - he hasn't a name, but he does have a couple of vultures following him around everywhere. god, i hate that. and the sides of my skull feel like walls closing in. wait, that's what he would say. i gotta remember to keep reality seperate from the stories. otherwise...



have a nice day. grrrrr. oh yeah, my nom de plume is minski. if you want to call me names, use that.

Vincent & Miranda
02:59 Feb 20 2006
Times Read: 582

#3 synaesthesia



"That girl dances like a piece of wood," says Miranda, lip curled

like a disgusted Elvis.

"Driftwood," agrees Vincent.

"Ought to be illegal, that."

"Her, or the dancing?" he asks, swirling the tiny black straws around in his drink, clinking the ice against the glass. A hypnotic sound.

"Both."

"Judge and jury?"

"Quite." She has a red martini, and holds the glass delicately, pinky finger extended out. She sips with her eyes closed, pits of coal under her brow waiting for the brilliant orbs of her eyes to open, and when they do, the full force of her emerald gaze falls upon the offending dancer across the floor.

"Why do you insist on holding your glass like that?"

"Marie did it," she says with a pout.

"Ahh, memories again, hmm? Your Black Venus?" His eyes narrow upon her. "You miss her do you?"

She sips her drink again, seeming to ignore him.

"She was tasty, no?" Vincent swirls the straws, clinks the ice. Hypnotic.

Miranda turns away from him on her stool, eyes blazing. The dancing girl stumbles, then regains her step. She looks around for a moment, had someone pushed her?

"Mmmm, yes," continues Vincent with a wicked smile. "She tasted like peaches."

Miranda finishes her drink.

"Or was it plums?"

Miranda smashes her glass onto the floor and gets up. She glares at Vincent, who simply smiles at her, eyebrows raised.

"She was different," she says to him, her lip trembling.

"No she wasn't," he says, his look turning vicious. "She was a piece of meat, just like the rest of them. Don’t you ever forget that. You had your fun. Don’t attach more to it than what it really was."

“Damn your eyes.”

“Satan have mercy on my long distress. Don’t be angry with me, dear sister. I’m not the one who killed your sweet Marie.”

“I’m going to raze this place to the ground,” she says, the fire in her rising.

“Yes Mira. Fury's lust, voluptuous hatred. That which I have so carefully cultivated in you tonight. Let it all out, now."

Miranda heard him, but as though from another room, or from yesterday. She had death to invoke. And she was hungry for it; it almost consumed her: someone had to pay.

Vincent read her look.

“Starting with that piece of wood right there.” He looked across to the little dancing bitch. “Let’s light this place.”

“Indeed,” says Miranda, now grinning certain death.

“Shall we?” he asks, offering his arm and leading her to the dance floor.

“We shall.”

And she sees the flames, blue fire, like on the sides of a hotrod, crawling up the walls and over the floor and around the tables, licking everyone in the place with sweet revenge. She smiles as the screams rise about her and Vincent, dancing likes Vaudeville twins.

Only now did the two of them truly feel alive. This was the only reason why.



-minski