The W_S collection

Um... some stories, need I say more?

Bread and Whine


It’s a funny thing death. Some people spend all of their life trying to prevent it; others try to bring it about. This “battle” between saviours and killers has gone on since the opening of Pandora’s box. I am of a comparatively new cult who is on neither side; we merely feed from the debris.

My name is Kristian Edgar Von. Kristian. It’s a strange name for someone as unholy as me. I have been a church-going, suburban, plastic-fantastic, stereotype like the others, if not for him. The man who introduced me to the cult of the night, and my blood red past. The man, who ruined my life.

July 18th 1951, a good day for most. The weather was fine in most places and my school was having a teacher-training day. My friends were all outside, having fun. I wasn’t. I’d love to be out there with them, but my Mother hates the outdoors. My Father, on the other hand, is an eco-warrior. There is a reason why my Mother hates the outdoors: when my uncle was a child, he was kidnapped whilst playing outdoors with my Mother. Ever since then, she has had a phobia of all things happy and nice and has strived to keep me away from all of the “Dangers of the outside world”. She only married my Father because of me. If she hadn’t got pregnant, she probably would have sued my father for rape. But, as I said, we all go a little mad sometimes…

Didn’t I say that already? How would you know? Do you think I’m telling you everything I have ever said or heard? Fine, I was going to indulge you with the next few interesting years of my life, but I can see that you don’t want to hear it. So, as you insisted on hearing the abbreviated version, my parents finally cracked when 15. They got a divorce and my mother sued my father for every penny he was worth. She won custody over me and used the money from the law suit to move the both of us to a castle in Transylvania. My father was found dead in a ditch a week later. You learnt your lesson? Did you see how interesting those last few years could have been? Good! Don’t question me again! Anyway, a few weeks after we moved to Transylvania, whilst I was in bed, I heard a knock. The knock that I now associate with death.

I wasn’t scared then, but I was slightly suspicious. The postman had already been and we didn’t know anyone in this country yet. I placed my ear to the floor in order to hear what was being said. I heard my Mother open the door. I heard a man’s voice. “Hello sister dear, can I see Kristian?” said the man, my Mother started screaming. “You bastard!” she screamed, “I thought that you were dead! You think that you can just waltz straight in here, ask to see Kristian and make everything better?” She stopped. She must have seen something; “I really didn’t want to do this, to either of you”. He fire. Two bangs, two lives.

When I heard the bangs, I ran downstairs faster than I had ever run. I feared the worst and I was desperately searching for an explanation other than the man, my Uncle, had killed my Mother. My poor, insane, paranoid Mother. When I opened the door into the entrance hall, my fears became reality. I saw the body of my Mother. She had a deep red hole in her head. She looked perfectly peaceful, the first time in her life that she looked normal. The other shot had hit a man behind my Uncle. The man was a colossal figure, at least seven foot high with bulging muscles and tiny eyes covered by even smaller sunglasses. He looked like the kind of man who could be hit by a lorry and hardly even notice it. After a few seconds, my uncle noticed me. “Hello Kristian” he said, quite casually “it’s time for your initiation”. And before I could even utter a sob, he was on me with supernatural strength and speed. He dragged me to the corpse of my dead Mother. He pointed at her and barked, “Eat!” I did. I wish I hadn’t, I could have ended my misery before it had even begun. But I didn’t. I ate, and it tore me up inside, but I continued ripping the body parts from the main body and devouring them. I felt an itch in the back of my mind to go on, and I carried on surrendering to it. When I’d finished, my uncle told me to come with him and embrace my destiny. All I remember after that was the one word that which I screamed at the top of my voice over and over again, and even more in my nightmares. The word I screamed throughout all of eternity. “No” then I blacked out.

When I woke up, the first thing I noticed was my teeth, they were pointed! I felt a breeze, I was naked. I looked down expecting to see my hairy, 15 year-old body. But all I saw were tattoos. All of the tattoos had one thing in common, vampires! I looked ahead and saw my uncle’s dead body and my mother’s stripped bones, lying next to a smoking gun and a calendar with the word “guilty” written on it. I felt the urge again, but this time it was stronger… uncontrollable. I gave in and ate. And from that moment on, I was an official member of the cult of the night.

2500

It was a dark day; of course all of the days were dark since they built the freeway. John was swimming to the shop to buy dinner for his family. He had set off several hours early so that he could swim slowly and save energy. John’s great grandfather had been a reptilian human crossbreed. When the freeway was built, a great cloud of polluting fumes covered up the sun and made it impossible to find a good basking spot. Although, being a reptile did have its advantages, his scaly tail and webbed feet are perfect for swimming. When the icebergs melted and flooded a large majority of the land, people were forced to live in the penthouse apartments of skyscrapers and swim everywhere. This means that there was very little living space and that many people had to cram into each apartment block.

As John swam past a discarded newspaper, he noticed a very peculiar headline: “Fish shares down”. To you this may seem ordinary, but in the year 2500 the newspapers are all filled with news from the Great War. Due to the mass flooding, cost of land skyrocketed and every surviving country fought desperately for each other’s land. The newspapers now have the headlines “War looms over Belgium” or “No place to hide”. John had been thinking about this so hard that, when he reached his destination, he didn’t even notice that the ladder to Mr. Pinucci’s pizza had disappeared. He was pulled out of his pool of thoughts by the moment of dark surprise as he painfully scraped his knuckles on the wall where the ladder should be. After a few minutes of wandering what happened, he felt something brush against his feet. The drowned body of Mr. Pinucci. The water must have risen and flooded Mr. Pinucci’s shop, drowning him and his family. This just goes to show, thought John; there really is “No place to hide”

Torture

Oh thank god, your awake! How much do you remember? Your eyes! They are as red as what is left of your wrists! Why aren’t you talking? We need to talk to keep our spirits up. What have they done to you? Your tongue’s gone! Man, that’s just a stump. What did they take it off with? A spoon?! Are you in pain? The malevolent scum who did this, do they have no soul?

I’m starving, how long have we been here? Oh, sorry.
“CRASH”
What was that, is someone there? Are they coming for us again? You’ve been maimed enough, that means it’s for me what are they going to sever this time? But maybe it’s rescue!
“Argh!”
That was ghastly.
Did you hear that? Was it just me? This really is Torture.

The Dementia of Jonas Mizzen

There I was, my trust axe “steadfast” in hand. So close to freedom, when Rodger looks out of his window and sees me! “Jonas” he shouts “Jonas Mizzen”. Great, he remembered my name, now I’m a suspect. Of course, I actually did the “Crime”, but I did it for the good of Christianity! If one non-believer chokes on his own teeth in order to enlighten the world, so be it. I can just thank the lord that that Jew waited until now to remember my name. Anyway, I clutched my crucifix and prayed that he would shut up. My prayer was answered when the people in the white coats came and injected him with sleeping drugs. Whew. I continued my ascent.

When I finally reached the top, I saw him lying there. His youthful face twisted by his insane nightmares. At that moment, I saw all of my work reflected in his face, and I had a revelation. I did this. He is here, tortured and drugged up, because of me. A young boy, with his whole life ahead of him, has been destroyed by the very thing that I have been fighting for. Is it really worth all of this bloodshed?

His scull cap had been taken away when they came for him; he had been wearing it in preparation for his barmitzfah. That means that he is only 12. I had never thought of him as a boy before, I had merely regarded him as an obstacle. And then, as I had an axe raised above his head, I could finally see him as a human being. I couldn’t kill him, but if I didn’t, what would I do then?

Very good very good.

^ WTF? What's with all the blank posts?

Underage

I thought you understood me, I thought you understood how independent I can be. I thought you understood my wants and needs.

I know I’m underage, but that’s just a technicality. I still watch 18 movies, and I have all the same problems as an over 16. What difference does 1 year make anyway? I’m not going to get any smarter or responsible as soon as I turn 16. Besides, it’s not like you can be all high and mighty, I know about Pete.

Grandma told me all about what you were like when you were my age, all of your boyfriends, what you did with them. Yes, she knew, and I know. Of course, you probably think that you know everything about me; what I have done, what I will do, and what I’m doing right now. The truth is, you know nothing.

I know you’ll be saying right now “Oh, how’s she getting money? What does she do? It’s just typical of her ” well, you’re wrong. I’ve made a perfectly honest living working as a waitress. I get paid £5 an hour and I’ll soon have enough to rent a loft (I’m staying with friends until then). Once I have a roof over my head, I’ll start saving for a laptop, then I can get an internet degree.

In short, I don’t need you.