Stumbling into A Vampire (Completed)

Chapter 25

New York 1950s

 

Damon’s POV

 

I had spent most of my time after Sarah’s death drunk. The fifties were no better than the 20s and I tended to avoid my brother who at one time had been my best friend.

I was alone. I always would be, when I got close to people things failed and I didn’t mind anymore.

The protests and boycotts of today were selfish and petty. Blacks still wanted there rights. I grew up in a world where blacks were slaves. Now they could go out in public on their own. Maybe they weren’t welcome in all the same places as the whites, but they were still welcome in some places and they didn’t have masters. What other rights did they really want?

I guess I was biased. To be honest, I just didn’t care. I didn’t care about anything anymore. My everlasting life was dull now. Boring. My high was when I was draining some poor innocent girl that foolishly fell for my charm. I had just recently finished drain a pretty little thing and left her in the alley. I white my lips on the handkerchief I was holding and then threw it to the ground.

With the fresh blood coursing through my veins I felt damn good. This is what I didn’t like about the 50s. I was in a good mood, at night and I had nowhere to go. In the 20s you couldn’t walk two blocks without coming across some kind of dance club or blues club. Now I wandered the streets looking for some way to entertain myself.

“Hey, you,” I heard from across the street.

I turned to see a group of jocks glaring at me. A car past and I considered disappearing with it. All I needed was a bunch of air-head jocks to ruin my some-what good mood.

“Who me?” I raised my eyes brow at him, my hands deep in the pockets of my leather jacket. That’s another thing. Men had style in the 20s, and certain class. In the 50s you were either a greaser or a square. I chose greaser, because . . . well the bed boy always gets the girl.

“Yeah, you, punk,” The head jock started across the street with his posy close behind.

“How may I be of service to you?’ I said sarcastically.

“Hey, you better show some respect, greaser,” He growled.

“And why is that?” Slouching as I was, I was about eye level with him. Who was he to tell me what to do?

“Because, I am not in to generous of a mood tonight,” He smirked cracking his knuckles.

“And what made you decided to pick on little-ol- me?” I said with my now constant sarcasm.

“I saw you with Sally Mathews earlier today,” He became angry.

“You saw me personally or one of your minions told you that?” I leaned against the building behind me and pulled out a smoke lighting it.