Immortal Sangre

Immortal Sangre [Ch. 1] "Vampiric Wasteland"

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Immortal Sangre

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CHAPTER ONE

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"Vampiric Wasteland"

I was bored stiff as I sat at the bar and sipped my drink, a Bloody-Mary, real blood. The blond sitting next to me was my 'date' for the evening, my meal. She chattered away about something or another. I was not really sure what, for she could go on and on incessantly without any help or prodding from me. She did not seem to even break for a breath. All I had to do was nod and give the occasional 'oh's and 'awe's in the appropriate places for her to continue with whatever she was blabbering aimlessly about. I was hard-pressed to even remember her name, let alone what she was speaking of. She was a typical blond, following the stereotype of ditzy and curvy. She was nothing exciting, nothing new...

I sipped my drink, the chilled blood and vodka not doing much to help slake my thirst for warm, fresh blood. I eyed the pulse in her throat as she still jabbered on. Really, did this woman never shut up? I tried my damndest not to look even a fraction of how bored I was as she continued to speak, and once again took a sip of my drink. Her voice was beginning to grate on my raw nerves, the clenching of hunger in my stomach and throat adding to my irritation at her. My mind searched hers, simply for something to do.

There was nothing original. It shocked me how truly naïve of the world around her she was. She still thought the world to be a kind place where dreams come true and that the horror stories you saw on the news would never be her. Of course no one really wants to think it will be them, unless they are paranoia's bed-mate, but generally most humans accept the idea that it may or may not happen and try to ignore the thoughts of death just around the next bend in the road.

I sat straight on the bar-stool, looking into her eyes as she looked at me. She wasn't exactly shy of what she wanted. She wasn't going to get it of course, but I would get what I wanted. She was 23 years of age and that was all that really mattered to me. Her blood was aged to my tastes.

This will be easier to understand if you think of blood as wine. That is how it was explained to me. Every human has a different smell and taste to them, but generally they are all alike. All blood in general ages as wine would. The older, the richer. The younger...hmm, how to explain... the younger, the more like a grape, as in older is more to finely aged alcohol. Every vampire has an age preference. Older vampires in general seem to desire the thickly rich taste of the older humans while younger vampires seem to feed around their own age bracket until they get beyond normal human years, and then they generally tend to develop a taste for older blood. It all seems rather complicated really, and time consuming to think of. Not really. Simply choose an age of blood that suits your tastes, and go from there.

After all these years, over 200 hundred of them, of about 365 days a year and about one or two humans a day, I had taken thousands of lives. I had refined my tastes, and had even come to treat feeding as a game. Almost as engrossing as chess, but not quite. I made my move, the humans made their futile attempts, and then I won the game, taking their life from them in victory...

I sniffed lightly in the direction of the blond. She smelled of cheap, general store perfume, but underneath that was the salt and rust smell that taunted my tongue and thirst. The blood was perfect in her veins. She was simply the container, nothing more. Humans over the years had become simple cattle to me. I no longer found companionship from either their words or their embrace and no longer did I seek it. I did not even look to my own kind any longer for any kind of communication or contact. I desired to be with neither race, neither holding the interest for me that humans seem to think it would if they were to become one.