contempt; miw short stories

one: CREATURE

Chris then pulled a freshly sharpened hunting knife from his denim pocket. He brought it to the lifeless girl's neck. He dug it into the side of her throat, right over the spot his fangs were sheathed, to conceal his dark secret. He didn't want to expose his species with an act of carelessness. After his scene was transformed into that of an ordinary murder, he left the girl to rot in the dark alley. Chris slit her throat further and smeared blood onto her white dress, making tears and cuts into it here and there.  A few strands of the girl's hair were stained red from her blood. The scene was quite gruesome, just how he wanted it.  He made sure to wipe any excess blood off of his face before exiting the alley.  Chris always made to be as neat as possible. But not with the body, of course.  He was akin to the Pollock of murders.

He walked home, hands shoved deep into his jean pockets with his thumbs sticking out of the front, taking in the quiet scenery under the midnight moonlight.  His black leather boots thudded against the concrete pavement and squeaked lightly as his lanky figure walked down the pavement.

He lived in an apartment building nearby and didn't mind the walk. Actually, he enjoyed this late-night stroll. He found it calming. Sure, it was a sketchy neighborhood, but he wasn't really worried about that anymore. He knew he was the most dangerous thing living there. He wasn't worried about the drug deals that went wrong, murderers that could possibly live in the apartment that was right beneath his, or even the rapist living in the apartment across from his, whose victims he could hear scream for help while everyone ignored them and minded their own business. They knew they should have done something about it but they would rather live than get shot by the felon who robbed women of their purity. Hell, Chris could crush a mortal's windpipe with a gentle squeeze of their neck, he didn't make it obvious, though.  His tattooed body, three lip piercings, and the makeup he wore did make him look humanly dangerous but, in reality, he was so much worse.

Chris pushed open the rusted doors of his dingy apartment building. He nodded towards the fifty something year old man – who was exhausted and obviously regretted taking the night shift – that sat behind the front desk as a form of "hello" before he made his way towards the elevator door. His tattooed index finger pressed the up button, and the big metal doors opened. He stepped into the box and pressed the number six, and leaned his back against the wall, head thrown back and eyes closed.

The paint on the walls of the enclosed metal box was peeling off in every corner, surrounded by cobwebs. One of the railings was lying on the dirty floor after being broken off of the wall. It could have been used as a weapon for all Chris knew. The whoosh of the big metal doors opening notified Chris to open his eyes back up, push himself off of the wall, and exit the disgusting elevator. The hallways of the building weren't any better either.  The wall paper was peeling, there were dents in the drywall, dirty shoeprints on the worn-out grey carpet, and much more.

Chris' long legs carried him to his apartment, number 669, though he originally wanted number 666. Of course, it was already taken when he had moved in.  He didn't particularly like his apartment but he didn't hate it either.  It was a roof over his head and it satisfied his needs. Plus, the rent was easily affordable.  He didn't have a high paying job but he did make money.  Currently, he worked as a bartender at night.  It paid him a standard fifteen dollars an hour and he also received tips.  This was the job that got him turned into a creature of the night.  During the day he worked as a piercer in a tattoo shop which also made him a decent salary.

Chris dug his keys out of his pocket and they jingled, the sharp sound annoying him, as he unlocked the door before entering his apartment. He took off his leather jacket and laid it over the back of the beige couch.  He made his way to the kitchen sink to thoroughly wash his lightly lipstick and bloodstained hands with his dish soap. Once he was more than sure that they were clean, he shut the water off and proceeded to dry them with a fresh paper towel.

His apartment looked quite lovely, to be quite honest. He furnished it with neutral colors like beiges, browns, and black – maybe a deep red accent here or there. Most would expect all black everything with chains and candelabras scattered throughout his apartment, considering he is a vampire, but he made it look cozy. Sure, he doesn't sleep but he would be in questioning if he didn't have a bed.  It was nothing spectacular, just your standard queen-sized mattress with a comforter and two pillows. The bed usually went untouched unless if he was hooking up with a woman that he found attractive, which didn't happen often. His fridge was basically empty, it had a few bottles of water in it and some ice in the freezer.  Good thing Chris never had casual company, they would have found him out from the start.

That would have been a disaster, he has thought about the consequences time after time.  He always found himself reflecting on what had happened in these last three and a half months. He sometimes missed his old life but he'd grown so used to what he is now and couldn't see himself regressing back to his old self.  He knew that it was impossible to fully do so.

Another thing he knew for sure was that he missed his Gaia. She was his beloved girlfriend of three years and he had finally popped the question back in March.  Now, it's the middle of October and Gaia has been dead since mid-July.  All because Chris just happened to be taking out the trash at the end of his shift that awful night.  He even remembered how bad the bite stung, the man – whom he still doesn't know the identity of – had turned him into a monster, something that you would think only existed in fairy tales and urban legends.  He was a walking, unsuspected, nightmare.

He remembered the excruciating pain he felt circulate through his whole body, the venom coursing through his bloodstream and contaminating every drop of his own blood.  The way he fell to his knees behind the bar at which he worked and all the tears he shed that night were burned into his memory.  When he arrived to his and Gaia's house that night, he was blood-thirsty.  He didn't know how to handle his hunger, he was merely a newborn.  His lack of control resulted in him lunging at his fiancée and killing her, drinking her blood and having to clean up the whole mess afterwards.  Guilt and sadness were all he felt, it was his fault and he knew it.  Soon after he had moved out of that house. All it did was remind him of Gaia and how much he missed her.

Since Chris was now unable to experience the sweet feeling of sleep, he has every hour of the day to be reminded of his biggest regret. Gaia was the girl of his dreams.  She had pin-straight black hair that fell a few inches below her shoulder, flawless, pale, skin, a small frame that made her stand at least foot shorter than Chris who was an inch over six feet. She always had a contagious smile on her face. The two of them had many of the same interests and connected with each other so quickly, Chris never would have pictured himself getting married – let alone being in a committed relationship for more than six months – that's how he knew that she was the one.  He had never felt such a strong love or appreciation for someone that wasn't his parents.

He tends to keep to himself now, in precaution to never make the same mistakes again, plus the fact that he'd convinced himself that love is a heaping load of bullshit. Though, he has learned to control himself and clean up after himself a lot better, he still never wants to take that kind of risk with anyone ever again.  He never wanted to hurt himself by murdering someone he confided in.  He broke his own heart and he didn't plan on fixing it.

To distract himself from the burden of his thoughts, Chris reads quite frequently, ranging from plays to autobiographies.  Honestly, he was quite intelligent.  He read things from most genres – he couldn't be picky since he had so much free time with almost nothing to do, when he wasn't working of course.  Sometimes, he'll write his own things but they all go unfinished – works in progress is what he prefers to address them as.  This was one thing he enjoyed about not needing to sleep, the leisurely reading and occasional writing, they were the only of few things that kept him occupied.

Chris often wrote of love, though he chose not to take part in the acts of it ever again.  It was just one of the things he remembers genuinely enjoying.  He often based his fictional romance pieces on his relationship with Gaia.  It was quite unhealthy to hold onto someone for so long after they've gone but he just could not let go of her.  He felt she was the only thing keeping him alive, even if she wasn't alive herself. He'll never forget her and he hopes her spiritual presence follows him during his eternity as a merciless killer until his time somehow comes.