It was a sickeningly cold night. That type of chill which seeps into your bones paying no mind to the clothes hanging off your flesh. It had rained earlier that day. The pavement was soaked in it. It made the nauseous smell of waste and smoke and vomit hang in the air, saturating us pitiful creatures. I inhaled deeply holding the poison in for a moment.
Around me was the city. It was all deafening with its noises vindictive of a Saturday night. I listened to the subway roar beneath the pavement hide of the metropolis. I could hear the mutterings of the earth-killing exhaust and in the distance a gunshot ending some poor bastard’s time here. I love the city. The darkest secrets are easily concealable here, lost in the cracks between the towering buildings, seeping into the gutters with the oily rain. My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of flesh hitting flesh. I turned back to peer into the shady alley I was loitering in front of. My eyes adjusted to look into that gaping maw and then, illuminated by the pale glean of a blood red neon bar light two men were fighting. The sound of their struggle echoed against the comfortingly obscene city noises. It didn’t matter what the two men fought over. What mattered was the rage. I cooled against the sad brick wall at the mouth of the street. My white suit stood out against the black urban night like a skull in a pool of blood.
Another punch landed and a thin rag doll fell to the ground. A hulking bear stood over him, clothes torn and white frothing from his gaping jaw. His hulking torso rose and sank with each whiskey stained breath. Warm red syrup coated his hands as he looked down at his work. There was an echo of frosty footsteps tapping through the wet alley as I approached him. I could smell the alcohol on this gargantuan man. He was hesitating. How horridly annoying when they loose their nerve, and he was doing so well too. This was taking far too long. I leaned up near his quivering head and whispered,
“It’s not done. Look at his ragged breath.”
The whiskey drowned man half turned and slurred, “Naw he … learned his lesson.”
“He did not. Behold he breaths. He will say it again.” I knew to keep my voice cool, confident. This man had to know that he was in the right… or at least believe that with enough confidence to do his job.
The man hesitated. He doubted. I leaned in closer, so close I could see his oversized veins pulsing. See the half grown whiskers and the scars of broken bottled bar brawls. Then I whispered again the insults that came from the man on the street… or rather the insults I claimed had come from him. The rage returned. I could tell. His body shook and his small fraction of logic shattered. Blood red vision saw his own hand land on a defenseless skull. I imagine he stopped when he felt the head give way like a bloody sponge. The whiskey infected man sat in horror, blood stained pearls falling from his eyes.
“You should go. The police are on the way.” I tried not to smile but one only has so much self control. I leaned down and handed him my handkerchief. “Do not worry. He will never say anything again.”
The bear like man looked up at me and I adjusted my tie in the reflection of his teary eyes. He stared at me confused then angry then pleadingly. “What have I done?” he whined. I rolled my eyes. They always give me that look like it wasn’t their fault. That sad puppy, please forgive me look. He could not know. Could not understand.
“You’ve done what you were made to do. Be a man about it. This is what you wanted wasn’t it?” He shook his head trying to negate my words but I would not relent. “You wanted him dead. You were driven by wrath. You needed him dead for the things he said. Be not ashamed. It is your nature to hate. It is your nature not to see that you just murdered a brother. It is how you were made.” I smiled at him and thought for a moment he might hit me. That would have been entertaining although highly uncivilized. No he did not have it in him. Not at this point anyway. He looked at me momentarily then at the body and stood unsteadily. I watched for a moment as he desperately ran away, listening to his sobs and the clapping of his boots on the sidewalk. The smell of his whiskey poison lingered in the air and I could feel the dampness beginning to seep in. He would be arrested the next day and executed two months later. Mores the pity, but it was time to move on.
I looked into the sky as I pulled my long coat up over my shoulders. The night was young. There was much to do but this would not be the place to find what I needed, what I craved. I walked alone for most of the night until I stumbled upon a Goth Club. The name escapes me but it was one of those small places populated by teenagers trying to live up to the fad of having miserable lives. A refuge for lost souls trying to escape good parents. A haven of safety pins and eye shadow, heavy music and dim lights, poor poetry and skewed illusions of love and death, a place where kids came to look grown up. Exactly what I was looking for.
The heavy door opened letting out the darkness momentarily until it slammed shut behind me. A dim red glow accompanied the stench of clove cigarettes surrounding us like a blanket. We were trapped in this confined and wretchedly hot tomb. Sweaty black garbed bodies swayed against each other to the drab music, all crowded together to not feel alone, but none speaking so they don’t feel together. There she was. It didn’t take long at all. A vampire girl dancing towards the back of the crowd all watching some anonymous band. Her clothes were simple but elegant, the way I like them: a simple black slip without the body to fill it yet. Her eye’s lids were stained black and her hair, hung like midnight down her neck. Her skin was snow and she turned to me, red contact eyes exploring my face. I grinned and she smiled back, a sweet smile. A white suit, she’d think I was ready to play vampire, to sweep her off her feet to magical worlds of shadow and eternal night. It was far too easy, no fun at all. She came directly over and touched my arm. Her fingers were warm rose petals against my hand.
“So what’s your name” She said in a sultry, inexperienced voice. Good, I was looking for innocent.
I whispered my name in her ear and she smiled. I did not ask her her’s. She’d tell me on her own. Sure enough, “I’m Delilah… but my friends call me Siren.” She whispered it like some dark secret she keeps hidden from all but the most interesting of characters. I’d humor her for now. I still needed to catch this fish before I gutted her.
“Siren, sexy name” She tried to hide her pleasure but she was blushing straight through the white powder that painted her face. I could smell her perfume. A birthday gift from her parents, or perhaps an aunt. Expensive, I knew the scent. “So how old are you Siren?”
“…22” She answered. She was no more than seventeen. “and you?”
“24” We both lied. Most things are founded on lies. Nations, loves, religions, most just intricate, complicated fictions. I digress. Siren and I conversed for sometime. It was her pride that I noticed. It seeped out of her. It infected every word that slipped past her black painted lips. It was in her dress, her make up, her overpriced purse. She wanted to be loved, needed to be loved. Her pride made her lie, tell me that her parents were drunks, that her dad abused her. She needed to be admired. I love pride. My favorite sin. It’s the gateway drug to the rest of evil’s domain. It was an easy thing to get her to follow me out into the night and get into a cab.
The cab was dirty, smelled of cigars. She was nervous, I could see her skin tighten and for a moment I thought I heard her heart racing. Should I push her now, or maybe wait… like I said, one can only have so much self control. I leaned in and pressed my lips to her extended pale neck. I could smell her vanilla skin beneath that perfume. She shivered and turned to me. I didn’t really care what she had to say, so I kissed her, it kept her from talking. I had directed the driver to take us to my club. It was a darker place than hers. No lights, no effects just music. Music and … tools. We pulled up to the club and I stepped out of the car helping her along. There was a sad, depressed line of people, like souls waiting for Hades. The night was colder now and the moon illuminated the street so white light glimmered off the wet cold pavement. I lead her along past the line and through the door. The bouncers knew not to stop me; the owner owed me… a fairly large debt.
Siren was enchanted but she tried not to show it. Her eyes sparkled with the lights of the doors. We entered and the warm rush washed over us like a wave. All senses were assaulted from all sides. The pale blue lights helped us see the silhouettes of beautiful dark people, playing together in the night. The music heavy and thumping steadily, trapping everyone in its beat slammed around us. The smell of bodies and alcohol seeped into our veins. Then Mariah saw me, it didn’t take her long to run up and kiss me deeply. I could taste rum on her ruby painted lips. It was a short kiss, all business. We exchanged a few words but I made sure to keep my eyes on Siren. She was furious, ah the envy… and the wrath. Mariah flirted, as she always did. But when I turned back to my Siren and smiled she would not show her feelings, again we fall back onto our vanity. Her pride would not allow me to see that I hurt her. She wanted to show no weakness. Oh how weak she was being by covering those weaknesses. My trap was set and she had already fallen into it. I led her through the ocean of people, all of them empty faces. Bodies collided to the music and as we reached the VIP room she turned to Mariah. Siren whispered that we should be alone. I licked my lips, the Greed. Mariah was easily dismissible. I opened the crystal blue door to reveal a silvery heaven of a room. It reeked of sex and vodka. The portal shut behind us and we were alone. Her skin was like silk against mine. She was inexperienced, but she had a good idea. I stopped her though. There was still something else to touch upon. My hand slid into my pocket and I felt cold metal, in a rectangular shape. She was looking at me curiously, her hair sliding over her shoulders as she cocked her head. Her arousal could be smelled and she was becoming impatient. I contained my glee as I removed the silver container from my pocket and sat on the couch. The container opened and upon a reflective surface rested a dangerously suggestive white power. She stared.
“Is that…”
“It is.” I answered. “Try it… or if you don’t think you can… it’s ok”
Her expression of doubt was wiped from her face and a hardened glare of defiance took its place. “Of course I can, I do it all the time!” The vanity was pouring from her, spilling out of her mouth and her eyes, seeping out of every orifice. She knelt down in front of me and there was a sharp intake of breath through her nose. I could hear it. I smelled the powder lost and dissolved in the air and she was infected. I could see her expression change. It was in her blood now and she wanted more. Gluttony. She knelt down and another line disappeared into her nostril. I grinned and she leaned into me. We kissed, the taste of drugs was her breath, leaking down from her sinuses. Any doubts and any morals fell off her with her dress. Her body was young, soft. The feel of her skin was like fire and that perfume filled my nostrils as I laid her down beneath me. Velvet cushions surrounded us and with a sharp intake of breath I was inside of her. I took her fiercely, passionately.
A few hours later she lay spent upon the couch tears dripping from her running eye shadow. I finished dressing and grinned hissing “Lust” into the still air. She tried to stand but the drugs had an adverse effect. Her vanity; so much on her first time. She tripped over her unsteady world back onto the cushions. Sobbingly she begged “Where are you going?”
I turned and looked at her in bewilderment, “To destroy something else beautiful” as if she should have already known the answer.
She looked at me in horror as I stepped out into the abandoned club. She would never see me again. I did not glance back. Enough damage had been done, sloth would take care of itself. Her illusions and hopes gone, the addictive toxins in her veins, indeed sloth would take care of itself.
I left the building, an empty carcass of the previous night, and looked down the abandoned city street to see a pale night sky being murdered by a rising sun. The blood was already dripping along the horizon; soon the yellow bullet wound would be visible between the buildings. I looked around and smiled at the addicts lying in the alleys and the hookers seeking shelter in their run down apartments. How many could be saved by one another? I looked towards the empty sky. So many people looking up for a god who has abandoned them. None of them realizing that their salvation is standing beside them, heads craned up searching for the same god. Brothers betraying each other, filling their bodies with amber death and poisons as plentiful the stars. What sin drives them to live such pointless existences, to destroy each other and not realize that their killing themselves. I watched the creeping deaths pull themselves through the gutter, needles of delectable white venom pumping through their bodies, bottles of intoxicating hell spilling down their throats. They all die alone and abandoned blinded by their vanity, all too proud to help, all too proud to ask for help. This is the way the world will die. As long as people are tied to crosses by their Pride I will be the puppet master pulling the strings and making them dance their way to Hell.
