The Perfect Stranger

June 2, 2011
By Versimilitude BRONZE, Penfield, New York
Versimilitude BRONZE, Penfield, New York
2 articles 0 photos 0 comments

Favorite Quote:
Does this darkness have a name? This cruelty? This hatred? How did it find us? Did it steal into our lives or did we seek it out and embrace it? What happened to us? - One Tree Hill

“You what!” The last of my family stared at me, appalled. “You can’t do this! Xavier! Listen to me! Listen to your father! Look at me!” I rolled my eyes, I was so sick of it, so sick of not embracing whom I was, what I was, because it was looked down upon.

“It’s filthy your blood habit! Do you hear me? Disgusting! The diseases of the humans will kill you!” I stood up, my scruffy black boots looking out of place on the dark, crimson red carpet. I looked around the room, suddenly fully aware of what used to be my home.

The gold chandelier with it’s diamonds and rubies hung in the middle of the room as the centerpiece, the rest of the room with it’s expensive furniture and famous paintings merely helping accentuate the beauty of the chandelier.

My father began again, and I couldn’t help but notice how he stood almost a foot shorter than me. I scoffed at him; I used to think of this man as almighty, powerful, strong. Yet, here he was, merely a shadow of the vampire he once was.

“Come with me father! Join me!” I pulled him, so we stood together in front of the mirror, with its gold frame encrusted with rubies, the crimson light shining on my father and I.

The light bathed my father in what looked like blood, but with his thinning hair, that used to be a dark black sheen like raven’s feathers, now slightly washed out, and gray, he looked like the victim.

His body features didn’t help either; his eyes lost his clear diamond sparkle, his skin color lost it’s marble look, instead, it looked like a piece of blank paper left out in the rain, dank and ruined.

Whereas, I, with my hair as dark as the night sky and my eyes that look like clear crystal. The contrast was like diamonds on black velvet. My body and features looked like chiseled marble. I smirked in the mirror; I knew what I looked like. I looked like the predator, to my father’s victim. I was the strong vampire, to his meek self.

“Father, together we could rule. Like you used to. Remember how powerful you and mother were? Every vampire was able to roam the streets freely, every human’s blood- ours?” I stood behind my father, my pale, beautiful hands stroking his old, worn face.

My eyes, and my facial features softened, I needed to appeal to him, for without him the vampire world would surely remain in ruins. Without my father’s old power, old influence, I would never get anywhere. “Father, help me. Help me, father, please. Help your little baby boy. Help your little boy.”

Father’s face wrinkled, in pain? Sorrow? Disappointment? I didn’t know, but I did know that I had gotten a reaction, and that was good enough for me. I wrap my arms around his waist. “Daddy, I love you daddy. Mommy would have wanted us to rule. Mommy would have wanted this.”

Father started crying. Real crystal tears, with a sheen of crimson. I had gotten to him, I knew, but this was taking too long. “Daddy- please. Daddy.” Father turned around to stare at me; he placed both of his hands on my face. I flinched as I felt his disgusting saggy skin against my face.

That was when I lost him. He started crying harder, knowing that he disgusted me. That was when he began to preach. “God made us Xavier! We were his protectors! We have to stand by his will!” I growled, losing my patience and the façade that I was the good and loving son.

“So? What do you do then? Stop drinking human blood? Start drinking your own? Start teaming up with those sickening vampire hunters and their little stakes infused with garlic?”

I laugh. Vampires weren’t hurt my garlic, at least, most weren’t. The mind powers all, if you believed you would get hurt by garlic and stakes, you would, if you believed you were invincible, you would be, I was.

My father stammered, loyalty was the most important thing to him, and the mere idea of betraying his own kind, ashamed him. “I only tell them the location of where the disgusting human feeders are! They kill people Xavier!”

I whirled away from him, glaring. “So do I Father! So do I! I kill people! Are you going to sell me out too?” Father shook his head trying to reach out to touch my face once more. “Oh no my baby boy, no. I would never. You know I love you Xavier, you know I love you son.”

“Yeah right, Dad. You would have those filthy bloodhounds on me in a second. Werewolves they’re called? God’s new favorite to protect the world from us? And now instead of being protectors we’re those terrible ugly mean beasties, the vampires that have to be annihilated?”

My father shook his head, stricken. “No, I would never! They- those werewolves, they’re pure. They just came about; the length of their immortal life hasn’t corrupted them yet. They will help the cause.”

I was done, sick with his disgusting views on the world, the fact that the almost the whole vampire population frowned upon the drinking of human blood. As I walked out the house, I turned around and glared at the small man in the doorway.

“You used to be all-powerful. You used to be… What did they call you? Oh, yes. Dracula. The one written of, the one those scary stories are told about in the firelight. You shame me.” I plunged by marble hand into my father’s chest, right into his heart.

He always believed that the heart was a vulnerability that one had to have to truly live. For if you weren’t vulnerable with the one you loved, who would you be vulnerable with?

My father was vulnerable with me, and that was his downfall, I smiled at him as he stammered, “You’re…you can’t be my son. W-who are you?”

I just grinned, he was ashamed that the rogue vampire, me, was his son. I answered, “I am the perfect stranger father, and I just killed Dracula.” I pulled my hand out, letting him drop to the floor, dead. I licked my hand, which was coated in his blood. “Not bad.”

I walked off, the city lights above me, the wet pavement below me. I smiled; there was nothing more beautiful than the sound of fresh blood drops landing on pavement. Delicious.

There were a group of prostitutes near a club, but I felt myself grimace. I didn’t like women like that. They were easy, fast, and disgusting. Their blood already stained with the dozens of diseases passed through sex.

Then I saw her; her dark red hair flailed in the wind, her dark brown coat seemed to be the only thing keeping her to the ground. I walked up behind her and clasped my arms around her waist. She jumped, but the minute she looked into my eyes, all flailing stopped.

She got a sedated smile on her face, and her eyes got droopy. “Why…why are your eyes like that?” I smiled at her, the corners of my mouth pulled up in a predatory grin. “The eyes are the windows to the soul, I have no soul.” She smiled, as if what I said was the most beautiful thing she had ever heard.

I smelled her hair, her skin. I licked her skin below her jaw and felt her shiver. I opened his mouth wider, feeling my fangs grow out and pierce her soft tender skin. “Oh! W-wh-wh…” The pure ecstasy she was feeling, the pure bliss, was driving her incoherent. “Hmm?” I said my mouth still buried in her neck.

The blood, rushing into my mouth, was warm, heated, scalding my tongue. I smiled into her neck, the smell, the taste; the look of her was enough to drive me crazy with want and thirst.

I didn’t want to stop drinking, to answer any more questions from this beautiful treat, but that was part of it. It was part of my routine, I drank from humans, and it only seemed fair that they died with all their questions answered.

“Who are you?” She said, with her last dying breath. I smiled at her, a toothy, fang-y grin, and my mouth dripping blood. “Me? Oh honey, I’m the perfect stranger.” The girl died, her long dark red hair hitting the ground as I let her fall.

I drained her of her blood, and soon she was pale and empty, just like I was. I left her body there, for she served no good use to me anymore. I walked and wandered until I reached the dark room.

The dark room was this… library. The library of darkest fears it’s called, it was where the vampires who fed on blood stayed, reading books, trying to pass the time until their next meal. I walked in, pushing the door open, with an extravagance only I could accomplish.

The elders looked up, they were all called elders, but they looked young, strong, in their prime. One of them looked up at me, and raised a perfectly arched eyebrow.

“And who might you be?” I smiled and answered. “I’m the perfect stranger. I am Dracula, and I’m back from the dead.”

The author's comments:
I wrote this awhile ago before I began improving my writing and practicing on a daily basis. I hope you enjoy it :)

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