Home
Pretending
Copyright © 2005-2007 by Aster Rose - All rights reserved		 

Pretending
by Aster Rose
Sometimes I like to pretend I know what I’m doing. That I’m scandalous, with a model’s figure, and wear black leather every night to clubs. That I glide through endless crowds of dancing couples, occasionally stopping to seduce some hot guy and snatch a few drops of the crimson elixir I so crave. It is not so. Instead, I patrol dark alleyways and feed on the drunk and homeless, as much as I hate doing so. Lust, is the only thing I ever feel during those times, lust for the life I have lost, the life I take from others. I hate myself for it. Existence is hard. Hiding your true self is not difficult. Humans are ignorant and naïve, and if I went up to one and proclaimed my nature, they would only laugh, and call me a crazy b****. What is hard, what plagues what soul I have, if any, is the pain inside. Everything is sharper, better, a hunter’s senses. It forces you to want the old life, to appreciate what you had. To drown and die in emotion, or become cold, harsh. Every moment you feel the dark pull of Death, yanking at your collar to heel, and pad back to your grave. I wish I could. In the other direction is the pull of life, promising light and happiness, and bliss. If only. I am stuck in the middle of two owners, each claiming I am theirs, though I am neither.

The first night is the best one. It is when you’re still new, and all possibilities are open. It’s only one night. Your eyes are finally open to a whole new landscape of ideas, and you find yourself superior to the lowly being you once were. It’s all over too fast. They waltz you through this entire world that now belongs to you. Reborn, anything you’ve done in your past life is over. Right and wrong evaporates and nothing that you do is scorned. Then in an icy tone they inform you flatly of the basics, and as the pink and purple sunrise glows across the sky, they leave you. Alone.

I guess you’re supposed to know what to do. Instinct was your mentor for the rest of eternity. But I was only 15, still a child, it seemed, though I’d claimed to have lost childhood in fourth grade. I ran like a baby, trying to find the one who had spent that night with me, that night that had ended all too soon. The man who had taken me to this faeryland turned mean reality had said his name was Peter. I had to find him. He had to help me! I found another of my kind after searching for an hour. Her swampy blond hair was swept up into a messy bun, looking like an un-pruned bush. Eyes that were the dull color of mud, stared off into empty space, dry, chapped lips pursed in a matronly manner. A cigarette, half ash already, dangled limply from her long white fingers.
“Whadya want b****?” she grunted, never taking her eyes off the blank place in the air.
“Er.. well.. you see…….” I started, words miserably failing.
“You come here to be drank from? Who told you ‘bout me?”
“NO!” I practically screamed, baring my glinting teeth at her.
“New then. I suggest you go away and find some drunk b****** for your bread and butter. I ain’t a goin’ to find your food for ya.”
“I’m looking for someone,” I muttered. The girl took her eyes off the place in the air briefly to glance at me.
“Oh, really. Who?”
“Peter.” She chuckled softly.
“Peter. So that’s it. I was thinkin’ you din’t look quite right. He likes em young.” She snickered.
“Shut up! It’s not like I ****ed him or anything.”
“Ya never know,” the woman tapped her cigarette with one finger and the ash showered down on the filthy cement, before putting it back to her lips.
“Where is he?” I growled.
“Ya really want ta see him b****? That lecher?”
“Tell me!!!!”
“Down two streets on the right. There’ll be a bar there called The Scarlet. He’s always there this time a day.”
“Thanks.”
“Your virginity b****.”
“Whatever.”

End of Story - Pick another one

But before you continue ... any comments, corrections, etc. for this story will be greatly appreciated by the author. Other than a name we can associate with this and future comments, all requested information is optional and simply helps us understand our readership demographics.
Your comments are kept private and will not appear on this or any other web site. Although we value your input, neither the author nor weirdwritings.com is obligated to respond to them in any way. If this feature gets abused, it will either be removed or user registration will be required in order to make comments. Thank you for your cooperation.

Your name (alias is OK): 
The following information is optional. If you have previously made comments using the above name you may skip this part.
Your age: 
Your gender:
Your location: 

Your comments: