Death dancing slowly

FSK 18 - Trigger Warning



Written while thoroughly inebriated – or shall I say ’shitfaced‘? – after reading too much of Anne Rice’s voluptuous style in her ‚Vampire Chronicles‘.

    FSK 16

I longed for her since the first time I saw her. Every fibre of my body was drawn towards her presence, and I simply couldn’t take my eyes off her anymore.
I breathed her, the warm, luscious fragrance of her silk like skin, the waft of blood scent emanating from her rosebud cheeks. I heard her, the whisper of her hair moving hardly visible while she danced so slowly; so bright and blond, a golden veil flowing over her shoulders. I even felt her, how she moved the air with her slender body.
I could have spent hours just watching her move to the slow music from the old jukebox in the corner of the bar.
I immediately had realized that she was there on her own and very insecure. The shyness of her eyes betrayed her, while she looked from one face to the next, searching for any sign that it was better to leave and run away.
But the men at the bar were caught in their beer ignited fantasies, already too drunk to walk more than a few steps. So she went for the jukebox and started to dance.
When I reached her and touched her it was fulfilment. All my senses were flooded by her scent and view and sound. How blue her eyes were, how black and long the lashes around them, how pure and questioning they looked into my face! But when I scanned her mind I realized that she was not an angel.
This girl had killed – more than once. And her mother had screamed when she had seen the knife in the blood drenched fist of her beloved daughter. We would make a perfect couple although she’d be the last one to realize.
I smiled at her and asked her if she’d care to dance with me – it would be better than dancing alone anyway. She agreed silently, the corners of her mouth moving upwards for hardly a second.
„You’re a very beautiful girl.“ I whispered into her ear, kissing her hair and likeing it so much that I nearly loughed.
Her shoulders stiffened, full of suspicion. „Why do you say this?“ she asked, drawing away from me.
„Because it’s true. You are beautiful. Really, you should be, let’s see… how about a model?“
She giggled – a tiny sound, barely audible to my ears. „I’m beautiful, but not that beautiful.“
„Oh yes, you are!“ I contradicted with a broad smile. „And you should definitely practice how to accept flattery from a gentleman. Now come with me, I’ll take you someplace.“
„But I want to stay in here… “
„Are you afraid of the dark?“
She didn’t answer.
„Well, come with me and I’ll set it alight for you.“ Persuasion has always been my best and it didn’t fail this time as well.
So we walked down the lonely little street in front of the bar, talking nonsense about how black the sky was and how the moon and stars were staring down on us with pride and distaste.
In the circle of light under one of the old streetlamps I suddenly stopped to lay my arms around her waist.
Her blue eyes stared into mine, first with surprise, then with slight horror.
„Never fear, angel. It will hurt just a little.“ I whispered, while the beat of her pulse grew louder an faster.
Oh, these dense sounds of life! Blood and heart and chanting veins, mingling with the rhythm of the breath to form a symphony, crying, calling, shrieking to me like the sirens of the old myths. Her skin was salty and I loved to feel the very small, very shiny silver knife, breaking it’s texture. And then the blood…
Thick and sweet, spilling from her; almost violating my senses as it touched my tongue. White hot excitement rushing through my body, filling it with the very essence of life.
Then the dazzling images began to rise from her mind. Sorrow and joy, mixed up with fear, curiosity and the great question of ‚Who am I?‘. Brilliant colours and emotions, a tiny hotel room with a view on a green valley somewhere in the south of France.
I danced with her forever in that circle of light; and while she grew weaker with every mouthful of blood, I, the damnest creature, dreamt of the damnest actions man can take.
How they killed each other for money and started wars just to secure their oil supplies. How science that was meant to help was used for genocide. How beliefs transformed children to hating soldiers and how hopes were used to make a father kill. It was Death all over, Murder and Hate. Somehow I felt at home.
Everywhere, every night, in small pools of light on the corners of dirty little streets.

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