Flesh of a Ton — Bellamy Marie
For what the wind knows, this man is a vile creature.
His teeth sink deep into the supple flesh of a woman he found wandering the frigid streets of Manhattan. For the night’s air, he deems it be to his liking—warm, a light breeze that raises the hair on the mundane. That breeze that lures him to his victims. He swallows down the rest of his victim’s blood. The woman moans in pain, her eyes fluttering, and Thomas looks down at her with a glint of amusement. He drops the woman on the cold, wet concrete floor. He stands straighter, giving one last glance at the woman he just fed on before he smirks and begins walking. He steps over the woman as though she is a pile of rubbish.
The man’s heels click against the asphalt as he heads down the alley.
Moans of the woman he left behind are not enough to be bothersome, and he continues on, wiping his hands that are not at all filthy on his jacket. The bustling streets of Manhattan are a sound that is of much delight to him and he breathes a sigh of contentment—head held high once he leaves the alleyway.
Thomas suddenly halts—body becoming tense—as he feels the presence of another of his kind. He does not need to squint to see that there is a man’s silhouette a block ahead.
“What exactly are you doing, Thomas?” The man does not need to shout for his voice to be heard from a distance. It is a mere scolding and Thomas knows this other man to be his friend Francis.
As he approaches where Francis is standing with his arms crossed, he tuts. “I got a little hungry.” He breezes past his friend. “Am I not allowed a meal?” The blatant sass is not foreign, though Thomas’s thick Scottish accent simply appends to the attitude.
“And do not worry, the lass is very much alive.” Thomas adds, then shrugs. “I think.”
His black hair covers the top portion of his eyes; he runs a hand through his hair to tame it. He glances at Francis and notices him rolling his eyes while he scoffs. The dark haired man’s eyes linger on the other vampire for a few more seconds before looking straight ahead once more. To put it simply, Thomas is none other than the consumer of life itself. No other vampire the two have encountered hath been so content in stealing the life from the mundane. Perhaps there are thousands just like Thomas, but where they reside, Francis and Thomas do not know.
Of all their centuries of life, mayhaps they’ve simply missed them.
The gravel under their shoes is the only sound that reaches their chilled ears other than the loud October wind. The sun has begun to hide behind the horizon and is slowly beckoning the moon’s arrival in the sky. The sunset’s rainbow illuminates the faces of the two young vampires which casts a wonderful glow on their pale faces. The journey is done in quietude and it is quite comfortable.
They venture past street names they’ve memorized and past drunken men stumbling out of a bar. When Thomas descries them he sighs heavily through his nose. Truly, he does miss the euphoric feeling of the alcohol consuming his entire being, but he knows he shouldn’t. He much prefers to drink as much as he desires without having to worry of a headache come dawn.
Music fills their ears as they further walk to their shared home. It is a building of great luxury, thanks to the finances of Thomas. The doorman whose name Thomas has never cared to gain greets the two men, opening the door for them with a smile. Thomas hears Francis greet the man kindly before entering.
“Must you be so rude?” Francis asks as they enter the lift.
“He opens my doors—lad is lucky I don’t sink my teeth in that pretty neck.”
Francis sighs. “At times I wonder how you haven’t–”
“Do not tempt me, friend.”
The lift doors open to reveal their floor. Thomas saunters out, Francis follows. Their home lays at the very end of the corridor—ust the way they desire it to be. It overlooks the city and Francis is often found gazing down at the mundane that go through their life without knowing such vile creatures exist. Thomas thinks it to be a rather useless habit of his friend’s, but he can never truly say it aloud. He is not entirely cruel.
No further words are said.
Thomas lies on the sofa opposite the front door. The apartment is much too large for one, but less so with two. Both men stay in their respective spots as the chill of the wind creeps in through the gap in the window. From their level, the air feels quite different than that on the concrete below. The higher air that touches Thomas’ skin does not touch any others. He is grateful to the wind at times for the pure gentleness it provides.
In this space talk is not required—the two men can exist without having to prove their presence to one another.
Even though his last meal lies helpless in a pitch dark alleyway hundreds of feet away Thomas craves another. Again, he does not express it aloud and instead hums a tune to mask his desires. Francis has yet to discover why his friend does it. The levity of their shared home is enough to make Francis not suspect anything ill of Thomas’ behavior.
The moon’s arrival in the sky is sudden… or mayhaps Thomas simply dozed for too long and missed the parting sun. He continues to hum a tune he learnt from his days among the rivers in Japan. He does so for a few more moments, then heads for the kitchen, specifically the cabinet where they store all of their fine drinks.
Opening the cabinet, it does not creak, and Thomas sees the object of his desire sitting lovely in the middle, though he decides he shan’t grab it. Something else shall quench his thirst, and he must go out to get it with a simple fib—his favorite wine has gone dry in the bottle.
Thomas exits the apartment with ease as Francis bids him a soft farewell from his spot at the window. The streets still hold the occasional person wandering about. A man sings loudly the lyrics to a Queen song, and right then Thomas grimaces. That man shall not be drained of life—Thomas detests the band. He walks on.
And there, at the very edge of the crosswalk, stands a woman of lovely stature. She is the exact being Thomas craves, the very thing he shall drain. He does not grin nor does he speed to catch up to her; he simply keeps his slow stride as the woman walks across where no cars approach.
In the dead of dusk, Thomas finally reaches the woman. Whilst she does not hear him approach (nor would anyone), she turns anyway. She does not yelp and simply lends a smile.
Thomas offers a greeting of the evening and once she turns to continue her walk to her residence is when Thomas reaches out and grasps her forearm. In a flash, her body is flush against his and his pointed teeth sink deeply into her neck.
Gasping, grasping at his coat to attempt release, the woman still does not shriek nor shout. Thomas is glad for that, but her hands are relentless, and he holds her idle with ease. The streetlamp is broken, so no one could quite make out what it is that’s occurring, should anyone descry them. But there is no one here.
There is.
Thomas continues to drain the ruby red blood from her system. He hears a cry, a man’s cry, and he thinks it must be time to drop the woman and rid the world of yet another. But he knows this presence; he has felt it for as long as he’s been a vampire—Francis. Now that he knows that it is not a passerby, Thomas feasts.
His shoulders are grabbed, yanked backward and the woman falls as he’s startled. The force does not cause him to stumble. He simply wipes his mouth. “You’ve ruined my meal.”
“Your meal?!” Francis shouts. “That is my love!” He’s bent over her body, cradling her.
The beauty of the woman who held Francis’ heart so dearly did not dawn on Thomas. He did not recognize her features to be those of his friend’s love. She had scarcely been around him.
The sobs that emanate from Francis’ throat are tearing the wires of Thomas’ heart to shreds. He cannot bear to listen to such a thing without weeping himself. The woman is dead, Thomas knows it to be true.
The soulless being utters words of affection to the woman that no longer harbors the soul of his love. Francis attempts to stand, to bring his love with him, but the weight of his sorrow drags him down to his knees once more. He looks up at Thomas with seething ire Thomas has never witnessed. Francis shan’t kill the one who consumed the life of his love, for he truly has no one else. But he forever shall consume the lives of others to mend the gaping hole in his aching heart.
Bellamy (She/Her) is a writer who wishes to be an Author one day. She's currently not enrolled in university, but has a desire to return to school to study English Literature. She adores cats, film, reading, shopping, and sushi. If she is not writing in her room surrounded by candles and books, then she can be found amid the shelves of a library.
