Audio Version of Chapter 1
Drown the Heart: Part of Chapter 1
She didn’t bother to cry out. Most of them don’t depending on how you do it. Yes, there are plenty of ways to make them miserable enough to scream and yell, beg or simply whimper depending on how sadistic you are. I’m not personally into torture. It doesn’t do anything for me to show someone that there are worse things than death.
I prefer that people maintain a healthy lust for living and would do anything to avoid the oblivion of eternal sleep. That’s not really difficult either if you’re at all patient. We do live in a world where we want everything so fast, we stop worrying about whether or not it’s actually real but when it comes to the seductive art of feeding, a vampire should know how to settle down.
Mary Paulson went out to a bar by herself. She was looking for that proverbial Mister Right and, like most every other person in America, went to the wrong place. You can’t seek out your perfect mate, not really. If it’s going to happen at all, it does so whether you want it or not, look for it or even deserve it.
I would’ve liked to make that clear to her because at the heart of everything that human beings hold dear, her desperate need to avoid loneliness is precisely what led her to me. As a result, I did what I always do and though I may not be love itself, you could definitely argue that the world’s favorite song topic put her in this dangerous position.
Charm has always been one of my greatest strengths, especially the passive type. Most killers possess it if you haven’t noticed. Think about the serial variety. When they go to prison, weirdos start fan clubs, hold up signs and offer to have their children. You thought celebrity worship was bad, at least all they’re doing is hopping on couches and heading to rehab. These maniacs killed, sometimes ate, sometimes raped and otherwise treated their fellow man like toys.
This could lead us down a path to consider whether or not society itself is sociopathic but that would mean that Mary’s story would have to wait.
That said, I exuded a genuine magnetism, the type that attracted victims like cats to yarn. They wanted to play, they wanted to bat but they didn’t realize that a wrong move could kill them. Devouring the fiber could destroy their insides, tangling the string could choke them but the excitement was worth the risk. Many people wanted to experience things much more than they wanted to live.
Perhaps that’s contradictory to self-preservation. It’s not. What it truly means is that people don’t think about dying until the impending moment is upon them. Then they change their ways, pray to God, promise things they’ll forget about later and generally struggle like a woman giving birth. That’s what they want after all. A second chance. Rebirth.
I noticed her the second she walked in. Dark hair was neatly arranged so that it framed her round face, the locks meeting her shoulders as she walked. The layers were highlighted blond, giving it an obvious texture that really brought the whole style together. Thick but contained, she was clearly proud of it and I honestly couldn’t blame her.
Blue eyes tried to adopt a haughty, confident air but desperation was stronger. The furtive glances about the room, combing each man as if he were a prospective buyer for the life she was selling, gave her away. She wasn’t there looking for a good time, she was looking to end the isolation her life had become. The light color of her irises gave away far more than if they had been brown.
She should’ve worn contacts if she wanted to hide it.
Mary was pale enough to be mistaken for my kind, even with her skillfully applied makeup. Without it, she may have been completely white. I imagined wiping it off, revealing a woman who rarely went outside when she didn’t have to. This appealed to me far more than it would have for the men she wanted to attract, even if she was a touch anemic.
I didn’t care about the count of iron in her blood.
That bar wasn’t my normal hang out. I picked it at random. Whenever I go out looking for someone like Mary, I never go to my favorite places. There was something to be said about anonymity but even though I could blend in fairly well, my black pants and black shirt were not the norm.
The regulars wore jeans and tee shirts with terrible logos plastered across them, human billboards that paid for the privilege to advertise for their patron companies. Mary was only slightly different with the blue denim clinging to her shapely legs, a matching jacket clinging to the top and a smooth pink shirt beneath.
Her shoes were far more sensible than I would’ve guessed based on her needs and desires. I had pegged her as a woman prepared to do anything to score a man and considering the abundance of heel fetishes out there, it was quite a surprise to see a normal pair of boots. No elevation at all but rather flats.
Perhaps she thought her body would win her favors that her taste in footwear would not.
I took her in from my booth, my eyes crawling up the curves of her hips, the bulge of her breasts that strained the knit top and, most intriguing, the slope of her slender neck disappearing into her curled hair. I could see her pulse, the rhythmic thump of her heart causing a tiny disturbance just behind her jaw.
That, more than the tight clothes, garish makeup, fake lashes and big tits, seduced me utterly.
I could tell before she even looked around that her interests were limited. There would be movies, of course but they would require no thought. Books, if she bothered to read at all, would be what the television or radio told her to read and certainly not challenging. Music would be whatever happened to be on at the time and never thoughtful, never interesting.
She was just another soul drifting about, one of the too many as I called them. The world had long since ceased to need additional people and if I was to be honest, my people were not doing their job thoroughly enough. All the necessary men and women were busy doing things and had been born. The rest were simply taking up space, consuming and pacing on. They didn’t care about anything enough to really think.
They were hot meat sacks that could articulate the pleasure of a meal, the thrill of another’s success or the desperate rapture of sexual intimacy. Their instincts were strong enough to keep them alive but that’s where their ambition ended. You might think that such people could change but you’d be wrong. Think of all the lottery winners that go off to do...nothing.
Existence should never be enough for mankind but for many, the plateau of contentment is far too comfortable to leave.
Buy Today at Amazon.com!
I prefer that people maintain a healthy lust for living and would do anything to avoid the oblivion of eternal sleep. That’s not really difficult either if you’re at all patient. We do live in a world where we want everything so fast, we stop worrying about whether or not it’s actually real but when it comes to the seductive art of feeding, a vampire should know how to settle down.
Mary Paulson went out to a bar by herself. She was looking for that proverbial Mister Right and, like most every other person in America, went to the wrong place. You can’t seek out your perfect mate, not really. If it’s going to happen at all, it does so whether you want it or not, look for it or even deserve it.
I would’ve liked to make that clear to her because at the heart of everything that human beings hold dear, her desperate need to avoid loneliness is precisely what led her to me. As a result, I did what I always do and though I may not be love itself, you could definitely argue that the world’s favorite song topic put her in this dangerous position.
Charm has always been one of my greatest strengths, especially the passive type. Most killers possess it if you haven’t noticed. Think about the serial variety. When they go to prison, weirdos start fan clubs, hold up signs and offer to have their children. You thought celebrity worship was bad, at least all they’re doing is hopping on couches and heading to rehab. These maniacs killed, sometimes ate, sometimes raped and otherwise treated their fellow man like toys.
This could lead us down a path to consider whether or not society itself is sociopathic but that would mean that Mary’s story would have to wait.
That said, I exuded a genuine magnetism, the type that attracted victims like cats to yarn. They wanted to play, they wanted to bat but they didn’t realize that a wrong move could kill them. Devouring the fiber could destroy their insides, tangling the string could choke them but the excitement was worth the risk. Many people wanted to experience things much more than they wanted to live.
Perhaps that’s contradictory to self-preservation. It’s not. What it truly means is that people don’t think about dying until the impending moment is upon them. Then they change their ways, pray to God, promise things they’ll forget about later and generally struggle like a woman giving birth. That’s what they want after all. A second chance. Rebirth.
I noticed her the second she walked in. Dark hair was neatly arranged so that it framed her round face, the locks meeting her shoulders as she walked. The layers were highlighted blond, giving it an obvious texture that really brought the whole style together. Thick but contained, she was clearly proud of it and I honestly couldn’t blame her.
Blue eyes tried to adopt a haughty, confident air but desperation was stronger. The furtive glances about the room, combing each man as if he were a prospective buyer for the life she was selling, gave her away. She wasn’t there looking for a good time, she was looking to end the isolation her life had become. The light color of her irises gave away far more than if they had been brown.
She should’ve worn contacts if she wanted to hide it.
Mary was pale enough to be mistaken for my kind, even with her skillfully applied makeup. Without it, she may have been completely white. I imagined wiping it off, revealing a woman who rarely went outside when she didn’t have to. This appealed to me far more than it would have for the men she wanted to attract, even if she was a touch anemic.
I didn’t care about the count of iron in her blood.
That bar wasn’t my normal hang out. I picked it at random. Whenever I go out looking for someone like Mary, I never go to my favorite places. There was something to be said about anonymity but even though I could blend in fairly well, my black pants and black shirt were not the norm.
The regulars wore jeans and tee shirts with terrible logos plastered across them, human billboards that paid for the privilege to advertise for their patron companies. Mary was only slightly different with the blue denim clinging to her shapely legs, a matching jacket clinging to the top and a smooth pink shirt beneath.
Her shoes were far more sensible than I would’ve guessed based on her needs and desires. I had pegged her as a woman prepared to do anything to score a man and considering the abundance of heel fetishes out there, it was quite a surprise to see a normal pair of boots. No elevation at all but rather flats.
Perhaps she thought her body would win her favors that her taste in footwear would not.
I took her in from my booth, my eyes crawling up the curves of her hips, the bulge of her breasts that strained the knit top and, most intriguing, the slope of her slender neck disappearing into her curled hair. I could see her pulse, the rhythmic thump of her heart causing a tiny disturbance just behind her jaw.
That, more than the tight clothes, garish makeup, fake lashes and big tits, seduced me utterly.
I could tell before she even looked around that her interests were limited. There would be movies, of course but they would require no thought. Books, if she bothered to read at all, would be what the television or radio told her to read and certainly not challenging. Music would be whatever happened to be on at the time and never thoughtful, never interesting.
She was just another soul drifting about, one of the too many as I called them. The world had long since ceased to need additional people and if I was to be honest, my people were not doing their job thoroughly enough. All the necessary men and women were busy doing things and had been born. The rest were simply taking up space, consuming and pacing on. They didn’t care about anything enough to really think.
They were hot meat sacks that could articulate the pleasure of a meal, the thrill of another’s success or the desperate rapture of sexual intimacy. Their instincts were strong enough to keep them alive but that’s where their ambition ended. You might think that such people could change but you’d be wrong. Think of all the lottery winners that go off to do...nothing.
Existence should never be enough for mankind but for many, the plateau of contentment is far too comfortable to leave.
Buy Today at Amazon.com!
