Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
She’s too weak to respond or object to my characterization of her. No. She was never my favorite. Just the one I had on hand. But I have always liked her. Especially when she was small and her blood was so sweet. She was a lovely child with a big, happy personality. She would run around the estate I was living in at that time, giggling and laughing. She didn’t even mind when I bled her.
But I was younger then, too. And more careful, maybe.
They always change when they come here. It’s Lucia. She’s not at all careful with the feeders. She never has been. She doesn’t love them the way I do. She doesn’t respect them. And why should she? She’s not the one who provides them. She is not invested in them the way I am.
If I cared about Lucia, I would teach her some respect for her food. But I don’t care for her. I put up with her personality because all those unattractive attributes make her messy. Sloppy.
And eventually, sloppy gets you killed.
Even her. She does not have enough young, Black blood running through her veins to last through too many more mistakes. Why interfere when she is the one in charge of her own demise?
I redirect my attention back to Rose. These thoughts of Lucia are secondary. Right now, I need to focus on the woman in front of me.
I caress her hair, smoothing it away from her eyes. And then I just feel… sad.
Rose as well, apparently. Because her cheeks are all wet. Little teardrops filling the deep lines on her aging face.
She cannot die without me. This is why I don’t really mind leaving Lucia in charge of the feeders as I pass time underground in my natural state. Lucia could drink her dry and still this woman would not expire. She would run out of blood, and Lucia would get little, if any, satisfaction from draining her like that. But there is so much evil inside Rose now, she’s not even human. Hasn’t been. Not for decades.
No. In order for this feedbag in front of me to die, she needs me to bite her, take every last drop, then give it back and take it again. Then give it back and take it again. And give it back and take it again.
It’s a long digestion process that comes with its own set of perils.
But it is time.
I untie the rope securing her to the chair, lift her up, carry her over to the soiled bed and sit down, cradling her frail body in my arms. I position her so that her head is on my shoulder and her neck is within easy reach of my mouth.
I might be here all night killing her, but it must be done.
And anyway, the recycled blood will cause a dreamwalk into the past. I like to revisit the past as I push them out of this world. I like to put images in their heads of happier times to make their descent into eternal Hell just that much more tolerable.
When they were small, and cheerful, and had so much blood to give, they could never imagine objecting to me taking bags of it for storage each morning and putting them to bed with my mouth on their necks, sipping on them until they slept each night.
They liked it.
And so did I.
“Let’s reminisce, shall we, Rose?”
She doesn’t respond. But that’s OK. It’s not like she has a choice in the matter. None of this was her choice. She is what she is.
A wicked, wicked witch.
If I had not taken her as food, she would’ve run amuck around the world causing God knows how many problems. And God does know. That’s why He made me. I am the check to their balance.
These Black witches could beg for forgiveness all day and night—for centuries on end—and God would never allow them into His eternal kingdom.
She is far more evil than I, so I feel no remorse for using her for blood the way a man might use a cow for milk. God does not want this creature. She is not one of His.
She is one of mine. And all of mine will go to Hell.
“Remember the house you were raised in, Rose? Wasn’t it lovely?” I begin her death by taking her back. “I remember every detail, myself. San Francisco has never been a preferred location, but it was much nicer back then, wasn’t it? Perhaps I should’ve taken you home to die. Wouldn’t that have been a pleasant way to go? Of course, it would be a huge inconvenience for me. And even though I do like you—loved you, at one point—in this state you’re just not worth that much trouble.”
She begins to cry in my arms.
“Right. Let’s continue, shall we? It’s time for me to take the long drink.” I don’t wait for her answer, just dip my mouth down to her neck and sink my teeth into her saggy, disgusting flesh.