Dark Doors

Ask. I will tell you a story.

Two-fer

Day 9 offering, folks.

On the radio, they were asking about people’s first kiss, which got me thinking about this. By the time I started writing it – twelve hours later – I realised I was heading to a dangerous place. Didn’t help that the kid was watching ‘Buffy’ while I was writing.

In my own inimitable style, I offer you a two-fer today, in which the second uses the first as a style model. With a twist.

Enjoy?


You kissed me.

So much happens in just those three words.

You kissed me.

You touched my face, just the fingertips resting on my cheek. Your eyes fixed on my lips. My eyes fixed on yours, I watched as your lips part with a breath. Shallow in, shallow out. My breath matched yours, my hands reached for your hips. Your left hand slid under my hair, cupped the base of my skull, fingers entwined in hair. Grasping, you pulled my face closer to yours. My fingers flexed and gripped your flesh, palms on hipbones, pulled you closer to me. Standing hip-to-hip, we felt the tremble of anticipation in the other. A hitched breath, a shiver down the spine. Your lips grazed against mine, light, fleeting. Grazed again, my lips opened to yours. I tilted my head back, leaned up, and then.

You kissed me.

I kissed you.

Anything more becomes Fifty Shades of mommy-porn.

***

I killed you.

So much happens in just those three words.

I killed you.

You stepped closer, circling closer as I clawed my way free of the dirt of my own grave. Your eyes fixed on my lips. I obliged you and – even as a newborn – smiled out my shiny fangs. Your eyes dilated. Even in dim lamplight, I watched the anticipation crank open your pupils. Though you pushed it down, away, I scented your fear. Tang of orange. Who knew? I breathed in, deep, breathed out, then realised – I don’t need to breathe anymore. I smiled, then swore as my teeth cut my own lip. Tongue darted out; waste not, want not. Wrong, actually; waste not, want more.

I freed myself, stood upright upon my grave, shivered through with the night chill after the warmth of my coffin. Errant thought – someone just walked over my grave – shot across my mind, memory of my grandmother explaining away tremors and chills. Not paying attention, as I stared you down, matched you step for step. Partners in this macabre dance before death.

As one, we leapt for each other, hands grasping gripping grappling. Hip-to-hip, we struggled in the other’s embrace. You grabbed my face, pushed hard to tilt me back. I bit down on the palm of your hand, forced into my mouth. Rookie mistake. My hands were free to seize your head, your hair, and I pulled you backwards, bending you further and further as my balance returned.

A snap. You went limp in my arms. But you lived. Your eyes screamed fear.

I bent and drank deep. You tasted of blood and orange.

I killed you.

1 Comment

  1. For some reason the second one is more real LOL. You’re good with vamps it seems 🙂

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