Blood Type
Spoiler! :
Author’s Note:
What you are reading may not be entirely true. Many of the things I tell you are fact, but who knows what they did to me? I am writing this completely from memory, which is why I doubt myself. Memories can be changed, warped, to the point where you believe what is true is false, and what they planted, true. This much I know for certain, though. In 1789, I lived in New York. I was an alcoholic, whore-haggling bum who barely knew how to keep a job. It’s 2010, and a lot has changed. Technology has advanced; things that I wouldn’t have ever dreamed of back then common are as a broom today. People have grown as well, to where everyone has equal rights. Food taste better. The only thing that reminds me of the older days is our speech, which didn’t change for almost three hundred years. But that too is slipping away. But none of that matters. What do are the events that led up to my becoming immortal – and to becoming a creature hunted wherever I go.
Part 1:
The good part of my night ended when I stepped out of the whorehouse. Yes, I know. The world is going mad around me, and all I can think about is getting laid and that ever-so-pleasant buzz of alcohol. Although, I wasn’t the least bit satisfied as I exited the furnace that was the main room of the brothel. I tried to fan my chest with the soaked-through shirt and almost fell flat on my face. I wind-milled my arms, and, to my surprise, actually regained my balance; I was sure that I would’ve carved a face-print into the cobbled stone. Sweat was everywhere, in places that I had no idea I could sweat, sliding downward across my legs, my arms, running straight through my eyes; that stung like Hell. I pulled the shirt off with effort, most of it glued to my body, and tossed the cloth across the path into a garbage pile; there’d be no saving it, with that amount of stains. And then there was the matter of the huge tear that ran from armpit to naval…
Damn steam… If the owners didn’t use so much of it, it wouldn’t be so damn hot. The sign had read “Heaven on Earth”, but it felt more like Hell to me. I wouldn’t be going back there. The room was musky and cramped. The alcohol tasted like vinegar, which was why I was hardly as drunk as normal; I’d probably have to go find another bar or brothel before the night was over. Oh, and another thing; the fuck had been anything but satisfying.
I staggered down the alleyway, trying not to go tumbling into trash, moving almost as much side-to-side as I was forward. A soft, cool breeze, an anomaly in the summer night, blew across my chest; I shivered and goose bumps spread on my body, up my left arm, to my neck, and then down my pale, scarred right shoulder, before the air returned to its normal humid state.
As I stumbled from the alley onto the street, a guttural voice slammed into my ears. I fell back, barely escaping being trampled by a carriage. The coachman turned back to me and uttered a few choice words that even I didn’t have the mouth for, his pudgy face flushed as he shook a fist at me. His huge black overcoat almost seemed like it would swallow his small form. I had to restrain myself from laughing at him till he turned his back to me.
So there I was, snorting, trying to stay upright as I moved down the pavement, so caught up in my own thoughts that I didn’t see the huge flying machine landing about ten yards in front of me. By now, the streets were clear – it was two a.m., so that might have had something to do with it – but noise was still coming from the brothel. I snapped open my eyes at the annoying sound of steam escaping from… somewhere, and my jaw met the floor. It was huge! At least the size of a small house, all copper pipes with theses fan-like things spinning on the side. The steam seeped though the opening in the pipes, the loud hiss saturating the silence. Part of me wanted to stare at it for hours in wonder, and another said I should get the hell out of there before it ate me. As I watched, a door swung open from the side, and two men – dressed in these really odd, blocky black suits, some kind of gun in their hands, and goggles strapped over their eyes – dropped to the ground. They looked around for a moment before spotting me, then raised their weapons, which I now saw had steam pumping out a tube on the back of them. Great…
I turned and ran, a second later hearing one of them shout, “Cara needs his blood!” Blood! What the hell?!
I had just enough time to regret reading that stupid Stoker book before one of the block-men shot me in the ass with the gun, highly compacted steam face-planting me into the ground with a sharp crack.
Shit, I thought as my mind sank into darkness.
***
My eyelids twitched open from the dark limbo, a response to the shaking of the room; they hastily snapped shut again. Light seared into my mind, tears appearing on my eye lashes. I blinked several times, rubbing my eyelids with my fingers until my vision cleared. I was in a room of sorts, but unlike any I had ever seen. The floor was made of a thin sheet of metal, little diamond-shaped holes revealing gears that churned beneath. The walls were an arrangement of knobs, levers and gauges, glistening in copper and metal. Pipes pushed out from the wall, following a path to the ceiling and out into the air, no doubt letting out the steam. Light bulbs hung from the ceiling, casting their faint glow across the room. At the very front of the room, the two block-like men sat in chairs, their backs to me, fiddling with some kind of panel. A window stood right in front of them, looking out onto the summer –
Clouds! I blinked again, making sure my eyes weren’t playing tricks on me. No, they’re clouds alright. We were moving through clouds. But, that can’t be. We’d have to be – I shut that thought away. It was impossible. We couldn’t be flying. The great copper machine flashed back to me, with its spinning propellers, and suddenly everything made sense.
Two thoughts ran through my head simultaneously as I lay on my back on the flying room floor; one, I had just been kidnapped, and, although I should be freaking out, I was rather calm. Well, no, not calm per say; I was pissed at the way they’d abducted me. I mean, come on, did you have to shoot me? And two. My ass really hurt. It felt like someone had taken a sledge hammer and slammed it straight into my butt. A mountain of a bruise had formed on my left cheek, and it throbbed away like a heart.
I tried to put as little weight as possible on my left side as I awkwardly sat up. The room spun, which I doubted had anything to do with the flying, and the urge to fall back into unconsciousness almost overtook me. I tilted my head back, resting it on my shoulder blades, and waited till everything was upright again. There was no way the alcohol I had could give me a hangover this bad. How long had I been out? It took about five minutes, but finally I was able to reach up and examine my skull. Sure enough, there was another knot on my forehead. I poked at it gingerly as I spoke.
“Okay, now which one of you shot me in the ass?”
The man on the right swizzled his head around to look at me, his goggles off, revealing his eyes. Now, I normally don’t concentrate on eyes when I’m talking to people (more commonly than not, ‘people’ are women, and I’m looking a little lower), but since it was the only part of the guy that didn’t look like a Giant’s terd, I made that my focal point in the conversation; the brown in them reminded me of vomit. I couldn’t see the rest of his face, but I was sure he was smirking by the twinge in them.
“Where are you taking me?” I asked. The man turned back in his seat, looking at his partner. “Where the fuck are you taking me?!” I demanded.
“Just shut up. We’ll be there soon,” he said, his voice muffled by the cloth that covered most of his face. As if on cue, the room lurched downward, and my stomach felt like it would run up into my skull. I tasted the whiskey from the brothel, the vinegar even worse the second time around. I had to grab onto one of the levers to keep myself from going splat against the wall.
“Warn me next time you do that!” I yelled at the two. They looked at each other once more, snickering.
A few moments more, and the room leveled out, the floor bouncing with a loud thump. Did we land? The gears below stopped turning, and the side door swung open. The block men stood, weapons pointed at me; my butt spasmed on its own accord.
“Now, get moving. Out with you,” one of them said.
***
What you are reading may not be entirely true. Many of the things I tell you are fact, but who knows what they did to me? I am writing this completely from memory, which is why I doubt myself. Memories can be changed, warped, to the point where you believe what is true is false, and what they planted, true. This much I know for certain, though. In 1789, I lived in New York. I was an alcoholic, whore-haggling bum who barely knew how to keep a job. It’s 2010, and a lot has changed. Technology has advanced; things that I wouldn’t have ever dreamed of back then common are as a broom today. People have grown as well, to where everyone has equal rights. Food taste better. The only thing that reminds me of the older days is our speech, which didn’t change for almost three hundred years. But that too is slipping away. But none of that matters. What do are the events that led up to my becoming immortal – and to becoming a creature hunted wherever I go.
Part 1:
The good part of my night ended when I stepped out of the whorehouse. Yes, I know. The world is going mad around me, and all I can think about is getting laid and that ever-so-pleasant buzz of alcohol. Although, I wasn’t the least bit satisfied as I exited the furnace that was the main room of the brothel. I tried to fan my chest with the soaked-through shirt and almost fell flat on my face. I wind-milled my arms, and, to my surprise, actually regained my balance; I was sure that I would’ve carved a face-print into the cobbled stone. Sweat was everywhere, in places that I had no idea I could sweat, sliding downward across my legs, my arms, running straight through my eyes; that stung like Hell. I pulled the shirt off with effort, most of it glued to my body, and tossed the cloth across the path into a garbage pile; there’d be no saving it, with that amount of stains. And then there was the matter of the huge tear that ran from armpit to naval…
Damn steam… If the owners didn’t use so much of it, it wouldn’t be so damn hot. The sign had read “Heaven on Earth”, but it felt more like Hell to me. I wouldn’t be going back there. The room was musky and cramped. The alcohol tasted like vinegar, which was why I was hardly as drunk as normal; I’d probably have to go find another bar or brothel before the night was over. Oh, and another thing; the fuck had been anything but satisfying.
I staggered down the alleyway, trying not to go tumbling into trash, moving almost as much side-to-side as I was forward. A soft, cool breeze, an anomaly in the summer night, blew across my chest; I shivered and goose bumps spread on my body, up my left arm, to my neck, and then down my pale, scarred right shoulder, before the air returned to its normal humid state.
As I stumbled from the alley onto the street, a guttural voice slammed into my ears. I fell back, barely escaping being trampled by a carriage. The coachman turned back to me and uttered a few choice words that even I didn’t have the mouth for, his pudgy face flushed as he shook a fist at me. His huge black overcoat almost seemed like it would swallow his small form. I had to restrain myself from laughing at him till he turned his back to me.
So there I was, snorting, trying to stay upright as I moved down the pavement, so caught up in my own thoughts that I didn’t see the huge flying machine landing about ten yards in front of me. By now, the streets were clear – it was two a.m., so that might have had something to do with it – but noise was still coming from the brothel. I snapped open my eyes at the annoying sound of steam escaping from… somewhere, and my jaw met the floor. It was huge! At least the size of a small house, all copper pipes with theses fan-like things spinning on the side. The steam seeped though the opening in the pipes, the loud hiss saturating the silence. Part of me wanted to stare at it for hours in wonder, and another said I should get the hell out of there before it ate me. As I watched, a door swung open from the side, and two men – dressed in these really odd, blocky black suits, some kind of gun in their hands, and goggles strapped over their eyes – dropped to the ground. They looked around for a moment before spotting me, then raised their weapons, which I now saw had steam pumping out a tube on the back of them. Great…
I turned and ran, a second later hearing one of them shout, “Cara needs his blood!” Blood! What the hell?!
I had just enough time to regret reading that stupid Stoker book before one of the block-men shot me in the ass with the gun, highly compacted steam face-planting me into the ground with a sharp crack.
Shit, I thought as my mind sank into darkness.
***
My eyelids twitched open from the dark limbo, a response to the shaking of the room; they hastily snapped shut again. Light seared into my mind, tears appearing on my eye lashes. I blinked several times, rubbing my eyelids with my fingers until my vision cleared. I was in a room of sorts, but unlike any I had ever seen. The floor was made of a thin sheet of metal, little diamond-shaped holes revealing gears that churned beneath. The walls were an arrangement of knobs, levers and gauges, glistening in copper and metal. Pipes pushed out from the wall, following a path to the ceiling and out into the air, no doubt letting out the steam. Light bulbs hung from the ceiling, casting their faint glow across the room. At the very front of the room, the two block-like men sat in chairs, their backs to me, fiddling with some kind of panel. A window stood right in front of them, looking out onto the summer –
Clouds! I blinked again, making sure my eyes weren’t playing tricks on me. No, they’re clouds alright. We were moving through clouds. But, that can’t be. We’d have to be – I shut that thought away. It was impossible. We couldn’t be flying. The great copper machine flashed back to me, with its spinning propellers, and suddenly everything made sense.
Two thoughts ran through my head simultaneously as I lay on my back on the flying room floor; one, I had just been kidnapped, and, although I should be freaking out, I was rather calm. Well, no, not calm per say; I was pissed at the way they’d abducted me. I mean, come on, did you have to shoot me? And two. My ass really hurt. It felt like someone had taken a sledge hammer and slammed it straight into my butt. A mountain of a bruise had formed on my left cheek, and it throbbed away like a heart.
I tried to put as little weight as possible on my left side as I awkwardly sat up. The room spun, which I doubted had anything to do with the flying, and the urge to fall back into unconsciousness almost overtook me. I tilted my head back, resting it on my shoulder blades, and waited till everything was upright again. There was no way the alcohol I had could give me a hangover this bad. How long had I been out? It took about five minutes, but finally I was able to reach up and examine my skull. Sure enough, there was another knot on my forehead. I poked at it gingerly as I spoke.
“Okay, now which one of you shot me in the ass?”
The man on the right swizzled his head around to look at me, his goggles off, revealing his eyes. Now, I normally don’t concentrate on eyes when I’m talking to people (more commonly than not, ‘people’ are women, and I’m looking a little lower), but since it was the only part of the guy that didn’t look like a Giant’s terd, I made that my focal point in the conversation; the brown in them reminded me of vomit. I couldn’t see the rest of his face, but I was sure he was smirking by the twinge in them.
“Where are you taking me?” I asked. The man turned back in his seat, looking at his partner. “Where the fuck are you taking me?!” I demanded.
“Just shut up. We’ll be there soon,” he said, his voice muffled by the cloth that covered most of his face. As if on cue, the room lurched downward, and my stomach felt like it would run up into my skull. I tasted the whiskey from the brothel, the vinegar even worse the second time around. I had to grab onto one of the levers to keep myself from going splat against the wall.
“Warn me next time you do that!” I yelled at the two. They looked at each other once more, snickering.
A few moments more, and the room leveled out, the floor bouncing with a loud thump. Did we land? The gears below stopped turning, and the side door swung open. The block men stood, weapons pointed at me; my butt spasmed on its own accord.
“Now, get moving. Out with you,” one of them said.
***
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Points: 2016
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