Awakening; a try out opening for a potential novella

Erin awoke.  The room was dark and quiet and there was an odd funky smell that seemed like something wasn't quite right somewhere. Pushing the sheets away from her, she wrinkled her nose, identifying the smell instantly.

Turning to the man beside her in her bed, she patted his cheek lovingly.  "You're gonna need to get a wash right soon, my love.  You smell a little ripe right now."  Sitting and then rising to her feet, she padded across the room and disappeared into the bathroom.

David lay motionless in the bed a while, just waiting for her to return.  He was infinitely patient and his life revolved about Erin.  Her warmth.  Her energy.  Her vitality.  They were all he needed. All he'd ever need.  

Erin peered around the doorway, smiling at her lover.  "I'm ready to go again, I think.  Just give me a few minutes to make myself ready."  She dug into the pocket of her housecoat and pulled out a box of matches, lighting each of the black candles in turn.  One at the top of the bedhead, to the right and then two more at the foot of the bed.  And then another on the bedhead on David's side.  She smiled, composing herself to begin.  "In the name of Hecate," she began, slipping off her coat. "May my purpose be blessed." She genuflected and then gave a deep sigh, donating the air from her lungs to the goddess.  "In the name of Hecate, may my spell be strong," she continued, wiping the sweat from her brow and then transferring it to David's.  She genuflected again and then rounded the bed once more, picking up the knife on her night table and drawing it smoothly across her wrist.  "In the name of Hecate; Queen of Heaven, Queen of Hell, Queen of Witches, may my purpose be accomplished."  She squeezed the wound and then pulled it quickly across his lips, standing back as she waited for him to stir again.

The cold body of her dead lover lay motionless for a long minute before the incantation and the gifts took effect.  At first the only movement was the slight writhing of the fingers on one hand but soon the whole hand began to clench and unclench in a uncoordinated spastic motion as though reaching for another hand. Erin's grim face cracked into a smile.  "Welcome back my love," she said, kneeling astride his dead body and waiting for the rigor to pass.

Extract from 'Glory; an outtake from a work in progress'

Glory dropped the book, already knowing the storyline intimately through avid reading and re-reading of the words that were almost scarred into her memories.  The skin on her breasts tightened and her nipples stood erect against the sheerness of her nightgown. The aching in her lower stomach began to twist a little tighter and secretions began to pool and stir within her sex, her void needing to be filled again and again and again. Reaching across and down, she began to stoke her lower lips tantalisingly as though it were École beginning his teasing and torturing on her instead of on Genievre, beginning that slow burn of desire that was due to grow deeper and hotter and more and more urgent.

Glory's fingers pushed harder against her wetness, three fingers clenched tightly together, being gratefully received as she relaxed her muscles to ease their entry, feeling both the slide and glide of her skin and her knuckles as they rubbed against her softness but also the sense of her own contractions as she quivered and roiled against her hand.  The rings on her fingers felt cool against her gripping and the ridges they formed pulled deliciously up and down and up and down and up and down.  Moaning as though already being pulled inside out from within, Glory began to tighten onto herself, feeling the heat and the sensitivity ramping up and up and up.

Glory - outtake from a work in progress
Glory woke in the middle of the night.  Looking at her alarm clock, she saw the time - 04:13 - and grimaced. Hours and hours until morning and every chance that she'd never get to sleep again.  Ugh. Picking up her tv remote, she flipped through at least thirty channels before giving it up. Nothing! Fuck that, she thought, throwing the remote down in disgust.

Rolling across to reach into her night-table, she pulled the uppermost drawer open, taking out a well-thumbed copy of Morris' erotic classic "The Caged Tigress,' she turned up the lights and began to read:

'Genievre closed her eyes behind the binding that encircled her brow, concentrating on His breath. 

École's soft steps were soundless; his stockinged feet sliding first on the polished wood flooring and then padding across the woollen rug.  His chest began to burn with the self-imposed torture he'd chosen to suffer, heightening his anticipation of the delicious cruelties that were soon to follow.  He smiled, savouring his wickedness and the wanton yearnings that bubbled up within his depraved corrupted mind.'

Glory shivered, enjoying the thoughts that began to flood through her mind.  Placing herself on the rough wooden table in the kitchen where Genievre lay bound, she could imagine the chill of the old farm house in the depths of winter and the sensuality of the touch that surely follow.  École's hands would be rough and calloused but hot like scorched and burned wood.  His fingers would be sure and would move without doubt, bringing her promise of pleasures to come. And also pain.

Oestrogen and dopamine began to flood into her blood, heightening her sensitivities.  Glory dropped the book, already knowing the storyline intimately through avid reading and re-reading of the words that were almost scarred into her memories.  The skin on her breasts tightened and her nipples stood erect against the sheerness of her nightgown. The aching in her lower stomach began to twist a little tighter and secretions began to pool and stir within her sex, her void needing to be filled again and again and again.  Reaching across and down, she began to stoke her lower lips tantalisingly as though it were École beginning his teasing and torturing on her instead of on Genievre, beginning that slow burn of desire that was due to grow deeper and hotter and more and more urgent.

Glory's fingers pushed harder against her wetness, three fingers clenched tightly together, being gratefully received as she relaxed her muscles to ease their entry, feeling both the slide and glide of her skin and her knuckles as they rubbed against her softness but also the sense of her own contractions as she quivered and roiled against her hand.  The rings on her fingers felt cool against her gripping and the ridges they formed pulled deliciously up and down and up and down and up and down.  Moaning as though already being pulled inside out from within, Glory began to tighten onto herself, feeling the heat and the sensitivity ramping up and up and up.

The night air stirred and the light curtaining began to float as the breeze began to infiltrate into the room.  Or had it been there before?  The lightest of touches penetrated Glory's gown as, laying on top of the bedclothes, she felt the movement of the air against her.  Now, contracting both outside and in, her skin pulled in on itself even more, amplifying every feeling until the need grew too much to resist.  With one hand pulling at her clothes, she opened herself to the night, offering her body to her own deepest desires.  The other hand twisted and reached down into the cooler bag nestled in the alcove beneath the open drawer, pulling out a long velvet-sheathed object with a weight enough to pull at her wrist as she turned it back toward herself.

The softness of the crimson velvet draw-cord pouch felt slightly damp against her inner thigh. Brushing it lithely against her soft whiteness, it looked and felt like a tongue, lapping across one of her more sensitive areas of skin. She dragged it down toward her knee and then back up again, her hand tightly gripping the coldness of the glass within and the puckering at the top of the sac. Five slow strokes downward and then up stirred her needfulness to a new height and then, on the sixth languid slow journey to her inner knee and back, Glory loosened her grip on the top of the pouch, unsheathing the coldness within and then drawing it all the way back up again to nestle against the moistness of her opening.

Glory craned her neck forward, needing to see what followed.  Her hand pushed upward and the rounded end of the ice-coldness slid inside her, her lips puckering and tightening in on it reflexively as it began to fill her, its presence burning as it warmed itself, stealing the very heat from her core.  The undulations of the dildo pulled and eased away as it slid deeper, her flesh clenching tighter and tighter onto it as she tried to crush it and fully possess it.  Glory's hand began to move, her wrist curling and flexing, pushing and pulling as her stomach tightened and turned more and more onto itself.  He breath began to catch in her lungs as her hand quickened and her skin began to glow hotter and hotter with the heat of the blood coursing faster and faster through her veins.

"Oh fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuuuuck meeee!" Her hand moved faster and deeper and began to angle as she  sought that special clump of nerves within her, pumping and pistoning and thrusting as her blood began to hammer against her temples. Driving to the full depth, the knuckle of her thumb extended to grind against her fleshy hood at the bottom of each stroke, with her lower lip gripped between her teeth, she began to pant and yelp like an animal as the blood began to drain from her brain.  Imagining the roughness of the farm labourer's hands on her shoulders, she arched her back and gave herself to the friction and the heat that filled her, her eyelids trembling as her thoughts and feelings collapsed inward until there was nothing but the feeling.

Glory WAS Genievre. Her arms and legs WERE pulled back so tightly so that her hips and shoulders ached with the pull of the rope on her wrists and ankles. And her head and buttocks WERE alternately knocking in pushing against the whitewashed wood of the table as École pounded her like a piece of dough against it.  The Frenchman's breath WAS hot against her ear as he took her mercilessly for his own pleasure, not thinking or caring how it felt for her.  Glory's idle hand reached below the bed as she pulled herself hard against the mattress, her other hand thumping and banging against her mound as the pleasure or pain grew within her, twisting and writhing through her back and shoulders as if travelled downward to gather in a tight knot in her gut.

And then the dam broke.  In that moment every muscle in her body tightened and gripped at itself.  Her back arched until she felt it might break and the Frenchman's manhood stopped it's ceaseless punishment of her vitals as she held it trapped inside her.  Glory then began to fold slowly back in on herself, her used and abused body relaxing and pooling back onto the mattress, spent.  The coolness of the breeze made itself known then, her skin beaded with sweat as her heat began to dissipate into the night.  Still feeling the weight within her, she pulled her freed second hand from beneath the bed, relishing the pull as she withdrew the warm glass from between her legs.

Glory sighed, feeling fulfilled at last.

Things you SHOULD do while naked...

1. Walking in the woods. Obviously, you'd need to keep clear of anything like poison ivy or red ants, but who wouldn't like to be at one with nature in the way that nature intended?

2. Riding a bicycle. Maybe you'd like head protection... stop snickering at the back... but wouldn't it just be cool to cleave through the air with the wind caressing you from head to toe?

3. Baking a cake as a 'to do' with a partner. Even better than that scene in Ghost plus you can eat the goo that you'd end up smearing over each other.

4. Washing the car. Another one best shared but one that could extend to the polishing act as well. Nuff said there, I think.

5. Practising yoga. Even if you're not a Diana or an Adonis, this has to be the hottest thing going. And if it's hot either inside or out, it can be a rather cooling and unencumbering way to get your exercise. And again, if you've got a partner...

Darren: A tale of life, death, and whatever. #3

'Here we go, Boy, everyone's favourite high street retail outlet.' Kenny gestured to the huge 'D' outside the store. 'Time for you to get your Hollywood makeover.' He pushed the door open for Darren. 'Manual doors for us, Boy. The sensors on the automatic ones pick up on body heat, which we don't have. Come on, got some friends for you to meet!'

                                                                     ----------------------------------------------- 

Darren walked though the door hesitantly. 'Are we okay going in here? There's lots of people here!'

'Jeez, Louise!' Kenny pushed past him, impatiently. 'Anyone would think you hadn't been upgraded up to be a member of the Master Race. Come on, Boy, follow me!' He walked straight through the door and straight up to the cosmetics counter. 'Shelly! Long time no see, dear. You got my usual order?'

Shelly nodded, reaching behind the counter, bringing out a huge carrier bag filled to bulging with brushes and pads and tins and tubes of foundation and face powder. She looked at Kenny in a calculating way. 'You're going a bit heavy on the blusher still, dear. Makes you look a bit like a peach in certain lights!'

Kenny gave her a sudden fierce glare. 'Not in front of the Boy! I'm still breaking him in; teaching him discipline.'

Shelly smiled back at him, gravely. 'I understand. Do you want me to give him the film star treatment too?

Kenny nodded.

'Right!' She turned round, grabbing his chin and looking Darren directly in his face. 'Oh Lord! What have you brought me, Kenny? Is this some sort of challenge?'

Kenny looked embarrassed for a moment, something Darren had thought he'd never see. 'I found him by a dumpster, feeding on rats. I think he's too weak, even to be a revenant. I've been spreading myself a bit thin, and sort of forgot about him...'

'Honestly, Kenny!' Shelly spat. She turned back to Kenny, her eyes flaring and her shoulders raked up and backwards, looking almost like wings. 'You really should take better care of your toys!' She turned back to Darren. 'Poor dear Boy!' she cooed, sympathetically.

Darren looked at her closely, weighing up what he saw in front of him. 'Are you...'

The next thing he knew he was pressed back into one of the make-up chairs, his vision filled with those burning green eyes he'd seen earlier. 'Darling Boy', she almost growled. 'You've got to be careful. We're not all Friends in here, although it may look like it!' She backed off, her eyes returning to normal. She smiled again. 'Just because we all wear lots of make-up, it doesn't mean that we're all vampires.'

Darren looked up and saw that he was now encircled by a host of cosmetics counter saleswomen. 'It's cool, girls,' Shelly said reassuringly. 'He's one of us. Just a bit raw still.' She patted his cheek, fondly. 'I think we need to get you undressed and cleaned up before I can do anything with you though, dear Boy.'

'I can't work with this,' she tutted. 'I'm an artist, and I always like to start with a blank canvas.'

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Minutes later, Kenny and Darren were in the staff wash room.

'I've got some things I need to tell you', Kenny began, 'things you'll need...'

'Whassat! I can see myself in the mirror!'

'Yeah! That's one of them.' Kenny sighed, wearily. 'This is SO gonna be hard work', he muttered, under his breath.

'Alright. Item 1. Forget most of what you learned from the vampire films. You already know that we can go outside during the day, just so long as we keep ourselves well covered. It's a bit like being ginger, but more socially acceptable. As long as you keep your skin protected and don't stare at the sun, you'll be okay.'

'Right, item 2. The thing with the mirrors. Another myth.' Kenny stopped for a moment, putting his thoughts into order so that Darren could take them in more easily. 'The big thing about us, apart from the supernatural speed and strength and general awesome coolness most of us possess, is The Glamour. We all have this to some degree, it's just that it's more developed in some than others. It's a knack, or a skill, or a mental power thing. It's just that it doesn't pay to make things any harder for yourself than necessary unless you are superlatively good at it. The Glamour is the ability to alter the perception of mortal humans, to make them see what we want them to see. It's a bit like shaving without a mirror; you have to form an image in your mind and act accordingly although, if you get it wrong, the consequences can be a lot worse'. He pushed his bandanna of his head and pushed it into his back pocket, revealing a heavily lined bald head. 'You know that classical vampire films have the vampire alone in a dimly lit bedroom with a drowsy young woman?'

Darren nodded.

'Well, that's perfect conditions to befuddle your prey. A single impressionable victim with their imagination running riot and very little visual information available to them. If you increase the lighting or give them an opportunity to see you from more than one angle at once, you make it harder for yourself to convince them that what you want them to see is real. If you're one of the Ancients, you've survived that long because you're really good, plus you've had the time to develop your skills to a very high degree.'

'So, we can look different to what we are, if we want,' Darren began.

'Whoa there, Boy!' Kenny laughed. 'I've only just pulled you out of the gutter, where you were living on rats, I believe! '

'Right, where was I? Yes, The Glamour. Yes, we can appear to be different to what we really are; at least to a mortal human, that is. But the further you get from what you are and the more angles you have to cover and the more people you have to convince, the harder it gets. And as for animals, forget it. We just can't touch their minds at all. That dog of mine just follows me because I feed it regularly, nothing more than that!'

'Now, lets get that dirt off you, so we can put some clean clothes and some make-up on you.'

Darren began to remove his suit, already having lost his hat to Shelly, who'd thrown it away in disgust.

'You give yourself a good clean, you hear, while I go find you something to wear. I can smell nothing but garlic and onions at the moment...'

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Back in the main part of the shop, Kenny made his way straight to Gentlemen’s' Clothing, seeking out a tall elegant older gentleman who was heavily pomandered, smelling like a cottage garden in the height of summer.

'Hugo, Friend. I've a project for you. I've a young Blood, physical age about 25, height 5 foot 9 inches, weight about 150 pounds, inside leg about...lemme think...about 31 inches. I need a full set of clothes for him, skin upwards, casual but not too trailer park. Can you start to put together an outfit and send it round the back?'

Hugo smiled thinly, his ashen grey face barely moving. 'Hmmm. This the young man you brought in earlier? The one who caused such a stir with Shelley and her ladies? He seemed to be rather rough and, might I say, unready for anything you'd be likely to use him for. Could I ask if you've anything in particular in mind for him? It might have a bearing on the outfit I put together for him. Hmmm?'

Hugo wasn't an Ancient but he certainly looked very much the part. He was very old but was also totally devoid of ambition, this being largely due to his minimal abilities. Despite this, he had a very quick and keen mind...

Kenny shook his head. 'Nothing too dressy, I want him to blend in and not stand out. The Boy has certain abilities I can use, and I want to be able to make a full and final use of him before he becomes too dangerous.'

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Shelly laughed, tossing her head backward. 'You never heard about Renfields? We don't just rely on Glamour and Thrall to control people. Sex, greed and power are always the most effective currencies when it comes to controlling humans. Even humans know that!'

Darren scowled and shook his head. 'Never really watched horror films. Never really been into fantasy. Science fiction, science documentaries, you know?'

'Good Lord, you are soooo green! Even ignoring horror films, it's basic human interaction. Didn't you ever... Her mouth dropped open. 'You didn't, did you?'

'Umm, well, umm.' Darren looked away shyly.

'My God, I thought I'd seen everything,' Shelly gasped. 'A vampire blushing... No, never saw that coming!'

The door opened and Kenny strode in, an armful of clothes clutched to his chest.

'Hello playmates! Glad to see me back?'

Darren turned further away from the doorway, tucking his face tightly into his shoulder.

'What've you two been up to? Shelly? What have you been saying to him? What have you been doing?' Kenny blazed, angrily. 'I left him in here alone on purpose. I don't want anyone else meddling with him. Shelly, what have you been doing?'

Shelly smiled slyly back, her cheek bones shifting and becoming more angular and alien in appearance. 'Just taking an interest in your latest project, dear. People talk, people ask questions, knowledge is a commodity. We're always here, people always come for something or other, there's a price for everything and everything's for sale.' She stood back from Darren, the bones within her body cracking and clicking as they continued to move. Suddenly, the comely square-jawed brunette was gone and in her place stood an angry woman with the face of a demonic harpy with fierce green eyes and dark tendrils of hair that began to twitch and writhe angrily. 'You don't have any claim on us, Kenny. We don't serve anyone in particular. We trade with everyone but we only look after ourselves.'

'W-w-whoahh there, Shelly!' Kenny spluttered, suddenly deflated. 'No offence meant there. Just keeping an eye on my property!' When Shelly began to shift slowly back to her earlier appearance, he continued, 'I know, you're a Friend. A special Friend for me, but a Friend nonetheless. It's just that I've a lot going on at the moment. A lot of plans. A lot that could go wrong and backfire on me. So I gotta be careful.'

Darren's face reappeared, and he looked back toward Kenny. 'What do you mean, your property?'

Kenny aggressively pushed his chest out, his jaw thrust forward. 'Exactly what I said! Do you need another demonstration?'

Darren's head sagged on his neck. 'No. I don't,' he mumbled.

'Well then! Right now, Boy, I've got some clothes for you.' He thrust the bale of clothes at Darren, who promptly dropped it at his feet and then had to pick them all up again, placing them on the chair beside him. 'There's a full set of everything you'll need, from undergarments to outerwear – even a leather jacket to top it all off. All of it casual, but I don't think I'll be taking you to any Society dinners, do you?'

Shelly walked out through the doorway, passing Kenny, and giving him a level-eyed look as she went. 'I'll see you later,' she said, turning away.

Kenny smirked wryly at her retreating back, then turned back to Darren. 'Come on, Boy. Everything off, then scrub like you want to remove the skin, then repeat. You still smell like an Italian Pizzeria, and that is SO offending my nose like you'd never believe!

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Kenny and Darren left the store via the loading area exit, and stepped out into the gloom. Darren had been transformed from how he had looked before, now looking heavily tanned and cool in a black flat peak baseball cap, black leather jacket, dark checked shirt and black jeans and trainers.

'Got a little job for you tonight, Boy,' Kenny, began. 'Nothing too difficult, then we can go for a quick bite afterwards.'

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Moments later, they stood together outside Coffee Land.

'It'll be a simple job,' Kenny explained. 'There're no security cameras except the ones in the toilets. You'd think they were concerned about people stealing the paper towels or something.' He grinned disarmingly. 'All you need to do is to walk in, nip round to get behind the counter, open the till by pressing the 'No Sale' key, take out the money, and then leave. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy!'

'But it's still busy. People will see me,' Darren began. 'They'll call the police and we'll get into trouble. How are you gonna...'

'You're how I'm gonna...' Kenny laughed. 'You do have a certain ability to go un-noticed from time to time. You'll just be utilising the skills that you've got for my benefit, that's all. Now walk! Through the door! You know the rest...'

Darren stood in front of the door he'd walked through countless times before, but never before had it been so difficult to walk that final step and to place his hand on the two foot-long vertical bar that ran parallel to the door frame. 'Go on,' Kenny urged him. 'Either you do it yourself, or I'll make you do it!'

Darren took a quick breath and began to move...

A young couple nearly walked into him, stepping round him and pushing the door open, not seeing Darren in their way. They stepped through into the shop and then, hesitating, Darren followed them.

The shop seemed strangely different today. The distance to the display counter had grown, the six steps it used to take to get there seeming much longer but still the same. The posters on the walls seemed more vivid, more engaging, begging Darren to read them, to stop in his tracks. The conversation in the shop seemed loud, the voices ringing in his ears, almost to the point of pain. People weaved around Darren, moving like comets while he stood motionless...or so it seemed.

Darren moved on.

The counter moved into reach, the basket of bagged coffee beans passing slowly by on Darren's right. There was a young man Darren had never seen before behind the counter, a tall youth with mousy brown hair.

Delores walked past.

The new guy behind the counter was called Wayne, the badge on his chest above his thudding heart declared. Was that heart beating so loudly his or was it Darren's?

Darren stopped momentarily, listening. No. There was nothing. Nothing at all. Not even the rasp of blood cells down corrugated veins and arteries. No sound at all.

Wayne looked across at Darren. 'Can I help you... Miss?

Darren looked around. There was a girl standing behind him.

Darren walked on.

Nearing the far end of the counter now, the baristas were stacking cardboard beakers of coffee side by side on the laminate wood counter top, calling out an order. 'Two skinny lattes, one with chestnut syrup, to go,' shouted one.

Darren rounded the end of the counter and began the long journey back up toward the till. Wayne was still busy with the young girl, chatting about a chemistry exam she was due to take the next day. She was dark haired and had a nice smile. And a warm heart. And a fine tracery of veins that glowed dull red just beneath the surface of her neck.

Wayne opened the till and began to remove the change the girl required.

Darren just reached in and took the wads of notes waiting there for him; the fifties, the twenties, the tens and the grubby collection of fives.

So easy.

Darren turned and began to retrace his steps.

Suddenly, time began to telescope inward on itself, the people slowing, the 'It's Time for a Coffee Land Coffee' clock stopping; the second hand quivering in place. The sales counter blurred past and Darren was through the door and back out into the street.

Kenny was waiting for him outside, a big lizard-like grin plastered across his face. 'Attaboy, Boy. You done good! I've just got one more thing to do before we go! Just wait here!'

Once again Darren felt the stretching of time as Kenny blurred before his eyes...and disappeared. And then reappeared again, carrying a coat. A coat stained with warm red blood.

The coat dropped away and Darren saw the lifeless face of Delores, her throat torn open and her eyes blank and dull.

The heat of the blood rose into his face like a flashbulb going off, dazzling him momentarily. And then, nothing...

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Darren and Kenny sat together, watching the body grow cold.

'You're lucky I picked someone you knew, you know,' Kenny smiled. 'Helps you remember your first.'

Darren looked shocked. 'You mean you don't remember your first Feeding?'

'Nah.' Kenny shook his head. 'Just some bag of blood with a name, I suppose. Not that I ever knew it. They all merge into one after a while.' He stood up and pulled the sheaf of notes out of his pocket. 'Six hundred and forty five pounds. Not a bad haul!'

'What're you going to do with the money, if you don't mind me asking,' Darren wondered out loud, also standing up. 'Does it pay for the services of the Friends?'

'This?' Kenny laughed. 'I've no need of this. Got more than enough cash for anything I'd need. Besides, the Friends don't work for anything as worthless as this. They make their trades against future or past personal favours, transfers of information and promises of support. This is just paper!'

Darren looked puzzled. 'Then why did I need to rob the shop,' he asked.

'Why? No particular reason. Just wanted to watch you in action. Here! Catch!' He threw the wad of money to Darren, who promptly dropped it. 'You did well, Boy! You and me are gonna go far, just you wait and see!'

~Martin Green/Twothirdsrasta~© 

Darren: A tale of life, death, and whatever. #2

The dumpster dog scrabbled at the pile of used pizza boxes, jumping back when this prompted an avalanche of red, white and green cardboard. A hand appeared.

Darren emerged from under the pyramid of fast food cartons, gnawing on a still twitching rat. It was two months after his Blooding that night outside Coffee Land. No one had missed him. No one had ever noticed him when he'd been alive, so no one was going to be likely to miss him now he'd disappeared from the world at large.

Being a vampire had been a disappointment from the start; he'd not magically gained height, grown leaner, developed piercing bright green eyes or discovered how to fly. He'd not become irresistible to women or able to morph into a raven or a bat. He not gained telekinetic powers or the ability to deliver ironic put downs. No, none of those.

What had he gained from his 'experience' then?

Well, he had lost weight. His clothes hung on him now, but he still managed to look plump and round faced. He had become irresistible to rats and small vermin, which was a bit of a plus, since there was a severe shortage of pale willowy damsels being magnetically drawn into his clutches. But he had now developed the ability to become truly invisible.

Before, he'd only been hard to notice; your eyes finding nothing to focus on until you looked past him and saw a brightly coloured doorway, or a small child kicking a football, or even a local religious preacher desperate to add to his followers. But now he could fully disappear from view.

This wasn't the immediate advantage you would think it was though. Being able to stalk a victim unseen until you were within inches of their pumping neck veins would have been a huge help for any wild ravening predatory creature. Or at least you would think so. However, becoming fully invisible without the control to choose when it happens is not so cool , and Darren had suffered numerous injuries when taxi drivers had side-swiped him while he was crossing the street, and also when a flock of pigeons diving down into the market place anxious to peck up breadcrumbs hadn't seen him in their way.

'Shoo, dog!' Darren kicked out at the dog, which appeared to have no discernible breed or pedigree, 'Leave me alone!'

The dog growled menacingly and shuffled backward three steps, haunches high and back bristling.

'What're you doing to my dog?'

Darren turned to see a pink sweaty beach ball of a man approaching him from around the corner, dressed in a black track suit and wearing wraparound sunglasses beneath a green bandanna

'You! Leave my dog alone!'

Darren hesitated, then drew himself up to his full 5 foot 9 inches.

'It attacked me first. Shouldn't you have that thing on a lead?'

The squat guy grinned, displaying an impressive set of porcelain white teeth. 'Seems to me that he was only foraging for dead meat. Seems to me that he found some. Seems to me that he recognises you for what you really are, bud.' He stuck out a fleshy hand with a huge gold ring on each finger. 'Name's Kenny. We've already met, by the way! Thought I'd look in on you, since you're gonna be working for me from now on.'

'What do you mean we've already met? What do you mean working for you', Darren blustered. 'Who are you, and  what are you to me?'

Kenny laughed, obviously enjoying putting Darren at such a disadvantage. He idly fingered the bandanna that covered the top of his head, then began.

'I'm your sire, I made you what you now are. That means that you answer to me, whether you like it or not. If I tell you to jump, you'll not ask me how high, you'll just do it.'

'What do you mean,' Darren asked, not liking this. 'You think you can threaten me or beat me up and make me do what you want that way?' He stopped suddenly, looking at his right hand which begun to clench into a fist.

'What's going on?'

'It's simple', Kenny continued, watching Darren's hand alternatively opening and closing, 'I think, and then you do.'

There was a loud crack as Darren's open palm suddenly slapped him across the left cheek, knocking his head to one side.

'You see.' Slap! 'You really', slap, 'have no', slap, 'choice.' Slap!

Darren looked up at Kenny from where he was now kneeling, looking stunned and confused.

'I can be a good boss or a bad boss' Kenny glowered, gripping the shoulders of Darren's over large and dishevelled suit and leering directly into his face. 'The choice is entirely yours.' He replaced the floppy hat that had fallen to the floor. 'I think your head's starting to smoulder, by the way.'  He stepped back again, smiling while Darren got back to his feet. 'I've so much to teach you about your new life too. Things you'll need to know to survive.'

Darren felt crushed. 'What do you want me to do', he mumbled, feeling defeated.

Kenny smiled even more widely. 'I'm so pleased with you. I'm gonna give you a day off. I'm gonna give you the benefit of some of my knowledge and experience and I'm gonna take you shopping.' 


                                                                       ~Martin Green/Twothirdsrasta~© 

Darren: A tale of life, death, and whatever. #1

Rain. Not a hard rain, but just the sort of rain that chills you but isn't enough to wet you down through to beneath the skin.

All momentous occasions begin with a rain like this. Not enough to make you want to say 'bugger this for a lark' but enough to sow the seeds of discontent that grow into something magnificent - or malevolent.

You could imagine that Genghis Khan might have stood under a rain like this before deciding to amass his angry hordes and run riot across Asia.

Or that Guido Fawkes might have walked through a rain like this before reaching a tavern where he just happened to meet up with some fellow drinkers who also just happened to be unhappy with the presently ruling monarchy.

Darren was unhappy too. He'd been passed over yet again for that under - manager job he'd been so keen to get, losing out to that bubbly blonde Cassie who could shake her elegantly permed curls at the hardest hearted cynic and walk away with a contract. And a recommendation for a follow up contact that would invariably lead to another. And another after that.

Sitting in one of the window seats of the Buslinthwaite branch of Coffee Land, he sighed and looked out at all those potential customers hurrying about their business, unaware that the future happiness of their loved ones would be at risk if, in the unfortunate circumstance of their principal wage earner falling under the No.37 bus, they were unable to meet their next utility payment.

'You ready to go?' asked Dolores, reaching for his cup and looking toward the door. 'Yeah, I suppose so', Darren harrumphed, grumpily, not relishing having to move out from the warmth of the shop out into the world shivering under the dour November skies of this West Yorkshire town.

Darren was a remarkable person, inasmuch as he really wasn't. He had  an indistinguishable face and dark hair that fell across his eyes whatever he tried to do with it. He was probably the worst possible person to choose to be an insurance policy salesman, but he was similarly inept at interview techniques and could never manage to be short-listed  for a second interview after having failed to make any impression at his first. He'd applied for this job by post and, rather than getting an application form by return, he'd been surprised to receive a large manilla envelope full of policy documents and supporting literature; the understanding being that he sent these back filled in with customers' bank details and signatures each week and he then received his payment by cheque each month.

He'd just come away from the Rock and Anchor Life Security Buslinthwaite Gold Achievers' quarterly team meeting with yet another warning that, unless his sales figures improved dramatically, he could well remain at the bottom of the 'high fliers' pyramid forever. Cassandra O'Connor, on the other hand...

Cassandra O'Connor was a phenomenon and a bafflement to Darren. She'd started as an envelope filler three months ago and was now regularly out selling the West Yorkshire General Manager by over 70 percent each month. She'd begun working the streets with Darren - who had memorised every aspect of the entire product portfolio and could quote it all verbatim at will - but she could do the one thing that he couldn't. Sell.

Darren's sales techniques relied on his two principal characteristics; his unobtrusiveness and his persistence.   He could knock at a door and then have walked in before the resident had even noticed him standing there. And once he was in, once he'd caught their attention,  he could wear anyone down with an unceasing stream of information about policy yield parameters and syndicated corporate security benefits until they finally agreed to sign, just to get him back outside again. That is after they finally managed to acknowledge his existence. There'd been a number of occasions where the owners had just never actually noticed him and had walked past him and had locked their front door behind them, leaving Darren locked in until their return. And others where they'd just walked around the house unaware of Darren trailing around after them, trying to catch their eye.

Cassie, on the other hand was totally inept, regularly dropping her product portfolio and then graciously accepting help picking up the hundreds of ring-bound pages and envelopes that had sprung out her binder with a click and a rustle. Invariably the resident would pick up something that caught their eye and then, wanting to do something to stop those tears welling up behind those incredible long eyelashes, they'd opt for the long term benefit package and have signed the document before they realised what they'd done.

Darren sighed and pulled his collar up, stepping out into the rain. The street was empty apart from a lone taxi just pulling away from the taxi rank just across the road from the coffee shop. The nearby street light flickered and then went out.

It couldn't have taken long but it was the longest few seconds that Darren had ever experienced. He watched and felt and heard and smelled every single detail as it happened, as though the whole world was running at one-hundredth normal speed and he was an independent observer, studying it for a life-science project. The smell of dry skin, the smearing of make-up, the bright-penny coppery taste in his mouth; the speed of it all overwhelmed him even though he stood seemingly detached from it all. There was such a sense of inevitability and then...


                                                     ~Martin Green/Twothirdsrasta~©