Tag: Fiction

A Rare Vintage

AJ.Dixon15 Comments

A Rare Vintage

By Adam Dixon

 

I watched the young man as he weaved through the crowd and reached the bar. I observed his ready smile as the bartender caught his eye, and his lips moved as he ordered a drink. The buzz of Saturday night good humour in The Swan drowned out his voice. Such a graceful bird, the swan, but it does not have any instinct for the hunt, nor does it taste blood. A pity.

The young man leaned against the bar, his fingertips tracing the worn surface. A light above him illuminated his round, boyish face and his fair hair. My nose was confused by the mixture of alcohol and stale cigarette smoke, but I could still smell the young man’s blood. It rose to the top of the other smells, like oil glistening on water. My nostrils flared and my own blood quickened. Even after these incalculable years a hunt still thrills me.

The man scratched his neck and smoothed his white shirt. I reached out with my mind and touched his with an imperceptible tendril. His voice was clear in my head.

I hope Tasha likes this shirt. Have I undone too many buttons?

Then the voice disappeared as if I had turned the dial on a radio only to snap it off again a second later. I looked at the young man’s shirt and saw that his two top buttons had been left undone, exposing a portion of his skin and a tease of chest hair. I followed his nervous gaze to a young woman seated alone in a booth a few metres away. I did not need to touch her mind to see that she did indeed like the man’s shirt. She smiled at him and cocked her head, her dark hair spilling over a bare shoulder. The young man grinned and turned back to the bartender, his cheeks beginning to redden. How quaint. How predictable. How dull.

I raised my half-empty glass of ale to my lips and took a long swallow. It was lukewarm and ashen in my mouth. I was granted a watery view of my reflection in the brown swill; I looked just like any other wrinkled old man, drinking away his joyless evenings alone. I couldn’t wish to be more invisible. My hunt would not be disturbed.

The young woman, Tasha, lifted her mobile phone and began tapping at it, her false nails sparkling. I had not seen her part with the device for longer than the time it took to raise a drink to her glossed lips. All around The Swan men and women were doing the same, idly flicking at their screens even as they laughed and conversed with their companions. They were like moths before flames, and that would earn me my advantage. I focused my attention on Tasha.

I reached out with my mind across the room. Inevitably, I brushed against the minds of the cattle between us. Their petty thoughts clambered for attention in my head.

This pint tastes a bit off…

Barbara’s at it again! Mutton dressed as bloody lamb…

I’d shag him if he ever shuts up and takes me home…

John’s ready to open up alone, but he’d better not fuck it up…

Tasha’s painted face was lit with excitement and her smile was warm. My mind touched hers.

Ricky’s such a babe, I can’t wait for the girls to see our pics!

I pushed my will against the young woman’s, and she stiffened, her eyes growing wide. There was a meagre resistance, but I exerted my will irresistibly onwards, and she was mine; it was child’s play. At my command, Tasha began to type.

“Oops! Sorry, mate!” I was almost knocked from my stool and my drink slopped over the table. A large man blinked piggy eyes at me, then at his depleted glass.

“Didn’t see you there,” the fat man slurred. His blue football shirt was soaked, and his sour breath wrinkled my nose.

“Think nothing of it,” I rasped, turning back towards Tasha. My hold had broken, and she frowned at the partially-typed message on her screen. I began to stretch out my mind once again… A meaty hand clapped me on the shoulder.

“Lemme buy you ‘nother, yeah?” the fat man wheezed in my ear.

“No, thank you,” I said smartly, shrugging off his hand. “Leave me be.” I needed to concentrate. I glanced at the bar and saw that the young man, Ricky, had not yet been served. There was still time.

“Come on!” the fool laughed, swaying close and scratching my jaw with his stubble. “Lemme buy you a-“

The man’s head slammed into the table with a crash and he crumpled to the floor. No-one would have seen my hands move; I can be very fast when I’m angry. I ignored the shouts of surprise nearby and concentrated. Tasha shuddered and resumed typing. After a few seconds the message was sent, and I allowed her to rest her hands on the table. Without releasing my hold on her, I cast my eyes over to her lover.

The young man already had his phone in his hand, naturally, and his eyes widened as he read the new message. I compelled the woman to look at him, smile, and wink mischievously. Ricky coughed and managed to grin back, and I made Tasha turn away with a coy flick of her hair. The young man was distracted by the polite bark of the bartender. He tapped his credit card against the offered device, hesitated, then leaned in to speak. The bartender appeared confused, but he nodded despite his frown. Ricky stole another look at Tasha, who had placed one hand suggestively on her thigh. Ricky left the fresh drinks untouched as he stepped eagerly through the door and into the street. I almost despaired at how easy it had been. One can always trust humans to think with their genitals; they are nothing but apes.

I made a point of finishing the dregs of my glass before I rose and followed the young man. I released Tasha’s mind as I exited The Swan and left her to her confusion. The air was biting cold, and I sampled it as delicately as a wine-taster. I caught the scent of Ricky’s blood; there was the vintage I sought. That was the curse of superiority – the common blood would simply not do.

Ricky had disappeared into an alley a short walk away. The wall of a shop guarded one side and a damp, mouldy wooden fence presided on the other. The amber light from the lampposts did not penetrate the space, and so it was draped in shadows. I could hear the young man’s breathing, I could see the mist pluming from his lips. A slow smile crept across my face. I had him.

“Tash? That you?” the young man called, his voice tremulous and excited. I stepped into the alleyway, my feet making no sound upon the gravel.

“Bit cold for this, innit?” the man asked with a laugh. “Not that I don’t want to, obviously!” he hastened to add. I could hear Ricky’s heart beating, forcing his elixir-like blood down the rivers of his arteries and veins. I began to salivate.

“Tash?” Ricky asked, doubt entering his voice for the first time. “That is you, isn’t it?” I bunched my muscles and prepared to spring.

The headlights from a passing vehicle slashed the alleyway with brief light. Ricky’s eyes widened in shock, and then I was on him. My hand clamped across his mouth as I bore him to the ground. His panicked cry was stifled as the air was driven from his lungs as he slammed onto his back. His hands instinctively clawed at mine, but he was as weak as a kitten compared to me. His cry became a squeal as my fangs pierced his throat and hot, salty, delicious blood filled my mouth. I gulped greedily, seizing Ricky’s flailing arms with my free hand as I ground his ribs under my knees. His blood was sublime; I began to shudder with ecstasy, falling into an involuntary rhythm with the bucking of the dying man. He snorted and gasped, coating my palm with saliva. I removed my hand from his mouth as his struggles weakened and his cries trailed off. I wiped the spit off on his shirt and my fingers traced the skin exposed by his undone buttons, his chest hair tickling my fingertips. I kept drinking, feeling my stomach swell near to bursting. Ricky’s heels stopped scraping against the gravel and his arms fell limp.

I was obliged to strike the man’s chest to force the last few mouthfuls from his withered heart. I pulled away at last, my exhalation sending a great cloud of vapour into the cold air. Blood spilled from my lips and trickled down my chin, but I was too rapturous to even slide my tongue after them. The rare blood had restored me, and I was like a wretch stupefied by strong spirits.

There was a rustling at the far end of the alley. I glanced into the dark with glazed eyes. A fox, its fur matted and filthy, paused to stare at me. It could smell the blood, and I could smell its trepidation and fear. That was good; it ought to be humbled before a superior predator. I hunched my shoulders and bared my dripping fangs in a hiss, locking on to the fox’s amber eyes. The animal turned and fled, exposing its gaunt ribs and dishevelled tail as it ran from me. I smiled and leaned my head back to stare up at the sky. Stars twinkled in the heavens, the sole witnesses to my prowess. No matter, I needed no audience; I owned the night.

Once the blood-haze had faded I stood, scenting the air and listening with senses which had sharpened tenfold. The drunken merriment of the Swan’s patrons reached my ears, and the odour of their cigarettes crept into my nostrils. I glanced down at the corpse of the young man, taking in his pale, twisted face. A pity. Almost.

I gave a growl and darted from the alley to leap onto the roof of the nearest house. I bounded across the rooftops with the wind whistling through my silver hair. The speed of my journey forced back the loose, wrinkled skin of my face, smoothing it into an illusion of youth. But I was so very old, and the blood of the young man roiled in my bloated stomach, proof that I would get older still. I grinned into the night and licked my fangs. It was a fine thing to be old, because youth never lasted long, anyway.

 

Follow me on Twitter @ADixonFiction.

Photo courtesy of pixabay.com

Fortnightly Fiction – A Call for Prompts!

AJ.Dixon6 Comments

Hi everyone! As I mentioned a couple of days ago, I’m going to be launching a new feature on my blog. Just like my previous ‘Fiction Fursday’ posts, I am looking to write stories with your input! I will write, edit, redraft and post one short story every two weeks for your enjoyment (I hope!) and your scrutiny.

What I will need from you, dear readers, is writing prompts. They can be in the form of first/last lines, a particular theme you would like to see, a suggested point of view, or even just one word to get the cogs turning. I’ll welcome any suggestion of genre, too, so please feel free to give me something tricky! Please note, I will draw the line at anything unsavory, such as extreme erotica or gore. Just as a heads up!

This process has worked very well for me in past, both in my April A-Z Challenge in 2016 and my ‘Fiction Fursday’ posts, and it gave me a tremendous sense of achievement as I was regularly writing and receiving feedback. Of course, I will also be adding stories from within my own mind-palace from time to time, as I can’t let you lot take all the credit!

I’m currently looking to begin in January 2018 with six prompts, which will take me into the middle of March. If I receive more than I need then I’ll simply file them away for future use, especially if they are good ones! My aim is to stay ahead of the game by keeping to a strict schedule this time around, as it’s high time I got this blog organised!

As always, I will aim to keep the stories around the 2000 word mark or less. If any are likely to go over by a large amount then I’ll consider splitting the story into parts. Also, anyone who suggests a prompt which I use will be acknowledged and linked in to the blog post. I’d be extremely grateful for any suggestions and I’m looking forward to seeing what we can come up with together!

Thanks, everyone!

 

Image credit to pixabay.com. 

Here are a few of my ‘Fiction Fursday’ short stories, to give you a flavour of the excellent prompts I have received in the past. 🙂

A Crisis In Alexandria

Flossy’s Chance

The Boy and the Oak Tree

Dark Side Debriefing

The Animals’ Advice

Death Vision

 

The Need for Sleep

AJ.Dixon9 Comments

I wrote this story for the ‘Hour of Writes’ competition a few weeks ago. If you haven’t heard of Hour of Writes then I recommend you pay the site a visit. The idea is simple: the theme is set each week and participants are encouraged to write a story, poem or non-fiction piece based on it. A timer is set for one hour, and away you go! Each participant must read and mark three pieces of submitted work in order for their own to be considered for the prize, so it has a real community feel to it.

The theme for that particular was ‘Live the Dream’. Here is what I was able to come up with. I hope you enjoy it.

 

The Need For Sleep

By Adam Dixon

The weak morning sunlight trickled into the hotel room, promising a day of brightness and warmth. For Tomasz, the day could not seem any brighter than it already was. He reclined against the plump pillows on the large bed as the breeze from the open window raised pleasant goose-bumps on his arms. He selected a piece of warm, crispy bread from the tray on his knees and held it up to Justyna’s lips. Justyna, glowing from happiness and from their recent love-making, giggled and opened her mouth to accept the offering. She had never looked so beautiful and Tomasz fell in love with her all over again. Justyna crunched the bread and poked around on the tray for a moment. She lifted a piece of sausage and wriggled closer. The bed sheets she had gathered around her fell away, revealing her naked body for an instant before her raven-coloured hair covered her breasts. She placed a hand delicately on Tomasz’s chest and raised the other to his mouth. Tomasz breathed in the scent of the meat, detecting the sweet herbs added to flavour it. His stomach rumbled and Justyna laughed, bird-like and full of life.
“Eat, my love,” Justyna said, smiling sweetly. Tomasz stared into her pale blue eyes and opened his mouth. He relished the rich, succulent flavour of the meat almost as much as the feeling of Justyna’s fingers on his lips and on his chest. Desire awoke within him again and he gently cupped her face. He leaned forwards and moved his face towards hers…

A bell sounded, piercing and urgent. Tomasz awoke with a start and immediately cried out in despair.
“No! Not again!” he wailed, covering his eyes with his hands. Tears coursed down his leathery, wrinkled face and fell to the floor. The bell rang again impatiently.
“Oh, Justyna!” Tomasz moaned as he swung his weary legs from the warmth of his single bed. He could still taste the sausage on his tongue, and her fingertips still lingered on his lips… Tomasz dressed quickly in a simple shirt and trousers, shoving his feet into his reliable old boots. He stood and gazed at himself in the small, grimy mirror on his bedside table. His rheumy eyes took in the image of an old man, crumpled and heartbroken. His eyes strayed to his left arm and he sighed. He hadn’t removed the Artifact; he detested that part almost as deeply as waking up. He unclasped the leather binding as swiftly as his arthritic fingers would allow before pulling it away. He winced as the sharp stud pulled free from his flesh, dripping blood in a thin crimson river down his forearm. Tomasz wrapped a simple bandage around the wound before shrugging on a battered overcoat. The bell rang again as he tucked the Artifact into a secret compartment next to his bed. Tomasz swore.
“I am coming, you cretin!” he said through clenched teeth. “You had better have a lot of work for me today, I wish to sleep for longer tonight!” He patted the unassuming wooden panel hiding the Artifact for reassurance, then he shuffled out of his tiny room. His employer awaited.

“Tomasz, what the hell kept you?” the mage demanded, his ridiculous green eyebrows arching in annoyance. Tomasz bowed, causing his back to crack audibly.
“My apologies, Master Aleksander,” he wheezed. “I must have overslept.”
“This is happening too often, old man!” the mage snapped, crossing his arms in his voluminous golden sleeves. “Honestly, if you ever came to your senses and ask for proper payment I would dismiss you and hire someone younger!”
“Do not fear, Master Aleksander,” Tomasz said with practiced humility. He glanced up with a sad smile. “All I require is for my tasks to be exhausting and for somewhere to sleep once they are complete. Nothing more.” Aleksander eyed Tomasz with distaste. The man had been using the Artifact again; he positively reeked of the ancient magic. Aleksander shuddered at the idea of using fresh blood to awaken a spell, it was almost medieval. For a moment, Aleksander’s coldness evaporated. If only he could find a way for the Artifact to work with magically-induced sleep…that would give Tomasz a bit of an easier time…if he could just- but no, Aleksander did not have time to waste researching such frivolities.
“Good,” the mage said stiffly, regaining his poise. He jerked a poultice-stained thumb towards a set of wooden stairs. “I have twelve barrels of healing potions which need decanting into the one-hundred-and-twenty flasks you will see in the cellar. They have already been laid out, and they will each need to be stoppered and labelled. Do not spill a single drop, Tomasz, it is expensive stock!”
“Right away, sir!” Tomasz said eagerly. “I do apologise once again for my lateness. I will make it up to you, I promise.” With that, he hurried off to the cellar steps and descended into darkness. Aleksander frowned after him. He was almost certain that the old man was thinner than before. He looked almost skeletal.
“You’re not eating properly, are you?” Aleksander mumbled. He shook his head; he had no time to care about the whims of an old labourer!
“Bah! If he wishes to tread this path, so be it!” he said to himself. “I’m not his keeper! I’ll not interfere!”

Tomasz fell asleep almost as soon as his head hit his pillow that night. He had willed his aching, fatigued body back to his claustrophobic room and had attached the Artifact as soon as he could. The brief sting followed by the unnatural throbbing as the magic leaked into him did not prevent him from slipping away quickly. His eyes opened within a dream almost right away. He looked down at his hands. They were old and wrinkled, so it was not a dream of younger times. A shame, but it couldn’t be helped. He glanced around him, and his heart sank in his chest.
He was in a hospital. Sterile white walls surrounded him on all sides and the reek of stale urine and futile disinfectant invaded his nostrils. A corridor stretched out in front of him, and at the end of it was a single bed. On it lay a shape which he couldn’t quite make out, but he knew it was Justyna.
“No, not this one…” he croaked, closing his eyes tight and willing himself to wake up. The offensive odour grew stronger and he heard a weak voice call his name.
“Tomasz? Tomasz, where are you?”
“Justyna!” Tomasz opened his eyes and lurched forward as a strangled sob escaped his lips. His footsteps boomed on the floor, echoing loudly around him and lancing into his ears like daggers. He staggered into a run, seeing the bed moving closer, but slowly, oh so slowly!
“Tomasz? Tomasz, are you there? Tomasz…I’m frightened…”
“I’m coming, my love!” Tomasz called desperately. “I’ll not leave you!” Tomasz hauled himself along the corridor, his old legs protesting and his chest tightening painfully as his breathing came out in short gasps. After what seemed like hours Tomasz reached the bed. It was a simple affair, just a thin mattress on top of a bench, but that was all the space the hospital had been able to provide them with at the time. The Plague had spread so quickly…
“Tomasz?” Justyna tried to raise herself in the bed, her wasted arms trembling with the effort. Her once-radiant face was gaunt and discoloured by the consuming disease, and the light in her beautiful eyes was dim. Tomasz gently lowered her back down and took both of her hands. He forced a smile and blinked away tears as he fought to catch his breath.
“I am…here, Justyna,” he said. “I will…always be…here,”
“Oh, Tomasz, I hurt so,” Justyna said miserably. Her back arched and she winced in pain. Her bony fingers gripped his weakly, and Tomasz felt her wedding band slide up a few millimeters at the movement.
“It’s alright, my love,” he wheezed, leaning down to kiss her cheek. It was so cold, and so thin. She even smelled wrong, like the disinfectant on the floors. Tomasz’s lips trembled as he kissed her and he fought to the urge to cry out in despair. Instead he whispered in Justyna’s ear.
“I love you, Justyna,” he said, channeling all of his passion into the words. “Gods, I love you so much…”
“I love you too, Tomasz,” Justyna said, cradling his head with her arms. They clung to one another in silence, neither knowing what to say. Tomasz wished he could do something, anything for her.
“Tomasz, will we see the Grand Budapest again?” Justyna asked, breaking the oppressive silence with a faint voice. Tomasz choked down a sob; the Grand Budapest was the hotel where they had spent their honeymoon.
“I think so, my love,” he whispered. “You just need to get better first. The doctors will make you strong again, you’ll see.”
“Oh, that’s good,” Justyna said, lying back down with her eyes closed. She wore a smile, and Tomasz smiled as well. Justyna’s breathing became less labourious, and she appeared to relax. Tomasz still held her hands in his, and felt the tears splashing on to them. He opened his mouth to speak to her…

The bell rang sharply. Tomasz was jerked awake and ran a hand across his wet cheeks.
“Oh, Justyna,” he said, shaking his head and groaning. He sat up and pulled away the Artifact, not caring that the blood spattered onto his pillow. He stood and dressed himself, preparing for the next day of work. He stared into the mirror once again, and then staggered off. He sincerely wished for a better dream that evening…

Update – One Thing at a Time

AJ.Dixon27 Comments

Hello, everyone.

It has been a while since my last post, and I realise that the frequency of my posts has dropped in recent months. There is a very clear and simple reason for this, and that is that I am taking on too many projects at once.

I am quite ambitious with my writing, and I like to keep myself busy with some project or another every day. However, I have come to realise that I am spreading myself too thin when I should be concentrating fully on each project as it deserves. Too often I am making myself anxious because I haven’t found the time to work on a new story for my blog, or wasting time being concerned that it must play second fiddle to my novel writing, or my writing course, or my competition hopefuls. My writing should be enjoyable, as it was when I began posting on this blog, and not the source of stress that it is rapidly becoming.

I have had a long think about all of this, and I have decided to cut myself some slack. It sounds daft and obvious, I know, but it has taken a while for me to realise that it is okay to do so. I want to keep this blog up and running, as it has helped me grow in confidence and ability since I first made the plunge, and I genuinely feel as if I am part of a vibrant, exciting online community. I have made some wonderful acquaintances on WordPress, and some of you I have had the great pleasure of meeting in the real, unedited world, too! I do not want to put and I end to that, but I need to let myself breathe and not worry too much. I will continue to write fiction for this blog, but it may not be very frequently, as I have other scintillating projects which will require my attention. This blog will remain my refuge, my sanctuary if, and when, I start to become buried again. I hope it will not happen too often.

Thank you to every single one of my followers and even to those who casually stumble across this blog. Your comments and feedback keep my feet on the ground whenever my head is in the clouds!

Have any of you had, or are having, similar problems to this? I’d love to hear from you, not least because it will prove that I am not alone! Until next time, thanks for reading!