TM Topic: Road trip.
Now that I think about it, I've discovered that there's many roads besides the pavement ones that weave across this cocoon of a country. A revelation, I had once upon a time, educated me that the word 'road' can be defined as any predestined path on which something travels. An easy way to get from point A to point B. Then comes road construction, traffic jams, road rage, fatal accidents, insurance claims ... oh yeah. Not so poetic and pretty when the real guts are showing, is it? What do you think happens when you apply this concept to someone's brain? The longest highways known to man are the paths through which thought occurs.
You should see what happens to the traffic when you throw up a quick detour sign.
I discovered early on that I had a pretty cool talent that came with my fangy lust for blood and that was the ability to make people think things they really didn't mean to. Through time I refined this little gift of mine until I knew exactly what part of their brain I was affecting. The most fun is making them see things that don't exist. That's the greatest frat prank ever, lemme tell you. Getting back to the revelation, it came one night in the boys' cave with a guest that we invited. He'd watched us kill and came forward with an impressive level of excitement and boisterous glee, begging me to make him one of us. I was, naturally, deeply annoyed. Having drank my fill, though, I thought it'd be more fun to see just what he was made of.
Those teenage kids are so easily baited.
He figured he was at a party. We had the booze, the grass ... oh yes, we were having a 'grand ol' time'. It was always easier for me to get inside someone's head when they weren't right to begin with, hence the beer and bud. His thought traffic was pretty screwed up by that point. That's when the real party started.
"D-dude," I heard him stutter while my gaze rest on him, watching him blankly stare at the smoke that swirled up from his joint. "Wh-what's ..."
"What's wrong, Joseph?" I asked, unable to hold back a little half grin while I watched. I made him see the smoke shift and shape into a cobra that just kept getting bigger as more smoke poured into it. When I made it hiss and bare its fangs at him for a strike, he leapt up from his chair and dropped the joint. The boys behind me began laughing. "What the hell's wrong with you, boy?" I barked through my entertained grin, trying not to chuckle at him. "That's a perfectly good joint you just soiled!"
"S-sorry, man!" he said quickly which only made my boys behind me laugh even harder, watching him scramble to pick up the burning stick. I watched him longer and made him believe the joint simply burst into flames, causing him to yelp and drop it again.
"For the love of ..." I threw up my hands defeatedly and rolled my eyes toward the ceiling. "What kind of vampire are you going to make if you can't even hold a damn joint?" I threw myself up from the chair and picked it up from in front of him, holding it cherry-up. "Is there something wrong with it?"
What he saw, however, was now a long white leech wriggling between my thumb and forefinger. "W-what the fuck, man?!" He scrambled backward, tripping over his chair and sprawling down onto his back with a loud clatter.
"What?!" I asked, turning the joint to look at it, then bringing it's end up to my mouth.
"Don't --!" he said, holding up a hand in warning, cut off as I took a couple puffs of smoke, then raised my brows and blew a stream down at him.
"It's just a joint, Joseph," I said through a quiet chuckle.
These games went on for a while. I ceaselessly made him see things and think things that people wouldn't usually consider in these settings. It was at the point Joseph was in tears, begging to go home that I began to imagine, with the help of my own blissful high, that Joseph's brain was like a highway loaded with cars that were his little thoughts and I was the traffic cop in the middle of the intersection, my whim pissing off all the drivers as I constantly caused accident after accident, sending some cars off the side of the railing to plummet to some firey death, re-routing other thought-cars to end up in a different location than that for which they were intended.
Joseph began to shake. He was pretty much gone by this point. Had I known that, I might not've pushed him so far.
"Marko," I said, turning to one of my boys and raising two fingers in a come-hither motion. "I think Joseph needs another beer." I chuckled dryly and watched Joseph while Marko delivered the beer. He turned his trembling hand to look at the Budweiser label and I prepared to make him hallucinate again. Before I could put my traffic-cop badge back on, he screamed and startled me, smashing the bottle down onto the rock floor. In front of all our staring eyes, he raised his chin with one hand and pulled the broken neck of the bottle across his throat, spilling his own blood.
We all stared in awestruck silence as the boy bled to death right in front of us.
Suddenly, out of the dominating silence, I heard Paul laugh. "Holy shit!" he proclaimed. "That was awesome! What happened?"
I rested myself back against the chair, watching the pool of blood get bigger beneath Joseph's buried face, raising my own bottle to my lips. "Road trip," I purred then took a swig.
You should see what happens to the traffic when you throw up a quick detour sign.
I discovered early on that I had a pretty cool talent that came with my fangy lust for blood and that was the ability to make people think things they really didn't mean to. Through time I refined this little gift of mine until I knew exactly what part of their brain I was affecting. The most fun is making them see things that don't exist. That's the greatest frat prank ever, lemme tell you. Getting back to the revelation, it came one night in the boys' cave with a guest that we invited. He'd watched us kill and came forward with an impressive level of excitement and boisterous glee, begging me to make him one of us. I was, naturally, deeply annoyed. Having drank my fill, though, I thought it'd be more fun to see just what he was made of.
Those teenage kids are so easily baited.
He figured he was at a party. We had the booze, the grass ... oh yes, we were having a 'grand ol' time'. It was always easier for me to get inside someone's head when they weren't right to begin with, hence the beer and bud. His thought traffic was pretty screwed up by that point. That's when the real party started.
"D-dude," I heard him stutter while my gaze rest on him, watching him blankly stare at the smoke that swirled up from his joint. "Wh-what's ..."
"What's wrong, Joseph?" I asked, unable to hold back a little half grin while I watched. I made him see the smoke shift and shape into a cobra that just kept getting bigger as more smoke poured into it. When I made it hiss and bare its fangs at him for a strike, he leapt up from his chair and dropped the joint. The boys behind me began laughing. "What the hell's wrong with you, boy?" I barked through my entertained grin, trying not to chuckle at him. "That's a perfectly good joint you just soiled!"
"S-sorry, man!" he said quickly which only made my boys behind me laugh even harder, watching him scramble to pick up the burning stick. I watched him longer and made him believe the joint simply burst into flames, causing him to yelp and drop it again.
"For the love of ..." I threw up my hands defeatedly and rolled my eyes toward the ceiling. "What kind of vampire are you going to make if you can't even hold a damn joint?" I threw myself up from the chair and picked it up from in front of him, holding it cherry-up. "Is there something wrong with it?"
What he saw, however, was now a long white leech wriggling between my thumb and forefinger. "W-what the fuck, man?!" He scrambled backward, tripping over his chair and sprawling down onto his back with a loud clatter.
"What?!" I asked, turning the joint to look at it, then bringing it's end up to my mouth.
"Don't --!" he said, holding up a hand in warning, cut off as I took a couple puffs of smoke, then raised my brows and blew a stream down at him.
"It's just a joint, Joseph," I said through a quiet chuckle.
These games went on for a while. I ceaselessly made him see things and think things that people wouldn't usually consider in these settings. It was at the point Joseph was in tears, begging to go home that I began to imagine, with the help of my own blissful high, that Joseph's brain was like a highway loaded with cars that were his little thoughts and I was the traffic cop in the middle of the intersection, my whim pissing off all the drivers as I constantly caused accident after accident, sending some cars off the side of the railing to plummet to some firey death, re-routing other thought-cars to end up in a different location than that for which they were intended.
Joseph began to shake. He was pretty much gone by this point. Had I known that, I might not've pushed him so far.
"Marko," I said, turning to one of my boys and raising two fingers in a come-hither motion. "I think Joseph needs another beer." I chuckled dryly and watched Joseph while Marko delivered the beer. He turned his trembling hand to look at the Budweiser label and I prepared to make him hallucinate again. Before I could put my traffic-cop badge back on, he screamed and startled me, smashing the bottle down onto the rock floor. In front of all our staring eyes, he raised his chin with one hand and pulled the broken neck of the bottle across his throat, spilling his own blood.
We all stared in awestruck silence as the boy bled to death right in front of us.
Suddenly, out of the dominating silence, I heard Paul laugh. "Holy shit!" he proclaimed. "That was awesome! What happened?"
I rested myself back against the chair, watching the pool of blood get bigger beneath Joseph's buried face, raising my own bottle to my lips. "Road trip," I purred then took a swig.