Mo's Manic Monday - Spike
Posted: Monday, February 12, 2007 by Travis Cody in
Today's Manic Monday word is "spike". This became an exercise in description for me, and I've used several different definitions within the passage.
Spike
He let the euphoria wash over him like a wave caresses a beach. The victim, a young attractive male, slid from his grasp to rest on the cold alley pavement.
Erik wallowed in the familiar sensations of the blood lust fulfilled. His eyes closed. Against the soothing darkness, shocks of brilliant light appeared, first one, then another, then more in rapid succession like fireworks exploding in a charcoal sky. Erik felt himself lifted. The strength of the blood roared through his veins. He was renewed.
Suddenly Erik was seized by spikes of agony. How could the ecstasy have been spent so soon? Never in all his experience had there been this pain. His lungs heaved with the effort to fill. But no…he had no need to breathe! What was happening?
He found himself on his hands and knees, gasping for air, the effort doubly painful since his body had no muscle memory of the act. His hands clawed savagely at the rough pavement before him. He caught sight of them. They were shriveled, aged. The smooth, youthful skin of immortality gave way to the withered and parched skin of an old man. The sharp spikes of his fingernails were yellowed and cracked, and a sickly, foul-smelling fluid leaked from them. He wailed in confusion, the cry cut short in a coughing spasm that wrenched his chest.
Gasping, Erik crawled to the side of a building and used it to hoist himself to his feet. He staggered along the wall, his night sight gone and his regular vision fading quickly. He stumbled into an object, an abandoned car. Erik moved alongside it, each step bringing a new pain. He hoped…no, he needed to use whatever power remained his to command to start the car and drive to his lair.
He was beginning to suspect what was happening to him. His victim must have been ill, the blood somehow tainted, spiked with disease. Or worse – some illicit drug like heroine or crystal meth. This was a danger the undead faced. The need to feed was elemental, and often interfered with any power the vampire might otherwise have used to discern whether the blood was healthy or spoiled. Yet from this weakness came the source of immortality and power.
But why should drugs or disease cause this pain? He’d felt discomfort before when he’d fed from some ill host. But nothing like this.
Erik had to rest. Every movement brought pain now. He couldn't get enough air to his lungs. Each breath sent little spikes of pain through the unused tissues of his mouth and nose.
He leaned heavily against the side of the car. He was weak and getting weaker with each beat of his heart. Inconceivable! His heart wasn't supposed to beat except to echo the death pulse of his victims. Yet, the blood was now pounding in his ears, and it was his own heart that labored. He had to get home. The night would not last forever, and if he was caught by the sun's light, he would surely die.
If he could just get to his lair, he could ride this out. A full day to rest, and then he could go in search of fresh blood…and answers to this night’s riddle.
His hand rested against something cool and smooth. He pushed himself back from it and looked down. A spasm of pain doubled him at the waist. When it subsided, he raised his head. He was face to face with his reflection in the glass of the car's window.
His own cadaverous visage stared back at him, the reflection like a spike through his heart. And the 200 year old vampire died.
Thanks to Morgen at It's A Blog Eat Blog World for another terrific word.
Aaaaaccckkkk... spaghetti sauce doesn't sound good to me after reading that!!!
You're a great minion and a wonderful writer :)