On Friday night, people get a break. They collectively take
a break from whatever it is they have to do with their lives. School's out, work's out, except of course
for all the poor little drones who must work on the weekends, such as police officers, store clerks,
and all the like. But on Friday, the shock of the week is still too fresh on the person, the memory of
all those dreary hours spent at a desk or whatever just wants to make you fall into bed, and sleep, for
at least 24 hours.
On Sunday night, people realize that the weekend is over. Sure it was fun
and good, we got to relax a little, catch up on a little bit of daily life, to take the time to enjoy
life. But on Sunday night, the entire dreary week of worthless work looms ahead of you, like a shadow.
You simply can't have any good fun on Sunday night while worrying about the week ahead. Plus, you've
got to get to bed at a reasonable hour so you'll be able to rise and shine at six o'clock the next morning.
No good fun for Sunday night.
On Saturday night, people crawl out of their holes, and interesting
little stories result as they meet and interact. Here's one of them.
Sunset. The last tiny crescent
of the sun slowly sinks beneath the horizon, leaving only a few golden streaks on the tall, gray and
glass office buildings off of King Street. Janitors clean in these buildings, they burn the trash, while
people shop in the many gift and souvenir stores, buying shirts that proclaim "TORONTO" in large happy
letters. Burn the Trash. People are going home, after a long day of shopping in the trendy Eaton's Center,
and the stretch of Queen Street in between Yonge and Spadina. Everyone was going home, the young and
happily married couples with small children who were cautioned not to get too close to the filthy homeless
men and women, the 13 year old ultra-trendy teenyboppers, and also, most of those damn skater dudes
with wide baggy pants. Well not everyone was going home and getting ready to go to sleep. In fact, some
people were just waking up.
Harmony opens her eyes.
In a small apartment, in one of the
shittier parts of Queen Street, Harmony throws the blankets off of her body. She looks up into the dark
room. She stumbles out of bed; her eyes filled with those little crusty things that you get after a particularly
restful night of sleep. She yawns, and thereby clears the misty dreams from her sleep addled mind, she
smiles, she is a basically happy vampire. Oh yeah, she's got it all, eternal life, eternal beauty, and
a hot little mortal male who she's finally gonna take tonight. She smiles tonight, a little sadly perhaps,
because she knows that her current mortal piece of fuck-meat (a.k.a. her current love interest) is gonna
die. A sweet and innocent boy he is, barely yet a man, who would never harm her in any way, and only
wants her to love him, this strange and sweet puppy affair with an older woman.
She gets dressed,
not too fancy mind you, just the regular faded green army pants, a black tee shirt, and army boots. You
don't want to dress too warmly on this beautiful summer night. Night. She loves the night. Well, it is
all she knows, I guess. She was initiated during the night; she lives for the night. You see, Harmony
thinks that the people of the night are much more interesting than the regular old day dwellers. Once
she was just wandering through the concrete jungle of Nathan Phillips Square, only to see a homeless
man talking to a coupla kids. About how to stay warm in the winter. About the wife and daughter he had
back in Japan. This man, used to be in the Canadian army, he knew 9 forms of martial arts, spoke
many languages (including Ojibwa) and he also knew how to kill and cook the pigeons that bathed in the
fountain nearby. Or so he claimed. Those two kids had places to go, they felt really bad for this guy,
Jim was his name, but the tickets to the Superchunk concert that they just bought were non-refundable,
after all. Would they have really helped, Harmony wondered. Harmony followed them, saw them smoke a joint
outside of the concert venue, and saw them enjoy the show. She couldn't bring herself to kill them and
feed off them, she saw how they had pitied poor Jim. Oh well.
But I digress.
Harmony wandered
through the halls of her apartment building, looking for the exit. She's always been a little absent-minded.
She passes the poverty stricken, the good old down-and-out, young and old. There's Amanda, who often
frequents the corner of Queen and John, panning for a little bit of money. She sits in her apartment
with the door open, shooting cheap, dirty heroin into her arm. "Hi Amanda", says Harmony, walking into
the apartment. The place is a dump. The current squeeze sleeps on the ripped out couch, a couch with
stuffing that leaks out of it like splattered guts.
"Halo Mo. Hehe. Rhymes." She pulls the needle
out of her arm, lying down backwards on the bed. There goes another drug addled mind. Harmony knows that
Amanda is a good girl, pretty on the outside, and in her own crass way, beautiful on the inside. Harmony
looks at her, staring at the ceiling, nodding off. She'll be out later. And then, after a moment of hesitation,
Harmony leans down and kisses Amanda softly on the lips, just as she nods out. Nothing sexual. Just positive
energy. One soul to another. Peace.
Our Heroine walks down the dingy ill-lit stairway. "Why",
Harmony, thinks, "People could come to harm in a little trashy stairway like this". Harmony smiles softly
at the thought, She idly wonders how fuck-meat (as she calls him) is doing, wonders whether he's sitting
down to dinner with his girlfriend, whether he's dressing sexy tonight, whether he's thinking of her.
She smiles softly again. Yeah, life is getting boring, a meaningless mess of wandering through the night,
chatting up worthless people. In fact, the only time she feels as if she is alive, as like a fresh young
vampire straight out of the arms of her master, or even a vigorous young teenage woman, is when she
kills. Otherwise, Harmony thinks she lives a rather boring and dull life. Yes, tonight, this will be
the night. She swings over the stair railing lightly and gracefully, landing right next to the door.
She pulls it open, screeching on its rusty and dirty hinges. She walks out into the sacred and blessed
night.
The city street hits her, as it always does, like a ton of bricks falling on an unlucky
cartoon character. It might be dark in the sky, but the street is well lit, from various street lamps
and store lights. Sounds fill the air, cars rushing past as they move on to wherever they are going;
music from the outdoor patio bars and restaurants; and that low hum of human conversation, punctuated
with the occasional joyful yell or shriek. Harmony walks out of her squalid little building, and is struck
by all the hustle and bustle of this normal city night all at once. She reels, doubling over, putting
her pretty head between her legs, as if she were a drunken woman who had killed one beer too many, and
was getting ready to unload the unpleasant burden in her stomach. She knows she can't take it all at
once, you see, vampires are sensitive creatures, for which all sensations are magnified many times over.
This passage into extreme sensation is enough to bow even the strongest vampire, yet she bears this pain
in silence, and waits for it to pass. Harmony is a patient and strong creature.
Just like shaded
mortal eyes will get used to a bright light, or a mortal nose will get accustomed to the sweet smell
of a flower, Harmony grows familiar with the sensory assault of the city street. She does every night,
after all, this night should be no different from the rest. She looks down, the sidewalk is dirty and
strewn with litter. She looks up, the air is filled with smelly car exhaust. She looks into the people
who are sitting oblivious in their patio restaurants, seemingly safe with one arm around their lovers
and the other arm busy holding a beer, completely unaware that a killer walks in their midst. "Stupid
petty people", thinks our demure and smiling heroine. But these drones have nothing to fear. Harmony
begins to walk east, towards some of the larger clubs, in hopes of finding fuck-meat tonight. She hopes
that he has come downtown tonight. Well, it is Saturday night, you know. Everyone comes downtown Saturday
night. And Harmony thinks to herself, "I hope he brings that beautiful little piece of fluff girlfriend
with him."
Harmony walks slowly down Queen Street, and then turns quickly into a restaurant,
if you could even call it a restaurant. The rusty sign, "Papa's Pizza" hangs crooked outside the storefront,
announcing the dilapidated and disheveled state of the restaurant. She often frequents this place. It's
quiet, no one to disturb her with catcalls or reckless flirts. She really doesn't mind the company of
filthy old winos that drool absentmindedly onto their slimy, greasy pizza bought with nickels and pennies.
Harmony sits down, orders a wretched coffee, that smells a little bit like roasted garbage. She sits
down, with her coffee, and thinks. She sits thinking.
Fuck-meat's girlfriend, Jennifer, is absolutely
beautiful. The ideal form of beauty, of the western world. She is a tall and leggy woman, with wide blue
eyes, and thick sensuous lips. Lips that you could die kissing. She has medium sized, and perfectly formed
breasts, and long shiny beautiful blonde hair. Jennifer is the ultimate male wet dream come true, that
fantasy that flits through the mind of the cheap adolescent hand job preformed in the bathroom, behind
locked doors. Harmony thinks back to when she used to follow fuck-meat and Jennifer, how men, young and
old, had eaten, literally ate Jennifer up with their hungry eyes. They would walk about together, with
Jennifer lightly putting one hand into fuck-meat's back pocket, softly fondling his ass. The looks of
jealousy from the men. The look on fuck-meat's face, his friendly would-hurt-nobody sweet and innocent
face, a million miles distant, not thinking of the beautiful woman beside him, but only thinking of that
little punk girl, that slightly scruffy but nonetheless lovely khaki and T-shirt clad woman, that had
touched her mind to his and twisted. Harmony startles a little, to clear her head of these memories.
Fuck-meat is hers. Tonight.
Harmony walks out of the dingy little pizza shop. She keeps walking
straight, past dingy little stores and dingy little people, straight the hell out of that dingy little
neighborhood. On to the lights and brights, baby. She crosses over Spadina, into the area that is a little
bit more classy. She walks and walks, almost frantically, letting the small radar that is her mind focus
on and to follow the intoxicating smell of fuck-meat. She can sense him. He and the little bimbo are
here, in one of the dance clubs nearby. Harmony stops outside the door, looking in, but not seeming
to actually see anything. Harmony stops. She looks at her arms, her legs, her body. She lets it all go
slack, all her muscles loosen up, but she still stands upright. A strange thread of excitement (or perhaps
pure and exquisite pleasure) courses through her body; her head and chest, groin and toes, no area is
not touched by this strange and wild thrill. Her eyes gleam. She salivates slightly, inside her mouth,
her soft pink tongue runs gently over her small but perfectly formed fangs. Pushing aside the other people
who are waiting in line to pay to get into this club, Harmony rushes in.
At the instant that
Harmony passes through the door, fuck-meat looks up. He knows that she is here, she, the woman of his
dreams, the woman who he would gleefully follow into the jaws of death itself. Fuck-meat watches as she
approaches him with a dumb look on his rather pleasant and sweet face, while Jennifer randomly flirts
with the guy at the next table. Harmony smiles at them both. Fuck-meat continues to look at Harmony,
who is getting closer and closer to his table. The tension is so thick, it is as if the world only exists
for these three, playing out their little drama, with Harmony in the lead, fuck-meat playing second,
and bimbo not really doing fuck-all. Fuck-meat looks into Harmony's eyes and they lock for an instant,
and Harmony takes his hand and speaks the first and only actually word that she will ever speak to him,
one little word, "Come."
Fuck-meat stands up, holding her hand, prepared to run to hell and back
if that is what she so desires. She has spoken to him. Fuck-meat is dwelling in bliss, pure ecstasy.
At about this time, when fuck-meat gets up, Jennifer begins to realize that something is wrong. She watches
them together, her clear blue eyes mutely following her babe and this ratty little punk chick walk to
the bathroom area.
Harmony is in a haze. Everything is there but not there, all things look as
if they are viewed through a smoky mirror. Harmony feels the insane blood lust come over her. She brutally
shoves fuck-meat against the wall, his feet dangling two inches off the ground, holding him up with a
hand around his neck. She peers into his eyes, to savor the moment of death, to see what he feels, now
that actual contact has been made between him and his true love. She is not surprised by what she sees.
His mouth makes the supreme effort to whisper his first and only words to her, around the tight hand
on his throat. "I…….love……..you……", he gasps pitifully, choking for air the entire time. This is all
that Harmony needs, and then Harmony lets loose, and tears powerfully into his now milky white throat
with her fangs. They both give a strange little gasp of pleasure, this contact being more that than they
both could have ever expected. The blood rushes forth from his neck, into her greedily drinking and sucking
mouth. Fuck-meat throws his head back against the door, his hands balled up into fists, his eyes tightly
scrunched up in the extreme bliss and ecstasy of it all. Harmony drinks steadily, letting a small stream
of his blood, pure fire, leak past her lips and dribble softly down the curve of her cheek. Harmony
thinks, insanely, of the line from Natural Born Killers where Mallory stands over the redneck, beating
the shit out of him, and screaming "How pretty do I look now, Asshole??!!" Jennifer turns round the corner,
to see Harmony and fuck-meat feeding in a frenzy of lust one moment, and then just fuck-meat's drained
husk with a torn out throat falling to the ground the next. Harmony walks outside, by pushing open the
fire emergency door, and proceeding quickly through the grimy alleyway by the time Jennifer begins to
scream. Harmony daintily wipes the blood off her face with some tissues, Jennifer screams because it
is all she can do, and guileless little fuck-meat, who only wanted to be loved from Harmony, is dead,
bloodless, and empty. Perhaps he got his wish, after all.
Harmony walks slowly back to her apartment.
She passes Amanda on the corner of Queen and John, and tosses a few coins into her lap. Amanda doesn't
even look up. Neither does anyone else. The Saturday night in the city, continues, unaware.