All Rights Reserved ©



Presently it’s at an all-time high: violence. Violence hath poured into everything, from the way I hunt and the way I kill, occasionally sniffing out my victims, the ones trying to hide from me, and the vampires living in unauthorized human guises, to video games and the minds of repressed, oppressed and stressed Negros stripped down to the polarization of the Negro itself, the Nigga.

For their protection, the purchasing of firearms by repressed, repossessed and frightened Caucasians was on the rise because they were slowly becoming the minority in America.

Violence fuels Hollywood entertainment, and is evident in the most popular cartoons being spoon-fed with a jack hammer down the younger generations’ throats; violence has poured over into wrestling, sports and NA§CAR racing.

To blow up in thy car racing against other thunderously roaring vehicles around a track with hundreds of thousands of spectators cheering you on just to bait and switch mournfully when you crash and burn to death is violence in itself, so yes, racing qualifies for an honorable mention, depending on what side you’re judging this from.

Popular entertainment from today’s pop tart, bubble gum kings, dismal queens, forgotten tweens and past child stars turned voluptuous performers with forgettable hit albums left nothing to the imagination. Thank you for classical music. I stick to my roots, though over the centuries it has converted to broken-hearten love songs.

I lean on them sometimes…I tried being an entertainer once in my life, back in 19th century Europe, back when I felt guilty about overthrowing the Queen Mother Armona. But it was too late for regrets…

I hated being an entertainer, even though my thirst for blood kept me a terrorist through the night. So I lived a double life. I starred in a hit play, called Vampiric

Vampiric was about a blood thirsty creature hunting for her biological parents. The search came up void, her heart torn asunder. She slaves for the darkness and finds her way to the light when she discovers that her mother impregnated herself. Her mother died after her birth, but lived in her heart, where she found herself and self-love and lived happily ever after.

In back alleys and rural, darkened streets by night, I left a blood bath of fear and public panic. No matter how the European government at the time tried to keep it under wraps, they failed to keep society ignorant.

People went through drastic measures to protect themselves. Bodies turned up everywhere. Corpses washed ashore from as far as forty miles away. All of them were mutilators of animals, all of them had the sort of demonic possession that scared even me, but I never showed it on my face when in their presence, when I am feeding on fresh warm blood.

The authorities in neighboring countries joined together to find me, and didn’t realize that Vampiric’s rising star, seen by 400,000 Europeans and foreigners in only nine months, was the killer.

For months I was miserable, chasing fame and finding another dead end devoid of life or sustenance. I was putting myself through rigorous workouts and devastating choreography nearly broke me in two. The directors and producers were demons in human form. They starved the entire cast and made sure they looked sickly on stage, clad in expensive jewels and the best of garments and pointed toed, wooden shoes…

I was so addicted to the body I used as a guise, a svelte, lean body that could go on for miles without losing steam or stamina, I could barely sleep at all.

No matter how I tried to reason with producers about limiting my time on stage, they wanted me to work that much harder and perform five shows a week.

I had no say in the direction of my short career.

No matter how I ranted and raved it wasn’t happening. So I stopped complaining, and tried a different method, went about things in a different manner.

Yes, I was the star and was treated like royalty, but the show’s creator and producers and directors called the shots, and I knew then I didn’t want to continue being an entertainer. Being someone that I was not was starting to take a toll on me. It was bad enough I have held Armona’s flesh captive for 4,000 plus years…

The only reason I got the part was because of the immediacy of it all.

Evelyn, a tall, gorgeous Russian woman that carried the show for a few months before I took over, was murdered down by an unknown assailant. At first I thought how unfortunate, but that would soon change once I found out what she did for attention and notoriety.

I joined the cast cold turkey and succeeded beautifully. There was a lot of pressure to fill Evelyn’s shoes. I took it all in stride. I owned the part, and made it my own (Evelyn, who?). I handled it gracefully. Singing and dancing for two full hours became everything that I was, and everything that I was not. Some nights after the ghost lights died I was too tired to hunt for blood. I literally fell asleep on stage. Dropped after my performance and lay there in sweat until the hired help closed up for the night…

The show must go on.

A few weeks later, after another smashing, record-breaking, successful night of Vampiric, I celebrated with one of the directors at his behest.

There were three directors in all, and Roosevelt Dickerson, the lead director, the boss of them all, a big, burly man with impeccable taste in women and was one hell of a brain surgeon in the foreplay department, was my ticket to the upper realm of entertainment and success.

At first success was what I sought, thinking I could bring down the animal snuff film maker and avenge the abused animals.

Dogs doing unspeakable things to rich humans for fame, things females did in front of old age men with cats turned my stomach and I was a creature of the night.

The slaughter of the animals must stop! The animals that were mutilated, after certain snuff films wrapped, were piled in an open field with thousands of attendees standing before a burning thirty foot cross, dressed in black with face coverings.

Only the eyes of the spectators showed when the mutilated body parts were set ablaze to toast the darkness covering certain parts of the moon.

And then a mind-boggling chant confused me.

Who were they chanting to?

Putting those thoughts to the back of my mind, I turned on my right side and kissed the father of the animal snuff film maker, Roosevelt Dickerson.

The way he cheated on his wife and she hadn’t a single clue impressed me. He suckled me with dry gin against my clitoris and a melting ice cube, stinging me pleasurably as my pleasurable folds glided on his thick shaft, causing his eyes to roll to the back of his head.

“We can’t get caught together,” he said, determined to explode deep inside me.

“What does it matter?”

Just before we both climaxed, together, a few people burst through the door of his son’s remote office (we were in the private study), screaming at each other.

For a moment we held our breath. He looked desperately at me, and I was panting, but not nervous. After all I was thirsty for blood and knew I couldn’t kill right at this moment, it would destroy my rise to the top. Killing off the one’s that makes it happen stalls progress tenfold.

Knock off the little people.

When we overheard what the producers told the directors, that her life came at a price, that she sold her soul for the number one spot before the much hyped show made its debut (before my time) and tried to renege on her decision and fake her death and go into hiding with hundreds of thousands of dollars under an alias and blame it on her ailing children, when they were hidden with an undisclosed family member in a distant location and were as healthy as an ox, one of the producers put a hit on her life by a blind assassin.

Never play hide and go seek with another man’s money.

Her estate went up in flames, close relatives were snubbed without incident, their deaths never made the airwaves or the newspaper or the media.

All of this happened before I joined the cast.

While she was being executed, I was pulled into one of the hit show’s remote local offices after another moneyed, classy producer of the show saw me chasing butterflies in the moonlight, two hundred feet from the front entrance.

I paused and looked over my shoulder, running my hands up and over my hips, pursing my lips.

Through narrowed eyes he studied me. He loved the way I moved, I loved the strings he could pull.

I’ve been following them ever since the transaction made with one of my victims, when I beheaded him in an old decrepit building by the European government offices before the show’s debut.

The man with the camera, known affectionately as Snake, bought several strains of a man made disease for a few million dollars, an immaculate strain that can live in flies, butterflies and other moth type beings.

After the handshake deal, Snake made a phone call.

“Smooth,” was all he said. “We will use the butterflies for our union,” he continued in code, disguising his voice with aplomb, and hung up the phone in his luxury car with dark windows and automatic doors. I shook my head. I was seeing into his future, like I had with Brenda.

It angered me that they were going to kill beautiful creatures, use their bodies to manifest strains of unknown diseases to inflict on the public. I had to shut it down. I have a treaty with the animals and the fowls of the entire inhibited earth.

And now I was about to put on a show for Snake.

We were about to meet for the first time, even though I killed his business associate after he drove off. The taste of his blood was still fresh on my lips and my breath, smelled rather tempting.

I remembered biting into the biggest artery in his neck, and drained him dry.

Smile, Snake.

He smiles.

I grin.

I never show the depth of my smile to a man I didn’t know, and just met.

The minute I twirled my hips and fondled my breasts for Snake, thoughts of Evelyn and her amazing performances were an instant thing of the past.

I was what they were looking for! It must be fate!

He couldn’t believe his luck!

That was the deception, and I used it to work my way into his life, so I could avenge the abuse of butterflies...

What if they sacrificed more than butterflies?

Continue Reading Next Chapter

About Us

Inkitt is the world’s first reader-powered book publisher, offering an online community for talented authors and book lovers. Write captivating stories, read enchanting novels, and we’ll publish the books you love the most based on crowd wisdom.