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November 27, 2023
"Mes de los Muertos"

Bohemian Morning 03

By Lydia Manx

Chapter Three

A wave of anger was starting to build inside me, and it promised to feed all the fun tumbling deep inside my skull as I mentally calculated the angles and odds of slaughtering them all in front of the bar. Spotting at least two different camera lenses videotaping our little group, I shoved my immediate gratification desires down and weighed out my situation.

"Dude, like, is Bob going to let us do what we want?" A different unseen flannel guy asked of fuckwit number two, seemingly part of the shared brain behind this stupidity.

"Hells yes. He didn't tell us no, did he?" A chuckle and a shove between my shoulder blades causing me to hiccough step rather than fall to my knees as the force of his hand meant to do, I heard a slight intake of 'huh' in his voice as I remained standing. I guess I wasn't behaving precisely as anticipated -- gee whiz, I was so sorry.

Fred groaned and laughed, "Not that I heard. Canyon fodder?"

Fred had been gloating rather noticeably ever since I'd been kidnapped from the bar. The idiots actually mistakenly thought they were going to be able to drag me down into the local canyons and rape me -- or worse. Mentally I shook my head at their arrogance but didn't resist yet. Far too many cameras were suspended around the streets nowadays to just fang out and feed.

Besides, I knew the area well; I mean it was rapidly becoming my favorite new hunting ground, even if only for the past few weeks. So naturally I had pretty well checked out the terrain. There were many fingers of interconnecting canyons and vast chaparral-filled valleys all throughout the city. Southern California wasn't paved from sea to freeway despite what television and movies showed the world. Dry riverbeds, that is, dry for most of the time, ran from the local mountains to the Pacific Ocean, while the sandy canyons were filled with coyotes, both four-legged and furry alongside the two-legged runners of migrant workers; various of each type slept in caves and children's abandoned tree forts that were relatively unknown to the average commuter and city dweller. The area was filled with predators -- that these clowns knew about the vicinity wasn't filling me with happiness ... but once we were far from prying eyes I would adjust. All the hyped-up adrenaline flowing off the fools was definitely sharpening my appetite as well as my teeth. I made sure to keep my damned lips shut because it was too early to spoil my surprise.

"Damn, she's far too fine to rush this," here he licked his lips with spit falling from one corner unnoticed, "We need to get this bitch way outta screaming range." This lovely little notion was hissed out from the jaws of fuckwit number four. He was a scrawny, sharp faced little weasel. I doubt he was over a hundred pounds dripping wet. His clothes didn't do much to bulk up his skinny-ass frame, but he was confident of his buddies helping back his words. I, on the other hands, was pretty sure he just moved himself to the top of my first to kill list on his words alone. I added a mental note to rip his tongue from his face before he was unconscious. My to-do list just kept getting longer and longer with these jerks and there was no sign that would stop anytime soon. This sorta made me smile. Fred was awake enough to notice and yelped out, "She thinks this is funny."

Actually, I did really think it was funny that these vicious morons thought I was fair game, but I wasn't thrilled that Fred had noticed much less mentioned it aloud to the flannel set still intent on trying to harm little old me. It wasn't like I laughed aloud, just a small smile -- no teeth. We'd been slowly meandering down the relatively empty streets -- I hadn't seen a single human or non-human since we'd left the bar. Once we reached the corner of the street, one of the mouth breathers shoved me harder than before -- the fog and darkness made identification nearly impossible so instead of using my eyes I struck backwards, vampiric speed, slashing my nails down the unseen assailant's face. Okay, I may have allowed my nails to pop out a little more than tradition manicure length, but it wasn't like they'd noticed my hands. I felt his skin give and smelt the blood rush to fill in the deep grooves. I intentionally missed his eyes and heard his squeak and then he let loose a scream of pain. One of the other flannel guys hissed, "Shut the fuck up. We don't need someone coming out to help her."

"She clawed my face. You fucking asshole, it hurts." But his voice was softer, and I noticed that he sounded near tears. My lovely nature reared its head and I said quite sweetly, "Wah, wah. Poor baby." Yeah, so I wasn't nice.

Another guy tried to put a hand on me. I spun around and yanked the man's hand from grabbing me and physically threw him onto the sidewalk saying, "No, no, no, it's not your turn yet."

His hand wasn't quite ready to meet the hard surface and from his scream and the audible snapping sound of some bones breaking on the concrete I pretty much had disabled his right hand. Golly, I guess he wasn't ready to play with the gang because instead of getting up and trying to touch me, he curled tightly into a ball, as if that would stop the pain. One of his buddies stumbled across the fallen pervert and ironically stepped on his other unintentionally exposed hand, pulverizing those fingers with his heavy work boots. The weeping wasn't loud but filled with severe pain and half-hearted sobs of swear words. These guys really would've benefited from a 'word-a-day' calendar. A moot point after this night, but the English language really had taken a major hit with the upswing in social media and unfiltered morons on the news.

There were only two of these flannel covered swinging dicks left who seemed to have much interest in playing with me. Naturally they were the two I hadn't physically touched, yet. Fred, the bar's original beer swilling jerk, was mouthy but still damn green around the edges; good old handsy-boy wasn't going to be up to touching anything on me or anyone else any time soon either, and the fuckwit I'd just clawed wasn't exactly rushing to get any closer to me. I wondered, should I be insulted? In the street, the limited light cast very little in the visual range, but from the deep and lovely shadows I had already figured out conveniently life had left me with the two I'd first assigned positions of death -- flannel fuckwit number two and the last weasel one who I had actually wanted to slaughter first. I have to respect karma when she hands me permission and my heart's desire after a bad day.

Just then the fog drifted over the lights nearest us, and I took advantage of the near-blind conditions and grabbed those two by the throat and yanked them into the alley. I used my vampiric strength coupled with my wonderfully uncanny speed to move the men by their throats. They were incapable of speaking as my hands were steel and unyielding to their attempts to claw my fingers off and actually neither could utter a single sound, due to being unable to breath in enough air to speak -- or scream, for that matter. My fangs snicked out of my gums as sharp and predatory as nature provided. Their eyes bulged at my smile and the smaller man fell limp in my grasp, I wasn't sure if he fainted or just gave up. I could feel his pulse still beating against my fingertips, so at least he wasn't dead.

On the street we had just left, I could hear gasps of stunned disbelief as I'd moved the two of their buddies so fast, with the fog thickly on the ground, it had been unseen by the three and they were dumbfounded and utterly confused what had just happened.

"Where's that bitch?" I easily identified Fred as the one speaking. His pain from my deliberate groin shot still rang in his voice. He didn't sound nearly as fierce without all his buddies to back his play.

Handsy-boy wasn't adding much but a colorfully-laced swearing rant that wasn't anything noteworthy or informative as far as I could tell. Again, they surely could come up with another name for me, but bitch was as much as either seemed to be able to use. Such a shameful lack of education wasn't anything new in society but very depressing, nevertheless.

Third one, whose face I'd raked with my nails was saying loudly, "You better show yourself, bitch. Jack and I need to correct a few things." Here he snickered as if he thought he was being clever and commanding. Did that asshole think I'd just come running to dive onto his little blade?

Okay, yeah that idea made me quake in my boots. Oh, no! I better go get stabbed. I mean, really, did he think I was that stupid? Or that anyone was? He hissed, "Now, bitch, get over here and take your medicine. William and Pauly, kick her ass." He whooped softly, as if we were at a rodeo, adding, "You make that bitch pay." Boy, he was just full of fun ideas without any notion of how sideways his world had gone. Butter side down was not even how wrong it was. Couldn't think of anything but 'screwed as only a human could do' felt flat but was pretty close.

The boys in my hands weren't going to be kicking any ass much less replying any time soon. But I wasn't going to spoil the other knife waving man's evening yet. Let him think William and Pauly were in control. The unconscious one wasn't showing any signs of waking up, but the other guy was struggling and turning a tad blue on the edges. Oh well, I shook him in my fist and let a bit of air into his windpipe. Sucking through his lips he tried to gasp in enough to fill his lungs to scream. Predictable human, smiling I licked my lips and tongued my sharp fangs his eyes following my motion with naked fear dancing on his face. Had to love it. Transfixed by my fangs, any thought of screaming fled as it was starting to dawn on him, he was utterly and absolutely fucked.

Vampire hearing is good, that's not a Hollywood lie, so I quite easily heard the hushed discussions being held by the flannel boys a few feet from me.

"William must've taken her down to that fort we used last time, he's damn too eager. He's smart enough to wait for us, isn't he?" The knife boy asked of the other two.

Fred snarked, "Fuck no! He's a horndog. He'll tap that ass soon as they're outta hearing range. He won't wait for us." From the shuffling noises, it sounded like they were getting back on their feet and ready to follow the trails down to where it was William was supposedly hammering my ass. The conscious man in my left hand was apparently William because he was twisting and scraping harder at me while his eyes were furious at being described as a horndog. I am pretty sure my mouth dropped open at his being affronted by the term.

Easing up on my grasp of nearly blue Pauly I continued down the narrow empty alley to where it dumped into another delivery alley and noticed a few cameras directed towards the back exits along the backside of the buildings. Growling softly, I thought quickly where precisely I was from my nearest dumping ground. It was shocking how full the canyons had become in the past few years as the homeless problem went unchecked and the migrant workers flooded the area from all over the world. It made my disposal more awkward than you'd think.

Article © Lydia Manx. All rights reserved.
Published on 2020-11-30
Image(s) © Lydia Manx. All rights reserved.
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