Prompt: You’re a vampire that works in retail so you know who deserves to die.
“Can you get me that one, on the top shelf?” The heavy set woman asked, from her electronic wheelchair.
“Yes, not a problem.” I replied, scaling two of the shelves to reach the top. The squeaky toy let out a shriek as I grabbed it and pulled it down, then held it to to the woman.
“Not that one. That one!” She shouted, pointing with her pudgy finger, bags of flesh hanging from her arm. I could see the bluish tint of her veins running up the fatty skin, but my annoyance overcame my desire for a drink.
“Oh, my apologies miss, hold on.” Again I climbed the shelves, shoved the toy back into its slot, then grabbed the other. As I pulled it down, I noticed it was exactly the same as the last, except it was colored pink instead of blue. Could a dog notice the difference in color? And if so, would it even care?
I held it out to her, asking, “Is this the one you would like, miss?”
Her face reddened and I could tell just from the way her brow furrowed, and her fat folds wrinkled over her forehead, I knew what I held was not what she wanted. Jesus, I thought. . . Another one of these people.
“No! That’s not the one I want, dumbass! I want that one! That one right there! Next to the blue one, the green one! Do you shits even know how to do your damn job?”
After I apologized profusely, I repeated the same act as before, then held out the green squeaky toy. And of course, this was not the one she wanted. . .
“Jesus H. Christ jackass! Don’t you know how to do your job? Can’t you tell colors? Have you even seen something green? That toy is yellow, not green! God, how could someone like you, someone so dumb and ugly, get a job here? This place use to have standards, but not anymore! Screw it! I’m going home!” She slapped her hand down onto the knob that made the wheelchair move, then she was off.
I turned and watched her drive down the aisle, then followed her to the exit. Through the sliding glass doors, I examined her as she stopped near her van parked in the front handicap spot. The night sky beyond was starless and the only light that could be seen was the dull parking lamps periodically placed every few yards.
“Do you need any help getting into your vehicle, miss?” I asked, appearing behind her.
She jumped and jerked to see me standing nearby, my arms held behind my back. Her door was already partially open, and her sausage-like fingers gripped a metal handle attached to the exterior of the van, near the door.
“No I don’t need any damn help from the likes of you. I can do it on my own, I’m an American and a woman and I can do anything anyone else can do, especially get in my own damn car you son-of-a-bitch.”
Silently I watched her struggle and use every ounce of strength to wrench herself from the wheelchair and into her front seat. Sweat stood out on every portion of her fatty flesh, and enlarged veins could be seen around her neck. I licked my lips.
She slammed the door shut, reversed out of the space, and drove away.
“Do you know that what I held was actually, indeed, green and not yellow? And did you know that I do well at my job, save for those incompetent few who spew forth stupidity in such degrees it can drive a person to kill?” I asked, appearing in the passenger seat of her van. She drove on the highway, not a single car could be seen for miles. I was thankful it was the middle of the night on a weekday.
“Jesus Christ! How’d you get— Get out of my damn car you freak!”
“I will, please pull over.”
She did.
Before she realized what had happened, I leaned over the center console, threw the car in park, and stretched open my jaw. My two fangs entered into her neck, biting down onto something that could be likened to biting into a tire. But the taste is not what I longed for, it was the blood and I drank, O’ did I drink.
Blood gushed and flowed across my lolling tongue like water breaking through a dam. Down my throat and into my stomach, where it sloshed and tumbled like aqua in a glass.
I drank and drank and drank until I could no longer. My senses were flooded with euphoria, my mind seemed to stretch to the outer reaches of the cosmos.
I could smell the decay of road kill fifty miles away and saw a dear grazing in the wild grass a hundred miles beyond that. I clenched my fingers, released a gasp of air, and allowed myself to orgasm — thankfully we, the Undead, do not produce semen or my work uniform would’ve been soiled.
The lady passed during my drink, which I was grateful for. I didn’t want to deal with her cries of ecstasy and pain after I had finished.
“Goodbye, miss.” I whispered, setting a green squeaky toy onto her dashboard, and vanished.
I stepped out from the staff lounge’s bathroom, my black hair pulled back, my face and mouth washed, and entered the retail fray once more.
I walked the aisles until I heard a question from behind. Turning, I saw a heavy set man, sitting in an electronic wheelchair, asking for me to get him a toy from the top shelf.
“Which color would you like? Yellow or green?” I asked, smiling.
Micah Castle 