Blood SceneMature

A short story I blasted out in a couple hours. Trying to get my bloodlust back...

It was a Saturday night. The town was jumping with late night clubbers, slags and numerous bouncers (most of which were verbally killing a rowdy teen or head-locking an abusive piss-head). I, luckily, don’t fall into any of the aforementioned categories. I tend not to label people but if someone were to label me I suppose they’d say I was ‘weird’ (probably due to my fascination with pyrokinetics and knives and the fact I hardly say a word to anyone I don’t consider a friend). That night though, I was with four of my friends, all of whom share similar interests as I do. None of whom, however, know my capabilities.

                We entered the local rock/metal club; basically an underground corridor leading to a cavern lit only by a few multicoloured torches on the brick walls. It’s always cold down there but after a few hours of hammer-throws and thunder jumps (that’s how I dance to metal) you tend not to notice the chill. That night was a little different - it was student night: an ideal time for a trip to the Blood Scene. It’s not very often I get such easy prey but with all the excitement of a new place, new people and a partially new life for the little freshers, they were like sitting ducks.

                My friends and I made our way down the sweat-smelling narrow corridor. Hands in my pockets I curled my bony fingers around the handles of two semi-circular blades. I’d hand-made them the other night in my room. Two small, thick, straight pieces of wood attached to a curved blade with a razor sharp edge. 

                After half an hour the DJ arrived and started his set. A mixture of drum and bass/rock and thrash metal. I’d seen the guy before; his sets were mental and, especially since it was student night, we were guaranteed some smoke. Excellent. I got up and left the others in a corner of the cavern and made my way into the middle where people had formed a fairly timid-looking pit. No matter, so long as there’s a crowd of some sort. I just needed to bide my time. Wait for the smoke.

                I began to get into the music and before any of us knew it, two giant plumes of smoke snaked their way into the crowd and over our heads from either side of the pit. All of a sudden I saw each crowd member individually as they appeared and disappeared before me from within the white cloud, arms flailing, heads rocking, eyes shut. Show time. I delved my hands back into my pockets and brought out the two gleaming weapons. I held them down by my sides and chose the first victim. He appeared in front of me and with one lightning fast motion I raised my right hand and sliced his stomach open as if hitting a back-hand tennis shot. He fell to his knees and I quickly finished him off. Quickly, easily. The next person lunged into view and, turning the blade vertically, I uppercutted her from chin to brow. A splash of warm fluid hit my face hard, making me recoil violently. She dropped to the floor in a heap. I moved through the crowd still with the help of the smoke and yet more smoke that’d recently been deployed, cutting people down to sound of Megadeth. I heard someone scream behind me as if they’d discovered something. Don’t waste your breath. Another victim rampaged alongside me. I quickly wiped each blade clean on the inside of my leather trench coat before cross-swiping the front of his thighs. At first he didn’t seem to notice for the swiftness and sharpness of the blade’s cut. He did notice when I wrenched his tongue out and stuffed it down his throat. He lay flat out on the dance floor and the last thing he saw was my boot as I repeatedly smashed his face into a mass of pink cartilage and bone shards. More smoke! This is getting silly now. I grinned to myself as I continued my bloody assault. Slicing and slashing in a frenzy; my arms worked on their own, flying upwards and down like performing a drum roll. People were now screaming all around me, some clearly aware of what was going on but it didn’t stop me. I hacked away with my bladed fists, a maniac hooked on violence with death metal as his fuel.

                Cue the strobe light.

                I knew the DJ was good but he put on a hell of a show that night. Flash images of the dying and the dead glistening in the split second brightness. I made my way over to the far wall where I knew there was an emergency exit and where it led to. This was the opportune time to make an escape. Forget the others, they’ll catch up. I tip toed and trip-slipped over pools of blood, felt the soft popping of organs and the hard resistance of bare bone underfoot but, somehow, made it to the door and pushed the bar hard to allow my escape. I slammed the door shut in time with the final drum blast. The end of the set. A muffled eruption of screams like a thousand hungry babies sent a wave of pin pricks over me like a full body orgasm. I grinned again and made my way quietly home.

The End

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