The story behind this text piece is rather curious. It all started with a challenge on the Fantastic Metropolis forum. The idea was to write an instant novel in the space of only a few days, taking a cue from Michael Moorcock. Four posters accepted the challenge, including me. None of us finished an actual novel, but it was an interesting experiment and even produced some text pieces that might be salvaged for later use. The original discussion, including excerpts from all texts written, can be found here.

This is the first chapter of my as yet unnamed "novel":


I. Yellow Moon



Three pints later and she was ready. Ready to take home and do over, that is. Ryan had it fully figured out by now. After all, he had experience. The young and inexperienced needed only one pint, quite a few were ready to go after two, three did it for most of them and even the hardiest of them lost any semblance of free will after three.

"Let's go, baby", he said. It was not a question, it was a fact.

In response, she slid from the barstool, accidentally pushing up her already short skirt, so he could glimpse her knickers. Cheap, pink polyester knickers. Penny a pound at Knickerbox. She pulled the skirt back over her tights, sluggishly, and giggled like the bimbo that she was. Ryan grabbed her by the arm and dragged her out of the smoky club.

Outside, he took a deep breath and filled his lungs with clean fresh air. Or so he hoped. For the air wasn't clean or fresh, but sick and stagnant, not much better than in the bar he had just left. It was 4 a.m. and it should have been cool, but it wasn't. It was still warm, that strange pissy warmth that threatens to suffocate anybody taking a deep breath.

Ryan looked up to the sky. It had a yellowish colour, the lights of the city reflected by a low hanging cloud cover. Somewhere in the amber sky, there was a blot of whitish light, just where the moon was supposed to be. Ryan knew that it was full tonight, even though he couldn't see it. Not that it mattered.

Ryan abruptly turned left and began marching up the dimly lit street towards Kings Cross tube station, dragging the girl behind him. Her high-heeled shoes were making clack-clack noises on the pavement. Every four or five steps she stumbled, but Ryan tore her on. He felt the hunger rising inside of him. Soon...

He looked up at the sky again, at the brighter spot in the clouds where the moon should be. All of a sudden the clouds seemed to break open, revealing the moon just as it moved in perfect opposition to the sun, its disc fully lit by the rays of the life-giving star for the only time in 29.53 days.

"Hey, what're ya looking at?", the girl said. Her voice was sluggish with alcohol.

Ryan turned around to face her as she stood transfixed in the dim light of a street lamp like a deer in the headlights. The stagnant air carried her scent into his nostrils, the cheap sickening perfume, the artificial strawberry smell of her lipstick, the mixture of sweat and pheromones collecting beneath her armpits, the blood pumping through her veins. It made him hungry.

His eyeteeth were aching, craving to be sunk into something soft and warm and succulent. He felt his fingernails growing millimeter for millimeter. His chin was itching with a stubble of black beard struggling to break through the skin.

He grabbed the girl and pulled her close to his body, pressing his lips to hers. His hands began to tear at her clothing, ripping the buttons from her cheap cotton blouse. Underneath she was wearing a cheap pink polyester bra to match her knickers. Ryan pressed his mouth to her right shoulder and sunk his teeth deeply into the soft flesh until he could taste the exquisite saltiness of fresh blood on his tongue.

The girl screamed. She pulled away from him and ran up the street, screaming like a brainless idiot. After a few steps, the alcohol in her veins and the shoes on her feet got the better of her and she stumbled. One of her high heels got stuck in a crack in the asphalt and broke off. The girl ignored it and tried to run on, but she couldn't and fell onto the street. She struggled to get up again, but Ryan was already upon her, digging his fangs and claws into her plump, pinkish body. The girl kept on screaming in high, distorted notes. Only when he sunk his fangs into her throat, did she stop.




Home
Contact me
Return to the writing section