Funday Fiction #2-Blood and Ink

My mother was murdered on the day of my birthday.

It was nighttime. She had served me cake and ice cream, and sang me ‘Happy Birthday’. I made a wish, and blew out the candles. While at the same time as I did, she died.  A shot to the head by a silencer. Just like that. No warning. Just cake and ice cream, splattered blood and shattered glass. I, on the other hand, walked away without the scratch by the protection of the Little Rippers. I had always wondered what if.  What if I had protected her before she had died? What if I had shielded her from the bullet that was aimed for her head? What if, what if, what if… There was too many ‘What if’s’. It was too late to save her. There wouldn’t have been enough time to save her before it had happed. It was too long ago…but it still hurt to think about…so I try not to think about it too much.

It’s a cold day. Frost, snow, and ice covered the streets, cars, and pavements. Beyond the dark gray clouds and falling flakes, was the sun, hiding from view. I looked down at my hands and lifted the black gloves that covered them. Shiny black tattoos were etched in my skin. Moving. Always continuously shifting. Constantly moving. Never stopping unless I peeled them off my skin with my blood, commands, or by their own free will. It hurts like hell, too. My little rippers. My babies. My baby demons. Despite the cold air, my body was completely room temperature. The Little Rippers absorbed the coldness, blocking it out so I wouldn’t have to feel it. They were my own personal body thermostat. Lowering my hands and shoving them deep into my winter jacket, I looked around my surroundings. Standing underneath Dunkin’ Donuts in Market Square, piles of snow crunched under my black winter boots. Cars pass, voices chatter, people walking in and out of book stores and restaurants, trying to get away from the harsh coldness. This combination evokes a rush of nostalgia, and it didn’t make me feel well

I blame the Accursed. I’m surrounded by them: Humans, Shells, Drainers, Shriekers, Vampires, Lycans, Demons, and Fairies-you name it, whatever mythical creatures there is, belongs here. The world of Anathema. A world of hexes and curses. World of the Accursed. It has many names. The Accursed is everything. Every breathing and living thing-is cursed. They’re there. They are all around me and they are staring. Staring and casting glances at me as they walk by. They don’t look too happy to see me. Well, I can say the same thing about them. But they don’t stare and glance for too long.

It’s easy to distinguish Shells from Drainers, and from the rest of the Accursed just either by their spiritual pressure, vibrations, whatever. Shells have no souls-literally. The human body that they host, once held a soul, but it had either been stolen, traded, or possessed. Their bodies are completely filled with darkness. Eyes are black as the dark abyss. They have no reflection or light within. Crowns of thick dark shadows pulse around their heads. But the thing that makes Shells stand out from the rest of the Accursed would be the rings around their necks. Of course, they are invisible to the human eye, but any other Accursed, such as myself, can see them. Shells, on the outside of their appearance, look normal. Regular. Ordinary. Alive and human. They hold jobs. Have relationships. Laugh and cry, and they look like the people you love because they are the people you love. That’s why they are so dangerous. But everything, every single detail of the darkness about these Shells, like every other Accursed, is covered with glamour-to hide their true nature. But once that glamour is stripped, they are as ugly as dang. Shells can get under your skin and you wouldn’t know it. And with that, they can hurt you. They can tear you apart and kill you. Get into your head; mess you up. Break down your heart into fragmented pieces. Shells can feel no mortal pain, but they sure can fake it.

Now with the Drainers, that’s another story. The big thing to be warned about Drainers is not to touch them. No-don’t let them touch you. Better yet, don’t ever go near them. Their auras are like a vibrating sucking black hole. Once you’re near them, it’s difficult to get away. Everything from you is drained-energy, stamina, and will power. And if they’re lucky, they can drain your life force away too, killing you. Drainers are just as dangerous as Shells. And I hate them too.

I leaned against the brick wall to the small little café and watched the Accursed. They watch me. I want to leave. I want to run and hide, but I don’t move a muscle. There hadn’t been this many Accursed gathered in such a large place like this. Some of the Accursed aren’t really hostile-some are curious, some just mind their own business. It’s just the bad baddies, like the Shells and Drainers that I really dislike. They’ve been trouble for my Ancient Blood Mothers for centuries. It’s not right. Not right at all. But something bad was going to happen, and like always, I’m going to be a part of it. Most of the time, the Accursed don’t show their true nature to me. Not in public. Not without a fight. I sometimes hate how they look. It makes me think of those childhood monsters and creatures. The kind of monsters that live under your bed, in your closet. The ones in the dark depths of your mind, just waiting to be unleashed.

Today was not the day. Today was not the day to be dealing with this. All I wanted to do was take a little stroll in the snow. Do some window shopping. Go to Starbucks and order some hot coffee and a donut by the window and stare out in space. Something told me that I shouldn’t have gone out today. I would’ve been in my apartment, curled up on the couch with some hot chocolate, reading a good book and listen to Beethoven or Mozart. Dr. Who was on.

I pushed myself off the wall and walked the opposite way through the crowded street. It was like downtown New York, but smaller. I forced myself to go slow, mesmerizing the faces, the rings, the shadowy pulses of the Shells, the other vibrations of the Accursed. They do the same, but again, they don’t hold their gaze for long. They’re afraid. Good. They better be.

The bitter wind flipped my hair around, nipping harshly at my reddened cheeks. My body felt too warm in this winter gear. Sweat is gathering. The tattoos absorbed the moisture. They’re moving rapidly. The only time they’ll get like this is when wicked is near. A shoulder bumps harshly into mine. Words of profanity or apology spew from the Shell, but that wasn’t important. The most important thing that caught my eye was what was occurring across the street.

He was being surrounded by Shells. The large shadow pulses around their heads gave away a big blob of black mess. Of course. What a total giveaway. Through the falling white veil of snow, I saw a young man. No dark aura, no sucking vibrations, no sign of the Accursed Mark. He was mortal. Human. Totally human. There was something about this man…his aura…his…spiritual pressure. It completely different than a normal human, but I couldn’t exactly put my finger on it. Wet dark blonde hair matted against his head down to the base of his parka hood, hanging unzipped over a large black cotton sweater. His dark jeans are old and slightly faded, and his boots were ankle high in the white snowy mush. His face held strong angles, but he was tall and his body was lean with a slight muscular tone. He was youngish. His back was against the wall, a backpack slung over his shoulder. His eyes were wide with shock, confusion, and fear. They roam around, trying to look for help. But when they fell on me, he stared.

He stared at me so strongly, I had the urge to either scream or run away. I didn’t like it when people stared at me. But I couldn’t look away. I didn’t blink, though my eyes squinted. Movement activate, drawing closer to the man. He was hugging close to the wall as they got closer. There was an opening gap between the groups of people. Instinct took over and without complete thought, I dashed across the street. The snow slightly slowed me down. The tattoos moved more urgently against my skin. Go, I thought. Run fast!

They’re getting closer. I have to stop them. Like always. Through the opening gap, I shoved my way through them and stood in front of the man. Catching my breath.  

I didn’t look at their faces, but I didn’t have a choice but to. Six people stood before us-all Shells. This isn’t good. Not good at all. Their eyes transferred from the man to me. Their faces, human faces, their bodies, their “shell” looked so fake. Leather and waxy and dull at the same time. Dark bags and shadows hung under the eyes. Squinty and large pitch black eyes, that engulfed their entire cornea, held no reflection, life, or light, stared into mine. I look away.

“What do you want with his man?” I asked the group, though now, I looked at the shell on my right. He opened his coat and something silver flashed. A silver gun. A silencer. I’m not impressed, really, though I still shudder. I had the urge to grab that gun and shove it down his old wrinkly throat. Every Accursed, mostly the Shells and Drainers, know how my mother died. It was the same way how her mother died, and her mother before that, and her mother before that. It will be the same way that I’ll die, unless someone tries to kill me in a non-shooting creative way. And I doubt that. Seriously. With these tattoos on my skin, it’d be nearly impossible. As the gun glinted dangerously, I couldn’t look away. A red light bulb in my head was flashing rapidly. Danger. Danger. Stay away from the Shell with the silver gun!!!

“What do you want with this man?” I repeated though I continue to stare at the man with the gun. The man behind me was quiet. I hope to God he didn’t faint. It could be good possibility. Each of them stared at me as if I was speaking a different language, but I can almost see the image of them wanting to plant a bullet in my head. No one really pays attention as they walked past, though they, rather trying to be nonchalant, stole glances our way from their corners of their eyes. A few in the distance decided to stop and watch. Movement. The old man shell on my right withdrew the gun from his holster and aimed. Did they really think they could shoot me with my tattoos on? But I was wrong, he wasn’t aiming at me, he was aiming at-

Shit! I spun and there, running like hellhounds were at his heels, was the man. They always run. Not such a good idea. You can never outrun a bullet. I gave chase after him. Man, he sure can run fast! Come on babies. Make Mama run a bit faster. My body tingled and pulsed. It felt as if my legs weren’t touching the ground, as if I was on an ultra-fast roller coaster just moving forward. Blurs of white and colors flew past my vision. The man was the only thing in focus. People cursed and complained as I dodged around them with my graceful ninja-like skills. A gun fires in the distance. No more than centimeters away from the running man, I threw myself at him, taking him down just in time as he turned around. My arms went around his head to cushion the blow as we both tumbled in the snow, knocking several pedestrians in the process, who were trying to take cover of the fire. The bullet missed, ricocheting off a pole and elsewhere.

The man beneath me grunts. I try to get up but the man locked me against him, holding tight. He held me so tight against him, I had difficulty breathing.

“Let go,” I rasped, curling my fingers deep in the snow. Puffs of white evaporated as soon as it hit the frost atmosphere. And then he does, a gasping cry escaping deep from his throat. But he was too late. His body tensed, and so did mine. The Little Rippers made my skin hot. They wanted to rip off and kill them. I wanted them to. Something hard pressed at the back of my skull. A gun. Cold. Metal. Hard. The old man. The shell. Not good. Not good at all.

“Bang, bang, Blood-Ripper. Time to die,” said the old Shell. And that was it. The trigger was pulled. I went deaf. A harsh flash of white exploded in my vision. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t think. My mind was empty. My body shifted. The man was leaning over me and cradled my head. He was saying something, but couldn’t understand. His lips were moving too fast. He must’ve been in a high frenzy. Brown eyes were wide a wild with deep fear and concern. Though who could be in deep concern if they were shot in the head? I blinked, and took in a deep inhalation of breath-gasping and everything, the sounds, the feelings, returned. My body was burning. I forced to push myself up and stared at the wide-eyed man. I knew that he wasnt safe. Not here.

The old man was lying down in the snow, bright liquid staining the snow red. Like a red slushee.

I wonder if it tastes like cherry, adored Jax, who moved around my chest. The blood was coming from the old Shells neck and from the left side of his face that was in the snow. But it was nothing compared to the red fountain gushing from its dismembered hand. The gun tried to plant a bullet in my brain was gone. Blown to pieces. I almost wanted to giggle. That’s what he gets. He knew better. He was stupid. He was so stupid not to pull a gun on me. My Little Rippers were excellent body guards.

The human body was going to die. But the darkness inside was going to go away to find a new body. Steal the human soul and takes it place. The man moves away from and stands, extending his arm toward me. I refused to take it. Instead, I push myself up. Balance was awkward and I sway. Strong arms held me. I hadn’t noticed, but my heart was pounding hard like a vibrating drum. My ears were ringing. My head pounded hard like a jackhammer. My knees shook as my hand touched the back of my head. Nothing. Everything was still here. Where the gun fired, it was hot to touch. It tingled. I felt weak. I hated this. This wouldn’t be the first time that they tried to plant a bullet in my head. Bile rose to the base of my throat, and I wanted to let it go. I wanted to vomit. But I swallowed the acidic, burning chunks down hard and breathed deeply through my nose.

“You okay?” the man asks. His voice caught me off guard. It was loud and deep. Maybe because my ears were still ringing. His hands were wrapped around my forearms, holding me straight. His warm brown eyes stare into mine. I look and pull myself away. My balance returned, though I felt I was still swaying.

“Are you okay?” my voice trembles, shaking. I cleared my throat a couple of times. I felt shaken all over. Shot in the head, shot in the head.

“I’m fine. But I’m not the one who was shot in the head and survived nonetheless. Are you sure you’re okay?”

I shot him a glare. ‘I said I’m fine.’ My gaze then shot around the scene. People were still hiding; some were peeking out at us in curiosity. Some just stared. Well, there goes my one-way ticket to the circus. In the distance, were the wails of the police and the ambulance. I didn’t want to stay around. I always left scenes like this. When it comes down to it, I always leave. Don’t want to be questioned the unquestionable. It caused trouble.

“We have to go.”

I never used that word before. We. It sounded weird. I never used that word with another person than the Little Rippers and my Mother.

“He’s dying,” he says. He glanced at the dying old man in the red slushee of snow and frowned. I hated pity. He deserved it.

“He tried to kill you. He’s nothing but an empty shell. There's nothing in him anymore. He’s gone.”

“Doesn’t matter. He tried to kill you, too.’ He stares hard at me and steps up. ‘If you have to go, and then leave. I’m not stopping you.”

My jaw clenched and so did my firsts. I took another step forward and grabbed the collar of his shirt tight and squeezed, inching my face close to his. I stare hard at him. His face and hair was wet with snow and sweat. Slightly chapped and cracked lips. I probably should leave. I could just leave him alone. Leave him defenseless. I should have just leaved the city, the state, the country. Go somewhere peaceful and quiet. The woods, the mountains. Hawaii. New Zealand. Go somewhere where I don’t have to worry about the Accursed, my bloodline, somewhere I don’t have to worry about someone trying to shoot me in the head 24/7.

“Let's go. I’m not going to tell you again.”

His jaw tightens. His hand reaches up and covers mine with his own. I released his collar and shoved my hands, once again, into my pockets.

The man says something underneath his breath but I ignore him. Flashes of red and blue appear. That’s our cue to leave, so we started to move. I didn’t know where we were going and I didn’t care. I see some stairs and we went down them.

Where we ended up was the train station. It was unusually crowded. Scents of coffee and fried food from the city combined with underground earth made my stomach oddly growl. Humans and the Accursed mixed together were here. A knot in my stomach twisted. A quick look over my shoulder to make sure the man was still with me, who now stood beside me.

Glances shot our way. As usual. And as usual as that gets, I gave them my what-are-you-looking at-face. It averts their looks temporarily. Movement activated from my peripheral vision. I turned and the man moves towards the direction of the restroom. I follow. The place smells bad. I hate public bathrooms. Completely unsanitary. So dirty. The floor is covered in blue and white tiles. From one of the stalls was a limp body, groaning lowly. Human. He’s the only other person in the bathroom, other than the man and I. Nothing I can do to help him.

The man glanced at me from the mirror.

“Why are you here?” he asks.

“ I followed you.”

A slight twitch to the corner of his mouth.

“You came here to watch me pee?”

Without protest, I turned around, facing the stall where the man behind it continued groaning. Junkie. Addict. Urinal flushed. Water ran. I turned around and at the same time, the Little Rippers burned my skin. A little voice in my hand, Jax, hissed trouble and wickedness this way comes.