The Prompt: Write a story about someone trying to escape a subterranean space.


cant go out… the sun’s still up. the siege continues. captured here by wants and needs. figuring out how to tunnel to others parts of this putrid smelling tomb. is there anybody out there? waiting to hunt, to sate the need, unless you got one tiny tidbit on ice in a cage or dangling from the tethers that secure them spread eagle to the cross of intoxication…

i hope in the future world they have some clean-up crew that comes right after dining like some maid service clearing a table. just take the body and whisk it away. would be sweet. no muss, no fuss. twenty-first century’s got a long way to go before we get to that point though.

hunger hangs like a second skin on the body, sniffing at the passing scents, the pulsing blood flowing through veins that still beat with warmth in them.

tick tocking by
slick licking of lips
the fever boils inside
the need

i tunneled thru to explore… the walls are crumbling and the sounds from the other cells are like obscured thoughts where momentary images crawl up from the base of the spine, sucking at the marrow of my bones; all that’s left. but I can feed on these images and on the mewling in the foul air. its not only blood upon which we feed, but essence, energy, like leeches latching onto a fat plump succulent limb, sapping it of all. symbiosis. its all there is in life. don’t think anyone escapes that path. you cant. we all feed on each other.

a long winding passage brings me to a bevy of cells. listening. there’s breathing on the other side. crying in that one. I touch a finger to the soft clay and rub, closing my eyes as if feeling the clammy flesh of the one who inhabits that chamber. the crying stops with an intake of breath. it waits to feel. i can see it in my mind’s eye, crouched in its corner, arms hugging drawn up legs to its body. i think spider; wrapping this one in a cocoon for later consumption. it feels me here. it holds its breath and reaches out tentatively with its mind. i turn and move on, leaving it wanting, letting the craving build, slowly, filling it with the essence i need.

wait for the return I tell it within my mind.

i am gone.

we are all asleep dreaming dreams of the coitus of blood love. here in the dark in my cell i listen to the stirrings as my companions wrestle with their sleep demons; some moaning, others groaning and occasional gasps… exclamations of terror. of what are they afraid? the little squeaks and scampering feet of our rodent visitors? it’s just their memory of that fear since we now might sup on them if they come too near.

i stare sightless at the ceiling through closed lids, hearing, smelling, even tasting the scent that comes to me. thoughts roam backward to treasured memories; the seductions, the takings, the draining. the thrill of the chase, not for the sake of the chase but for the sense of the thing being hunted. its heart beats a booming sound into the air. it hides when there are no hiding places for sight is not what finds them but their smell draws us to them. as all animals hunt so do we. the sound of the precious blood flowing through them, the prized odor of essence emanating out from them with each breath. remembering perching above staring down at it, crouched behind a wall of stacked boxes. it shivered so visibly and i felt myself growing hard  with excitement, fangs descending, eyes flashing bestial colors and the last sound it   heard before it was snatched up, a guttural purring. down quickly like a hawk swoops at its prey and grabbing it up, finding a suddenly compact universe of skin and breath and hair, making love to it for it has known that the end is exquisite agony erupting from it as it releases, unwilling at first. the flow filling me brought me the lifetime of this one, its tears and fears and joys and ploys and wild amorous fuss when held within the clutches of passion. hands lash out at me but i feel the flower blossom within its loins; higher, nearer, almost there. i pause feeling the raging climax flood the very fabric of its being, enjoying my own exultation.

but it is not just a memory. waiting for the killing light to disappear below the horizon. taunting.  what if the sun were to never set? if the earth stopped turning with the death rays searing the very ground under which i lie. would I die? would the soil crack deep, a fissure zig zagging down, letting the life draining light slice into my flesh with its razor sharp teeth?  my eyes snap open, and had i a beating heart it would be hammering. a dream. just a terrible dream. which makes one wonder what dreams may come when you ‘shuffle off the mortal coil?’ and what of those without the mortal coil, draped instead in a soulless shroud which looks every bit human until the beast arises, glowing eyes, descending fangs and hunger; a deep dark abyss of hunger, never ending hunger, need of bloodlust.

i climb up the wall and peer in through the small air vent at her, huddled in the corner, fear seeping out of every pour. ah yes, she still shudders at the stirring she hears that comes from this side of the wall. she knows what i am, dreams of my entering her chamber, pulling her from her pallet and hanging her from the manacles attached to cinderblock walls. these do not stretch her body taut as the rack had done eons ago.

rather, they allow her to struggle, but only until she realizes it is useless. the tatters of her clothes hide nothing from my eyes and she blushes, sending her scent out to me, not that it is ever hidden. she shrinks back, in her dream, trying but unable to escape as my hands trace across her soft pulsing skin, opening tiny slits on the surface giving birth to sweet delicious drops of the elixir of life. in her dream, my tongue slides across these slivers of rivers of blood. is that a moan? a need growing within her to feel the full flower of being used thus?  her heart beats wildly in her breast.

i will come for you, I whisper.

her sleep is a tiny space into which she crawls for solace, for surcease. i watch the rise and fall of her breathing, hear the sweet sound of her life flowing, if not peacefully, perhaps with anticipation and an uncontrollable longing. kneeling next to her, i reach out caressing her warm flesh, my touch light, as if a feather, brushing across the landscape of her body. the moment stretches out, and then i am upon her.

she is caught between pleasure and pain, her life a moving picture inside my head, as my own fills her mind with the tale of the lives taken that i may live. do we not all feed off each other? is it not a symbiotic union; exquisite in its tenor and at the same time the stunning reality of her end. within those last moments, she knows the famine and she knows the feast as her body screams for the life draining from her while it fills with the eons of all the last moments of those upon whom we sup. i feel the quiver of  release as her body betrays her, convulsing in orgasm.

turning momentarily, i drink in the image of her deathly slumber. her life is not lost for it will be remembered within each fount from which i drink.

outside, the night air is fresh and cool, a wind sweeping across the desert, washing away that which has turned to dust. “well done,” the voice of my sire whispers, and she takes my hand, leading me toward the maze that is her personal domain. each of the three monoliths are but a silhouette against the jeweled sky.