2: Witch-Box
Written by Brianna West
Dominic
It never grew old — the life leaving my prey’s eyes as I drained the last of their blood.
The sweet taste of their youth and vibrancy was intoxicatingly sweet. A delicious treat I enjoyed with not the least bit of emotional regret.
Repentance, shame, empathy, those were the things of human and beast. Not vampires. It was what made us superior in all senses of the word. For not once had I ever grieved the loss of another, nor would I ever.
Most would assume the blood was what inspired the poetry in my head. But it was their cooling body, once a temperature that was warm and full of life, becoming the same as mine that pushed me towards a euphoric concerto.
And as I discarded the last victim, I retrieved the contraption he and his companions communed over. Then, with some hesitation, I mimicked the movements I’d seen one of my victims use on it.
I digress, I nearly dropped the strange thing when a woman’s shrill laughter boomed in my hand. The screen cracked under my intense hold — glass breaking and cutting flesh — but somehow it remained intact.
What a clever little invention this thing was.
The woman appearing inside glass continued her barrage of obnoxious cackling, and my eyebrows rose in confusion and outright disgust.
“Girl! Dudes these days are just sucking the life from me. I can’t — ”
Astonished, I peered down at the witch-box. In her slanderous speech, she mentioned “TikTok” and “dudes are so damn thirsty.”
Honestly, I had no idea what kind of witchcraft conjured this curious contraption. But before I could ponder its origin, the shrill-screaming woman disappeared and another took her place.
Then another.
Then another.
Soon, hours had passed and I found myself smiling against my will. I wasn’t even sure for what reason. On the little glass window was a man and his animal, dancing, playing, giving way to strange sounds, and I couldn’t look away.
Before I knew it, dawn was near. The thing in my hand had grown impossibly hot and now flashed in warning with a symbol I hadn’t any hope of recognizing. A second later, to my eternal dismay, the glass went black.
I found myself overwhelmed by the urge to find another one to replace it; the desire to partake in the witch-box antics an ever-growing madness in my head. Mayhap I could find its replacement on one of the dead souls discarded on the floor.
And there I was, on my knees, crouched beside the lifeless bodies of my victims, removing their strange attire to disguise myself, and desperate to find another witch-box that harbored hilarity only Jonathan and his once-clever pranks could match.
With a happy sound, I found another. I cleared my throat and scanned the area, sure my celebratory noise would damn me to shameful humiliation. Thankfully, I was alone. It was the only solace I took out of waking in a world that had completely forgotten me.
But unfortunately, I had no idea how to find the area where true entertainment existed — no idea how to retrieve the comedic stylings of strange humans and beasts. So, I waited for night to come once more.
I would venture out into the new strange world. I would investigate and adapt. I would find what remained of the Dark Brothers.
To be continued…
