The rain lashed down from the sky, the wind driving it hard into anyone foolish enough to be out. Lightning flash and thunder ripped the air apart. Dustbins were picked up and hurled through windows.


It was one of the storms of the century.


And, there, atop of the highest building, at the end of an ornamental gargoyle.

 

There I stood.


Me. With the blood of GODS in my veins. I, who will never die. Who was 21 at the turn of the Twentieth Century.


“I. AM. VAMPYR!”

 

My roar coincided with lightning flashes and thunder cracks.

 

This was, of course, because I’d been monitoring how the storm had been moving. You don’t get to be as old as I am without learning about showmanship.


I stalked along my perch.


I have seen the world change – two World Wars, Victoria, Elizabeth, the moon landing, computers.


I have seen it all.


I spat.


“In the company of morons!” Another roar into the storm.


It was fun for the first few decades – new, exciting. But then I noticed I was with dullards.


I asked a few of our kind -Why did you not turn Newton, Galileo, people like that?


Some said they hadn’t thought of it, and giggled.


Others were more honest. “They were frightfully ugly. Would you want to spend the rest of your unnatural life with that kind?”


I was overruled on bring Einstein over – “With that hair? Nonono.”


But this new lot.


“Christ!” This is what I’m reduced to, yelling in storm.


The new lot.

 

“We can’t be visible – we have to maintain the illusion. If not, They might kill us. Remember the Burning Times.”


Twats. 


We don’t even know what can kill us. The Cattle sure as fuck don’t.


I checked the wind speed. And the time.


They’re having a meeting down there. Discussing what is best for us.


Not me. Fuck that shit.


There’s three types of vampire in this world.


The effete egomaniacs, languishing in their faux hedonism, creating intrigues out of gossip.


The psychopaths who just kill and kill and kill until one of the old guard take him down.


And me.


Downstairs, the Effete have been discussing whether it is right for us to call Human’s ‘cattle.’


For 5 and a half hours. Because they have nothing better to do.


I unzip my trousers, and listen.


As soon as they hit the lobby I start pissing. 


I’ll say their names as they reach the street. They’ll look up – they always do – and get a face full.


Fucking Vampires.