He might be the next one, or then again, maybe not. Emmaline had the best vantage point in the cafe, right up front. A boy strode by, all wild hair and rumpled shirt. He threw off heat like a furnace. His jeans hung low on his hips. They were too long, frayed at the bottom, but he leaned forward; he knew where he was going. She licked her lips.
“Time’s almost up,” the voice whispered to her. “Brr, it’s chilly. Feel it? If you die no one will care.”
“You will be quiet,” Emmaline said and hunched her shoulders. He passed the edge of the window and she leaned back. No, not him, she thought, maybe the next one will have the sad looks of a discarded boy.
“Figures,” the voice said, “because he’s perfect.”
“Hush, I’m ignoring you.”
“You’re afraid, and that’s just plain silly.”
“You are not real and I do not have to talk to you.” She took a sip of cold coffee. “Ugh.” She hadn’t liked this crap before and now it pooled in her stomach like used motor oil. The chill added to the encroaching cold in her fingers and lips.
The street was empty.
“I’m going to get him; he has a nice ass.” She wondered if maybe she could keep this one.
“Good idea.”
“Shut up, I’m just going to talk to him. Maybe he’ll — ”
“Right. Like the last one?”
Emmaline pushed back from the table and set off down the street. The last one had leaked heat like liquid caramel. He was vanilla beans and hot chocolate. Her heels tapped against the damp pavement as she wove through the pedestrians. She hadn’t meant to hurt him, only take the chilly edge off until the sun’s heat seeped deep into her. This morning was cold and foggy like that one; he’d been delicious and she’d been warm all day and through the next. But now she was cold and he didn’t smell of anything at all.
The people moved through the street in warm puffs of breath around her but none were interesting, then the boy’s head bobbed up in front. The sun cut through the clouds and illuminated the wild tangle of his hair. Oh yes, she thought. Maybe, just maybe. She could almost smell him. Was it cinnamon and hot apples?
“Don’t screw this one up,” the voice suggested.
She put her head down and pushed forward. She had to get in front of him, to find a good place where he would notice, but only in the right way. It was delicate. There was a balance. He headed toward a stretch with darkened store-fronts. Emmaline crossed to the other side of the street and hurried to the next block, then crossed back over. She caught the flash of his shirt as she slipped into the darkened front of the deserted store. Not long now. She needed an instant of his attention. He was close, she could sense him, smell him.
Now.
“Wait,” Emmaline reached out and touched his hair. He turned to her and stumbled. He was confused by her touch but she pulled him close. He smelled like warm peaches and hot summer days. Not cinnamon at all, he burned like a furnace. He wouldn’t miss the warm sips she needed. If she could stop there, but she could, this time.
“Really? Can you?” The voice laughed.
She licked his ear; he shuddered and tried to focus on the shape of her. His hand reached up hot against her unseen face, his eyes went dark and he was hers.
“He can see you,” the voice said. “They always can, it never completely works.”
“He cannot,” she replied, a bit too fast.
“Who are you,” he said, making the whole issue moot. “What are you? What do you want?” He tried to pull away, but he was caught. She wrapped her arms around him and stretched, covered him and took the heat he tossed away. Not really hurting him. Not taking more.
He was colder now. She slipped back and leaned him against the building. His lips were the same pale blue of his eyes and glaciers. He shivered.
“Are you going to kill me?”
“Of course not.”
“You know you have to,” the voice said. “You’re still too cold.”
“But I won’t,” she insisted. “I don’t have to. It’s enough.”
“You won’t what? Kill me?” the boy asked, and looked around. “Who are you talking to? Who are you?” He steadied himself against the building, his hand pale against the red brick.
“Shh, I’m no one,” she said, and reached out to him.
Maybe she could keep him, like the caramel boy with his brown curls and hot skin. He’d never know she was there, just a chill he couldn’t shake some winter mornings. He flinched as her icy finger traced his jaw. So warm. He was molten life.
She cupped her hand around his neck and pulled him close. His lips were now peony pink and his words little tastes of warm breath. She leaned toward him and brushed her lips against his. His eyes went wide. Oh gods, he was so warm and so very close.
She took him.
The boy lay in a cold heap at her feet. Emmaline looked down at him and sighed. The voice was very quiet. A warm tear pooled in her eye.
Leslie A. Dow sees fantasy and magic everywhere in the world and is convinced that time travel is possible. She writes about the places she would like to visit, most of which don’t exist in this world, and the adventures she’d like to have when there. When not writing, she works as a consultant helping companies make better products, and camps with her family in their restored 1964 Airstream Travel Trailer that they take to places where there is no cell coverage, internet access, or toilets. She has 3 boys, one anxious rescue dog, one indignantly geriatric cat, and a Nelson’s Albino Milksnake named Audrey Lou. Leslie is a regular member of the Liberty Hall Writers Forum.
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23 Responses to “REGRET • by Leslie A. Dow”
Comments
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February 2nd, 2010 at 12:40 am
Well written, kept my interest. I had no trouble following the story, though there were some moments I didn’t get. All the food references don’t fit with this story at all, especially since they were different foods. I didn’t understand what sort of a creature she was, and who the thing was that was speaking to her, and what the criteria was for selecting the victims, and also I thought she had killed the caramel boy, then it seems that she didn’t, or that she did, but later.
Still, the story works to a point. Flawed, but good.
February 2nd, 2010 at 4:09 am
I enjoyed this. Intriguing, sometimes too intriguing, but that was not a problem, many stories urge readers to create their own answers. Superb atmosphere.
February 2nd, 2010 at 4:27 am
Lots of forward momentum. The description of her victim great, though I agree with #1, perhaps too many different references to food. But sinceshe views these boys as potential energy sources, dunno…
February 2nd, 2010 at 5:00 am
I enjoyed this very much. The pacing was perfect. Even with all the intrigue I felt I was able to pick up what you were laying down and it was tasty indeed, like cobbler swimming in a bowl of spent vanilla ice cream.
5 stars.
February 2nd, 2010 at 5:01 am
Not bad. Would you call this a succubus? Or perhaps a variation on one.
February 2nd, 2010 at 5:38 am
Nicely done over all, although I’ll second (third?) fishlovesca’s comment about the food imagery.
One jarring note: the tear. I know this is somehow about regret, but tears are so easy, thus so overdone. Lose the tear, stretch as a writer a little, and show us regret in a way we haven’t seen over and over.
February 2nd, 2010 at 5:52 am
I thought the food reference were perfect. She feeds off her victims. It made me believe that at one time she was human and misses the pleasures of that existance.
She is a heat vampire. who says vamps can only feed off of blood
February 2nd, 2010 at 6:31 am
Very boring story. Seems like it wants to rely on shock value and pleasing the outre like those old pre-war stories of a few years ago, but no one’s shocked and the yummy idea is silly.
February 2nd, 2010 at 7:01 am
Enjoyed this one. Moved along well. I am of a perhaps small minority who doesn’t always have to know every detail to enjoy a story. What is she? It’s not specified, but the reader understands she is supernatural and conflicted. Is the voice real or is she insane? It doesn’t matter: that she hears voices is important. In a longer story these issues would need to be addressed. For fiction, it is sufficient. The character reminds me a bit of Dru from Buffy: can show tenderness to a kitten one moment and snap its neck the next.
The only pick I had was that there were maybe one or three comparisons too many, not just food-specific ones.
–John
February 2nd, 2010 at 7:08 am
I was expecting a typical vampire story but was pleasntly surprised.
Very well-written tale, but as has been said before, too many food references.
February 2nd, 2010 at 7:28 am
I enjoyed this thoroughly. I loved the language and imagery — vivid and evocative. I like a story with a little ambiguity. I took this one to be about a conflicted vampire-type-thing — perhaps one with a conscience. Well done.
-red
February 2nd, 2010 at 7:36 am
I agree with Pyx (#7), she was a “heat vampire.” That was obvious early in the story, but the writing was good enough to keep things going. Not a surprise when she “over-fed” at the end, but a reasonable ending for such a story.
The only thing that bothered me was that voice that kept talking to her. It was not at all clear who/what that was. Her conscience? Some sort of uber-vamp mentor? As far as I was concerned, that was the only thing keeping this from getting a five.
February 2nd, 2010 at 7:46 am
Weird, where do you get these ideas.
February 2nd, 2010 at 8:15 am
This was a great story, very intriguing and unsettling, but in a good way. I couldn’t look away and even thoufgh the conclusion of the story was upsetting, I was fascinated by it. Good job!
February 2nd, 2010 at 9:12 am
I’m somewhat aghast… I agree with Jim.
That voice was way annoying. The story would’ve been so much better had it not been painted as another character. If the MC had just been having inner-dialog, I think it would’ve been much better. If this was the writers way of showing inner-dialog, it really didn’t work for me.
February 2nd, 2010 at 9:40 am
a nice start to a longer story i hope. thanks for sharing. i would suggest some detail around the three voices (what did the female vamp look like?). i did have a hard time following the dialog until the victim was introduced, then it was easier. cheers.
February 2nd, 2010 at 10:57 am
I had no issue with was the disembodied voice. I rather like the mystery surrounding it: Where does the voice come from? Who’s speaking? Is it internal? Is it a spirit? Not knowthing the answer is intriguing.
February 2nd, 2010 at 10:57 am
OMG, what a typo. *Knowthing* is apparently old-lady-ese for *knowing*.
February 2nd, 2010 at 11:00 am
Great imagination.
A tale of contrasts.
4 ****
February 2nd, 2010 at 11:42 am
Pretty good story. I enjoyed reading it.
February 4th, 2010 at 8:25 am
The story has the meager sensibility of a story built on memories of previous stories, not of experience. It’s not just academics who do that.
February 5th, 2010 at 1:53 am
Very nice. I was expecting another vampire outcome, but whatever she is she is interesting. It might have been more intereseting with a adolescent, right on the edge of adulthood, one that actually gives in to her, his desire. I loved the line: He’d never know she was there, just a chill he couldn’t shake some winter mornings. Very nice.
February 6th, 2010 at 8:59 am
Very Nice, Leslie!