Sorry I haven't written in a while but I guess I only write you
when I'm really depressed. Like, the last time I wrote was when
I thought I was pregnant, and that was last year. This time I'm
depressed because I had a big fight with Joey and I killed him.
Plus I'm dead.
This is lots worse than when I didn't get to be a cheerleader.
Deanna, I thought everything was going to be great when I dropped
out of school and got my own apartment and I got that job at the
Mac's Milk, I really did. I figured that Joey and I would stay in
love forever -- I even practised writing my name with his last
name, I've got Alison Mughal all over my old notebooks, and I tried
to learn to say his real first name. But to Joey, I was just his
toy, you know, the girl his mom would hate; I was just his little
shiksa, or whatever Muslims call it.
What happened was, Joey and I had this big fight last Friday over
when he was going to get a job and commit to me and tell his mom
about me and everything, and he stomped out. That started the
neighbour's creepy dog barking, and I sat there in my little
apartment just looking around. The first thing I noticed was how
much of the junk lying around was Joey's: his jacket and his drum
kit by the door, and his grow lights and sinsemilla in the bathtub.
All the stuff his mom won't let him have at home 'cause he's supposed
to be this pure little Muslim boy. Yeah, right.
I was really mad and I was gonna throw all of his stuff into the
hall and break it, but then I thought that was too immature, so I
decided to go out to a club and get shit-faced.
I went to Koala's, 'cause I wanted to go out where there were mature
guys, not babies like Joey, and where they didn't play headbanger
music Joey likes. Koala's plays this Euro-weenie technopop, and
I met this guy (I think his name was Belmondo, some foreign name)
who wasn't too creepy and I brought him home. I figured Joey would
be heart-broken when he found out.
This guy Belmondo was sorta neat but he had icicle fingers -- I
kept wanting to ask him to go soak his hands or something, like
Dr. Gunderson does with the speculum. So we're necking on the edge
of my bed, and he bites me. I figure no sweat, mature guys are
kinky 'cause they're bored with sex, and I can handle this.
I bit him back to let him know I could handle rough stuff, but he
sort of moaned and didn't let go, so I bit him again, harder than
I thought, and I drew blood. Well, what was I gonna do? Spit it
up over his back? Not on the bedspread my gramma made me! I ended
up swallowing some of his blood. Gross! (Sometimes I think the
price of being a woman is swallowing gross stuff.) I guess I was
pretty drunk 'cause I passed out after a bit more necking.
I woke up and I didn't even know it was nighttime, I was so twisted.
I had a major hangover and the mother of all menstrual cramps. I
swear to God, it was crawl-on-my-belly-like-a-snake time, I've
never had it that bad since I started on the Pill, and my period
was still ten days away.
Plus I had wet the bed; talk about doing the whole embarrassment.
I looked around but Belmondo was of course gone, which figured.
I got my little stash out of the dresser, 'cause I thought a bit
of weed would settle my cramps. (I don't do weed often, except
when I really need it. You know.) But it just made me want to
puke, and I have a real strong stomach -- you remember when Chrissy
Buddenborg dared me to eat that wormy apple.
So I was kneeling in the bathroom, waiting to puke, and nothing
was happening, and I was really miserable, and I found Belmondo's
clothes lying on the floor and a bloody toothbrush in the sink.
This is just like a guy, leaving his stuff all over.
I waited a while longer, but all that happened was that the timer
on Joey's grow lights made that little click that means they're
about to turn on. Like I needed to be blinded, right? I shut them
off. Let his plants die, I don't care if they get precisely
regulated sunlight to get the best harvest.
I went to be miserable on my bed and maybe sleep, but I couldn't
sleep because of the pain, and every forty minutes the stupid dog
next door started barking. Around 11:30, I guess, the door opened
and Joey crept in with that spare key he said he lost. Even though
it was dark, I could see his weaselly little face clearly.
You know, I think it would have been okay if he had apologized and
asked how I was feeling and was I okay, but he immediately launched
into this testosterone bullshit about how he was gonna take his
stuff away because I was a whore and a stuck-up bitch who doesn't
answer the phone and who was I screwing around with?
No way I was gonna put up with that, feeling shitty and shaky and
all cramped up, so I spoke up to him and told him what a large
family-size turd he was.
Joey hit me.
So I bit him.
It seemed natural at the time, and he stopped moving pretty quickly.
I guess I got carried away, 'cause I drank all his blood. Kind of
like when there's an open package of JuJubes.
You know, Deanna, it settled my cramps right away. If you get
menstrual cramps real bad again, I'd consider it.
So now I've got a dead body in my apartment and I haven't shown up
for work in three days so I'm sure Mr. Menno's fired me, and I'm
still feeling a little thirsty.
Any suggestions? I'll try and write more regular, honest.
Love,
Alison
P.S. Do you mind if I come and stay with you for a while?
---And this was where it stopped---
Author's Note:I wrote this a long time ago; it's probably
among my first ten stories, when I started writing seriously. This was
going to be a larger story, where Alison grows up through dying. Except
I got to this point and couldn't write any more. My solutionthen was to
cut the story off here instead of going on to the nextletter.
Send comments to: jordan@compu-diva.com
Read Jordan Shelbourne's completed storieshere.
Nobody bought the story, but I still can't think of anything better.
Alison makes an appearance in another unfinished story, which is also
(obviously) a vampire story. That one, fortunately, is lost forever,
unless some mysterious floppy disk shows up. (I couldn'tdecide where
to start the damned thing.)