Wicked

Night had arrived and brought with it the daily darkness that graced the slums of New York City. A shadow flitted here and there under a street light, an aimless ghost seeking a peace that could never be found.

A single set of footsteps echoed on the pavement. Its owner glanced around nervously, not without a tiny trace of fear, clutching her books to her chest. She swung her head around quickly after spotting a perceived danger: a fire hydrant. The girl gave a self-deprecating laugh and let loose a series of slightly comforting reassurances under her breath. She was so intent on shaking off her paranoia that she never noticed the man who was trailing her.

He was hungry. It had been 4 nights since his last meal, 4 nights since he’d last felt the warmth of liquid slide down his throat, 4 nights since he’d last taken a human life. The man had waited as long as he could prolonging the inevitable. Animals were not an option since they provided little to no nourishment. Only a human would do, only his or her death.

As he walked, the stranger wore a look of soul wrenching anguish as if his next move would condemn him for eternity. He was the Angel of Death preparing for his next victim and in fact, he wasn’t far from looking the part. By any standard he was beautiful: high forehead, sharp cheekbones, an aristocratic nose, crimson lips, piercing gray eyes, and midnight blue-black hair. He was Michelangelo’s David… only better. Comparing him to any creature would be like insisting Mona Lisa was Helen of Troy (the face that launched 1,000 ships). The dark angel’s tortured expression only added to his role of tragic hero. He gave a soft sigh of defeat and resignation before making his next move.

The dark man crept forward and slung an arm around the girl in front, the one he’d been tailing. He smothered a muffled squeak and swept her into an alley, his long black duster making a last dramatic swoosh before blending into the shadows.

Three minutes later, the mystery man was just finishing his meal leaving nothing but an empty shell wearing a cold, blank expression. He let her drop with a thunk and lifted his head: dilated pupils, blood covered lips, and two delicate fangs protruding from the corners of his mouth. He was a creature of lost dreams and dark desires.

A soft melodic voice drifted through the empty night.

“I had to do it. I had to. This is always the only way. Isn’t it?”

His question pleaded for an answer that would smooth his conscience. It was as if he needed to hear that there was no other way to live except the path he’d chosen. The only response was the moaning of the wind. As the blood-drinker took a step out of the alley, his left foot brushed against an object, a book belonging to the dead girl.

The vampire stared at the title in silence:

Something Wicked This Way Comes

And in a nearby street corner, I watch as the creature of darkness I had made centuries ago has another part of his soul destroyed. He would learn soon though, to survive like one of us, one of the Wicked.