How She Is
A black clock stood atop the end
table and rang. A form lying on the bed next to the table roused from her
slumber, her silken gown rustling softly against her satin sheets. She
yawned; reminiscent of a cat’s meow, her feline features reinforcing the
illusion. The clock stopped ringing as she stood, her figure silhouetted and
enhanced by the glow of the silver moon pouring in through the single velvet
curtained window of her small apartment.
She took a step and glid1 across the black silver inlaid carpet,
slowing next to a keyboard and letting her hand float over it, striking a few
keys with her delicate fingers. The machine whirred to life and soft music
filled the air. Continuing her orbit around the room, she shed her silk gown
in favor of a black hooded robe. She luxuriated in the soft material swirling
around her, feeling protected with the robe covering all of her body except the
bottom of her face.
She stepped towards the window, her fang like teeth glinting in the moon light.
She pushed the window open and exhaled into the gelid early morning air, her
breath crystallizing and becoming visible. She scanned the dark street from
five levels up. There was no life on the street unknown to her, and all she saw
were birds sleeping in their nests on the eves. She was bored and wide awake.
It must have been one or two in the morning. She climbed onto the fire escape
under her window and leapt, her robe spreading out behind her as she soared
above the street. Nearing the ground she ducked her head down and rolled,
jumping to her feet as she slowed. A few lights turned on behind the windows of
the buildings surrounding the street. Faces appeared in windows seconds too late
disappeared into the shadows. She crouched against the cobblestone sidewalk
beneath her and watched the street with a detached curiosity. Hours passed. A
man clad in black strode past her and as he passed she reached into her robe
and withdrew a small curved knife. She stood and hurried silently behind him,
positioning her knife as she neared him. When she was within arm’s reach, she
swung her weapon expertly at him, severing his Achilles tendon and dropping
him to the ground. He screamed in pain as he fell and she caught his head with
her foot knocking him unconsciouss. The eerie
screech echoed in the canyon of concrete as she sunk her fangs into his neck,
puncturing his jugular and draining his life’s blood quickly and efficiently.
What She Is
Time was the only thing that troubled Kaie. Neither
disease nor death had any threat to her, for she never got sick and did not
fear death. But the time dragged on. Hour by hour, day by day, time only seemed
to get slower. Hunger was a minor setback for her...She would rather relax and
wreak havoc/toy with humanity, but she was forced to kill the occasional
person. Drawing her morals and theories from the propaganda and inner working
of anarchists and libertarians such as Sebastien Faure, she took an anarchistic approach to getting what she
needed. She planned her death so as to cause as much chaos as possible.
That’s just the sort of person she was.
She slept. And dreamt. And awakened.
And surveyed her technical paranoid schizophrenic haven.
Motion sensors and floodlights protected her from the invisible evils that
surrounded her. The five monitors of her computer were arced across her desk,
and other small devices were scattered across her apartment. The computer came
alive and hummed out a tune through small speakers strategically positioned
around the apartment. Her paycheck was more than enough to pay for all of
this...She paid no taxes because she didn’t exist. Society was against her so
she had separated her self from them and erased her records from their databases. Now she did not exist. Did not
have a social security number, no name, and no income. She purchased
everything she needed in cash, and nobody asked any questions because she paid
them so well. Ten dollars for a bit of stereo cable from
Radio Shack. No receipt, nothing.
A psychologist would have diagnosed her as being paranoid and manic. They
would’ve been right about the mania, but she wasn’t paranoid. Simply smart. Some paranoids have a right to their paranoia...Kaie certainly did. She was hiding from everyone around
her, in plain sight. She hid so much she had completely rotated her sleep
cycle. She slept in the day and awoke in the evening. She bought everything
under a pseudonym whenever she needed a name. Society was her enemy. She was
the enemy of society. She didn’t want to be; she was merely ostracized at
birth and had been forced to fight for a place to live. And she fought the only
way she knew how. Controlled chaos. Controlled
A police car’s lights soared through the night air, splitting it in half. The
siren had been turned off long ago, when no obvious potential suspects or clues
were found. Women stood on fire escapes in drab robes and smoked Lucky Strikes,
watching the excitement below listlessly. A few went back inside when the
lights were turned off, but most of them stayed in hope of some sort of Kodak
moment. Which they were about to get, if Kaie decided
she wasn’t done for the night.
It was early in the morning- about 1 a.m., and she hadn’t slept for days. Her
last few kills had gone off smoothly...but she had slipped up this time. She
had left a trace of her self on the body. Just a little bit, but they’d find
it. And she knew it. She had neglected to sever the neck at the right location,
leaving bite marks on the skin. Her bite marks left DNA laden mucus on her
victim’s skin. Too bad for the victim...he had lost his head and now the family
was going to know what had really happened. Some non-human creature had killed
their son. Depressing.
But Kaie was fucked. She had to get out of the
country. Her method had been the same all along...cut Achilles, drain blood, sever head. If they found this one piece of evidence they
could build. They knew it, she knew it. But she didn’t think that they thought
she knew. This gave her the upper hand. So she would leave before they figured
out she was going to leave.
It seemed that someone had lost his
head to something rather sharp. Forensics was still working on it. Or at least
forensics was working on it, until the body disappeared. They had stopped to
drink some coffee and discuss their findings. Which had been nothing; they new
who the poor fellow was, and his cause of death, but not the perpetrator. Which
the one standing farthest from Kaie found out
immediately after the question had been posed. Then forgot,
as he lost his head. No one saw her except for a few of the remaining
women watching, and a security camera watching from inside a convenience store
across the way.
Men studied the tape again and
again, seeing nothing but a shadow then a silver flash and then nothing. The
only thing they had found on the four bodies was a set of bite marks on one
of their necks.
Fuck. Why am I the way I am you ask? I am the way I am because you bother to
ask. Fuck. Where is this going? Pointless, boring. Who
would bother with this? Fucking FAA encrypts their shit too much. Why is this
so damn stressful? This shouldn’t be so hard. Who would want to know this shit
about pilots’ licenses? I guess I could go get a pilot but if I’m to get out of
the country...I can’t fly jetliner...I could charter a boat but I hate the
fucking water. Best fly my self. I know how to fly...stowaway? No...Too dangerous. I’d rather just fake my own stuff. It’s
just...If I were going to stay in the country this wouldn’t be an
issue...aircraft and fuel aren’t problems either. But what countries don’t
check licenses? Let’s go look it up. Ha...go figure. Fucking internet has
Yeah...from there I could get anywhere. Quick bus ride from the airport to a
Ah, who gives a shit? Somewhere comfortable. But why Europe? Wouldn’t
third world be better? Less of a chance of being found.
But I like this technology and these modern computers way too much. I couldn’t
live without electricity. So…Japan it is.
Alright. Let’s do this. Closet jet equipped airport? LAX? No...Somewhere smaller. Orange County. No...Colton.
That’s the way. Pick up a Leer Jet 45 or something like that. Work the system...follow the government. Ditch at an island.
Declare an emergency. Get written off as dead. Sell the airplane to an islander
for a...boat or something. Get to shore. Live. End of story. Start a new
life. Live it, Goddammit.
1 The word glid originated from the author’s imagination, adapted from
the preterit of glide (glided) for prose and style purposes.
2 The characters name Kaie is Celtic in nature.