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Two hundred spectators looked down into the circular pit, but the light was too dim. It was hard to see. Those in attendance began to stamp their feet and 'boo.' The pit-master, ever wary of a dissatisfied clientele, had circular, highly polished mirrors fitted behind the rough, iron sconces to reflect and focus the light. Some closest to the balustrade (no more than crude, wooden fencing) complained that the heat was melting their face paint. A few even removed their heavy wigs, slinging them over their shoulders like saddle bags in an effort to stay cool, while revealing the nearly shorn pates underneath.
Two buxom doxie-girls, naked from the waist up, snaked through the crowd selling small bowls of shaved, honeyed ice for the exorbitant price of one whole shilling. And overheated gentlemen called for their 'doxie-cups,' as the canine assassins entered the ring. Were they large? Not very. And please know I speak of the hounds, though the naked breasts in question were most certainly of the first rank.
Most pit-masters preferred to use bull-baiters, compact beasts weighing maybe three or four stone. This venue was no different. And six of the most fearsome, solid knots of feral muscle silently cantered into the ring. They made not a sound, but went straight to work inspecting every inch of the death chamber with their cold, wet sensitive noses. And the crowd watch breathlessly, as the leader went to the more-than-human victim, subjecting him to a thorough crotch inspection. Desirous of a closer look and frustrated by the fine, linen drawers, the doggie chieftain took hold of the flimsy fabric and tore the garment to bits. The doomed vampire just stood there, determined to maintain his footing, as the two doxie-girls erupted into cheap, shrill, low-life cackles. He quietly recited prayers. The vampire, I mean. But they were in a Vahmpeerigo dialect unknown to me, save for a phrase here or there. Oh, I knew they were prayers, however the specifics were lost.
Then the pit-master, or one of his minions, ceremoniously struck a rather sizable 'Cathay' gong, signaling others to come forth with large, blood-filled watering pots, which they tilted over the barrier sending a light, crimson drizzle down to bathe the participants waiting below.
Upon tasting the rich, salty shower, the dogs became quickened and the horrific mauling proceeded with a vengeance. No demon depicted on the most accurately ornate altar piece could have done better. The stoic alabaster figure convulsed and fell, as his 'plum sack' was torn away. For a moment or two he was left to his 'ease,' while the frenzied executioners fought over this toothsome prize. I believe it was a pie-bald bitch what finally choked them down.
The entrails came next, followed by his hands. They played with his guts like sausages, spraying those close by with the blood from the vampire's last meal.
Some gobbled buttocks. One savored face-flesh, each morsel disappearing in its turn. But the eyes remained, fixed and staring into worlds far removed from our own.
No one cheered. Even the doxies fell silent, as two hundred dumb-struck humans bore witness to the death of an immortal.
It took the hounds more than one hour to properly clean the bones. And the heart beat on til the very end.
When it was over... when the blue flame had passed...and the last glowing ashes rose up and disappeared, those in attendance soundlessly filed out into the inky darkness, where footmen, bearing lanterns, safely ushered them back to their various houses.
And a lone soul, who'd tarried 'mongst the nearly dead too long, passed on to something new....
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please hit the SHARE BUTTON. help the story spread. grace us with a COMMENT. adieu and good night.
Two buxom doxie-girls, naked from the waist up, snaked through the crowd selling small bowls of shaved, honeyed ice for the exorbitant price of one whole shilling. And overheated gentlemen called for their 'doxie-cups,' as the canine assassins entered the ring. Were they large? Not very. And please know I speak of the hounds, though the naked breasts in question were most certainly of the first rank.
Most pit-masters preferred to use bull-baiters, compact beasts weighing maybe three or four stone. This venue was no different. And six of the most fearsome, solid knots of feral muscle silently cantered into the ring. They made not a sound, but went straight to work inspecting every inch of the death chamber with their cold, wet sensitive noses. And the crowd watch breathlessly, as the leader went to the more-than-human victim, subjecting him to a thorough crotch inspection. Desirous of a closer look and frustrated by the fine, linen drawers, the doggie chieftain took hold of the flimsy fabric and tore the garment to bits. The doomed vampire just stood there, determined to maintain his footing, as the two doxie-girls erupted into cheap, shrill, low-life cackles. He quietly recited prayers. The vampire, I mean. But they were in a Vahmpeerigo dialect unknown to me, save for a phrase here or there. Oh, I knew they were prayers, however the specifics were lost.
Then the pit-master, or one of his minions, ceremoniously struck a rather sizable 'Cathay' gong, signaling others to come forth with large, blood-filled watering pots, which they tilted over the barrier sending a light, crimson drizzle down to bathe the participants waiting below.
Upon tasting the rich, salty shower, the dogs became quickened and the horrific mauling proceeded with a vengeance. No demon depicted on the most accurately ornate altar piece could have done better. The stoic alabaster figure convulsed and fell, as his 'plum sack' was torn away. For a moment or two he was left to his 'ease,' while the frenzied executioners fought over this toothsome prize. I believe it was a pie-bald bitch what finally choked them down.
The entrails came next, followed by his hands. They played with his guts like sausages, spraying those close by with the blood from the vampire's last meal.
Some gobbled buttocks. One savored face-flesh, each morsel disappearing in its turn. But the eyes remained, fixed and staring into worlds far removed from our own.
No one cheered. Even the doxies fell silent, as two hundred dumb-struck humans bore witness to the death of an immortal.
It took the hounds more than one hour to properly clean the bones. And the heart beat on til the very end.
When it was over... when the blue flame had passed...and the last glowing ashes rose up and disappeared, those in attendance soundlessly filed out into the inky darkness, where footmen, bearing lanterns, safely ushered them back to their various houses.
And a lone soul, who'd tarried 'mongst the nearly dead too long, passed on to something new....
+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+
please hit the SHARE BUTTON. help the story spread. grace us with a COMMENT. adieu and good night.
2 comments:
Very thought provoking!
thank you, most discerning lady....and to think, it generated the least amount of traffic in over a month or two......Vampires in the screenplay PHILADELPHIA AFTER DARK (not the same as the blog) occasionally commit 'suicide' when 'the life that is not life' becomes too much. One heroic character (near the end) says - Look for me in the knowing eyes of a child. I have been among the dead too long.....and Tomas/Jonathon is a Scotsman in the screenplay. Sarah is still the same, though she plays a bigger part. And the elves and cherubs are more mysterious. I've written other scripts in other genres, but I REALLY like P.A.D...... I pretended I was writing contemporary Shakespeare.
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