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Jonathon quietly arranged for a series of rooms at the new HOTEL MONACO in Center City, a brand new, posh, boutique place familiar with night-folk from other venues. The out-of-town life-eaters slept there. Big rooms. High ceilings. Granite baths. And sumptuously curtained windows able to shut out every photon of troublesome daylight. And I'm not sure, but they say a few merfolk swam up the river to patrol the waterfront. You know, naive, clueless druggies hang out there sometime. A few fall in the river. A couple drown. And the merfolk (two males and a female) want to prevent that. I'm telling you. This is really gonna be something.
Sarah organized the 'bleeders.' They met in the basement of an old church. wilkravitz went with her. He was out of the hospital now. Still a little shaky, but he wanted to help. She let him distribute and collect the tiny, glass vials. Each one held maybe five to ten plump drops of red, rich, potent life-eater blood. They had these little, plastic screw tops to seal them shut. They were old, never used, perfume sample vials, but the night folk couldn't ask for anything better. Afterwards, other life-eaters gave them out, sublimating into semi-private rooms and wards in hospitals, narrow, old row houses on tiny, little side streets and cold, dark, hidey-holes behind big, metal dumpsters.
Sick people drank it down. They knew it came from 'vampires.' Nobody played games anymore. Nobody cared. Sure, a few of the physicians didn't like it, but nobody cared about that either. And people got well, even terminal cases. They sat up, swung their legs over the side, jumped down and went home. The ones in the little row houses already were home. And the pathetic cases behind the dumpsters just wandered around. Later on a few life-eaters caught on to that and fixed it up so they could sleep in a few of the old, colonial manor house-museums in Fairmount Park. Not on the beds. After all, they were antiques. But they gave them these real good, thick sleeping bags, so that made it OK. A few park guards were assigned to each place to keep things quiet and not let them get too rowdy. Rejuvenated women were never kept in the same mansions as the men. Fed 'em all a lot a five dollar, take-out pepperoni pizzas from Little Caesar. What can I tell you? They like that. Some guy who owns a local Coca-Cola bottle plant sends over cold drinks. They say Bill Cosby's a part owner, but I don't know.
Jonathon goes to evening services at the old Spanish Rite, Sephardic Synagogue in Society Hill. He sits in the back, off to the side. The men sit across from the women. If you've ever been in a Quaker meeting house, you know what I mean. He's never made an aliyah (ascend to the scriptures) yet. He's never been called up to read a passage from the Bible, but he doesn't care. Well, maybe he does, but not that much. Sarah said she'd go with him. But he told her she didn't have to, because it's not like they could sit together, or anything. He enjoyed the hymns and cantorials, since they brought him back to similar observances in medieval Al-Andaluz (Spanish Andalucia). At first the rabbi felt funny about having a life-eater there. A lot of the clergy all over the city did. But when Jonathon quietly sat down with him at a post Sabbath service communal hour (he eschewed the sponge cake, but did sip a bit of the coffee) and told him how he was that self-same mythological helpmate, how he was 'the golem,' who helped Rabbi Lowe and others in the ghetto repel the baby-killers all those many years ago, in Old Prague, that made it all OK. Then he was a hero.
And the city improved. Not the gentrified areas. They were already top notch. But the badlands, the ruffie-tuffie places got a little better. Pushers gave up the corners. They had to, what with all the 'vampires' and all. You know, life-eater blood cures addicts too.
Doctor Franklin and some scientists from his sprawling bureau under the navy yard came up to observe things. Luna, his attractive 'vampire' assistant and a physician in her own right, came with them. Sarah doesn't like her. She doesn't like her at all, 'cause Jonathon used to cheat with her. But they don't see her much.
Most nights, just before dawn, a group of life-eaters meet at Baylah's place. They gather 'round the piano in the little jewel-box bar and sing songs. 'Vampire' voices have a certain, satisfying resonance. One of the favorites is 'We'll Meet Again. Don't know where. Don't know when. But I know we'll meet again some sunny day....... Yeah, right. Like that's gonna happen.
Oh, and Johnny Jump Up is still out there, only he seems scared to come out too.
And Little Bastid Annie (our hard to handle child vampire) goes 'round to half-way houses late at night selling Girl Scout cookies. I think she's a Brownie now, or maybe part of the older group. I don't know. Looks mighty weird in that uniform though.
The life-eaters still feed, but they all follow 'the law.' They all stick to the old lunar schedule. One 'culling' per month. And they only take out the people sent to them in visions. I think Jonathon's gonna 'cull' somebody tomorrow night. Come back.
Maybe he'll show you...
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thank you. for more hit THIS ... and your COMMENTS & LINKS are always welcome... if you like our 'fictional' reality, please tell others.
.
Sarah organized the 'bleeders.' They met in the basement of an old church. wilkravitz went with her. He was out of the hospital now. Still a little shaky, but he wanted to help. She let him distribute and collect the tiny, glass vials. Each one held maybe five to ten plump drops of red, rich, potent life-eater blood. They had these little, plastic screw tops to seal them shut. They were old, never used, perfume sample vials, but the night folk couldn't ask for anything better. Afterwards, other life-eaters gave them out, sublimating into semi-private rooms and wards in hospitals, narrow, old row houses on tiny, little side streets and cold, dark, hidey-holes behind big, metal dumpsters.
Sick people drank it down. They knew it came from 'vampires.' Nobody played games anymore. Nobody cared. Sure, a few of the physicians didn't like it, but nobody cared about that either. And people got well, even terminal cases. They sat up, swung their legs over the side, jumped down and went home. The ones in the little row houses already were home. And the pathetic cases behind the dumpsters just wandered around. Later on a few life-eaters caught on to that and fixed it up so they could sleep in a few of the old, colonial manor house-museums in Fairmount Park. Not on the beds. After all, they were antiques. But they gave them these real good, thick sleeping bags, so that made it OK. A few park guards were assigned to each place to keep things quiet and not let them get too rowdy. Rejuvenated women were never kept in the same mansions as the men. Fed 'em all a lot a five dollar, take-out pepperoni pizzas from Little Caesar. What can I tell you? They like that. Some guy who owns a local Coca-Cola bottle plant sends over cold drinks. They say Bill Cosby's a part owner, but I don't know.
Jonathon goes to evening services at the old Spanish Rite, Sephardic Synagogue in Society Hill. He sits in the back, off to the side. The men sit across from the women. If you've ever been in a Quaker meeting house, you know what I mean. He's never made an aliyah (ascend to the scriptures) yet. He's never been called up to read a passage from the Bible, but he doesn't care. Well, maybe he does, but not that much. Sarah said she'd go with him. But he told her she didn't have to, because it's not like they could sit together, or anything. He enjoyed the hymns and cantorials, since they brought him back to similar observances in medieval Al-Andaluz (Spanish Andalucia). At first the rabbi felt funny about having a life-eater there. A lot of the clergy all over the city did. But when Jonathon quietly sat down with him at a post Sabbath service communal hour (he eschewed the sponge cake, but did sip a bit of the coffee) and told him how he was that self-same mythological helpmate, how he was 'the golem,' who helped Rabbi Lowe and others in the ghetto repel the baby-killers all those many years ago, in Old Prague, that made it all OK. Then he was a hero.
And the city improved. Not the gentrified areas. They were already top notch. But the badlands, the ruffie-tuffie places got a little better. Pushers gave up the corners. They had to, what with all the 'vampires' and all. You know, life-eater blood cures addicts too.
Doctor Franklin and some scientists from his sprawling bureau under the navy yard came up to observe things. Luna, his attractive 'vampire' assistant and a physician in her own right, came with them. Sarah doesn't like her. She doesn't like her at all, 'cause Jonathon used to cheat with her. But they don't see her much.
Most nights, just before dawn, a group of life-eaters meet at Baylah's place. They gather 'round the piano in the little jewel-box bar and sing songs. 'Vampire' voices have a certain, satisfying resonance. One of the favorites is 'We'll Meet Again. Don't know where. Don't know when. But I know we'll meet again some sunny day....... Yeah, right. Like that's gonna happen.
Oh, and Johnny Jump Up is still out there, only he seems scared to come out too.
And Little Bastid Annie (our hard to handle child vampire) goes 'round to half-way houses late at night selling Girl Scout cookies. I think she's a Brownie now, or maybe part of the older group. I don't know. Looks mighty weird in that uniform though.
The life-eaters still feed, but they all follow 'the law.' They all stick to the old lunar schedule. One 'culling' per month. And they only take out the people sent to them in visions. I think Jonathon's gonna 'cull' somebody tomorrow night. Come back.
Maybe he'll show you...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
thank you. for more hit THIS ... and your COMMENTS & LINKS are always welcome... if you like our 'fictional' reality, please tell others.
.
