Sunday, May 25, 2014


The spare, fit woman outlined her plan. If they wanted success, there wasn't any other alternative. She sipped her ice water, eyed the more or less collegiate crowd in the place and in a quiet, though authoritative voice began.... 

I take the girl. She lives with me. I 'feed her.' I control her. Supply the necessary supplements and any other additives. When she requires human flesh... living human flesh, I mean, she will get it. Certain strains seem to afford a more salubrious effect. ....

Uther said - You think I don't know these things?

You, my friend, are a medieval Cretin. Why don't you go sack a city? You're can destroy things, but lack the finesse to create, shall we say, more evolved replacements. - said the woman.

Uther blanched. Lars had to bite his lip to keep from laughing out loud. Opal didn't understand any of it, or tried not to. She read the paper menu folded next to the napkin holder and asked if she might have a Strawberry Ricki, a sweet, nectary beverage from the nineteen fifties, apparently making a comeback. The woman motioned to a server. Four minutes later she had one, good and cold in a tall, narrow, frosted glass.... Lars said - give me a taste... And three minutes later he had one too. 

While they savored the syrupy concoction, Uther said - Why the attack? Why go after me? ..... The woman 'lasered' into him with her eyes, but didn't say a word. 

Lars said - What kind is best? The people, I mean... for the flesh. Who's on the menu? Tell me.

It varies. - she said. Polynesian Islanders provide a certain stamina, so do Tuareg tribesmen. Some swear by the Icelandic regimen. Others prefer certain, old Jewish clans from The Caucus. I believe in mixing... a bit of this.. a bit of that...

And your success rate? - he said.

The woman indicated Uther and said - Ask him. He knows.

Lars looked.... Uther said - She has two fertile females and one fertile male. Proven fertiles, I mean. A lot of people make claims. She does not. what she says is true.

Well, - she went. Permit me to 'up' you from Cretin to barbarian..... (apparently they shared a 'past' or something... non-decomposing zombies and humans 'couple' all the time, though nothing ever comes of it).

Lars asked - And what will you give us? What's she worth to you?

The spare, fit scientist said - We could kill you now and take her. Do you think I came alone?..... She turned to face the room and raised her glass. Nine stalwarts scattered among the tables returned the gesture. Half looked zombie. One might have been a vampire. It's difficult to tell.

So ten minutes later, Opal , a bit teary eyed, was bundled into the back of a sleek, black, panel van with a talkative zombie hairdresser, from Detroit, a non-decomposing one, naturally, though from the look of his purple tinged nails in need of a good meal.... As they sped away he said - Don't worry. They'll let you see your friends.....

They're not my friends - she said.

He just shrugged and read his OK magazine. In the corned was a big, lidless, red and white Igloo cooler. Like the kind tailgaters use for beer. Inside was a trussed up little midget steeped in what was probably three dozen bottles of A1 Steak Sauce. Opal eyed him curiously. 

The midget went - Hello.

Opal nodded......

My 'dinner,' My feeding. He's for me. But I'll go 'sharesies.' You want some? I don't mind. That's how I am. My mama raised me right. 

Opal said - Are you sure?

Hairdresser said - Absolutely, have a bite..... 

So she tore into a white, flabby, clammy, upper arm. (the 'dinner' was resting on his side)

And the main course began to scream - No! No! No! You said I'd be dead! You said I'd be dead! Where's the drugs?! Where's the drugs?! Where's the drugs?!

Oh, shut up, you dumb bitch you! Don't you know drugs are illegal? - said the hairdresser. Then he gleefully knelt down for a big mouthful of tushie....

Oh! So good... so good - he went.

And Opal giggled, as blood dribbled down her itty, bitty chin.

How nice to see her smile...


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