The Vacuous Vanilla Vampire
His eyes drew one’s soul into his vacuous being; where all dread and terror crawled through one’s veins only to beg for sweet relief of the end, and then, you’d awake to that familiar saccharine scent.
A scent found painted in the burrows and back alleys of Bourbon Street. Hidden away like a dirty courtesan only to bring a glimmer of unbridled ecstasy on the verge of euphoria.
But alas, that scent is now wet, only bitter and vaguely familiar as it curls its way into your consciousness.
“Cry no more sweet child, the pleasure of all of it is, that pain is only a moment’s existence. You too will neither be remembered nor missed.”
And with those words he places a vanilla flower on the lifeless chassis as he fades into the sticky southern night.