MidnightA Story by AurafiexAn origin story to the City of Midnight, and the birth of the first vampire.It was midnight when I
first heard the explosions. They swooped through the skies, the promise of
death certain from the shrill cry of their engines that brought deafening
explosions and burning death. All around me were screams of anguish and
cries of fear as the scent of smoke and oily flame saturated the air in hellish
foulness. But what caught my attention was instead the sight of a massive,
crimson rift upon the night sky in the shape of a singular, horrifying
gash-shaped eye that had subsumed the moon. It was as if the sky itself was
bleeding as the land around me burned to ash and cinders. Mesmerized I was by
its alien, evil visage, that were it not for my mother’s intervention, my life
would have ended amidst the flames. Amongst
those lucky to survive we hid in what little was luckily left unscathed. As
those able did their best to put out the flames brought forth by the devils
that flew over our peaceful village. I should have joined them, but I couldn’t
move, for my mind remained enraptured by that mesmerizing, crimson eye in the
sky that seemed to observe our plight with the apathy of an alien god. The
fires left by the bombing were a roaring blaze that threatened to torch what
little we had left despite the best efforts of my neighbours. What little we
had for buckets and pails could barely transport water quickly enough for what
we needed. But just as all hope was about to be lost, the flames were
vanquished by torrents of sanguine rain that fell from the sky, as if the
crimson scar in the sky was bleeding fresh blood as it stained the earth a
bloody crimson. When I saw throes of neighbours joining us in cover from the
sudden bloody downpour, their eyes bulging with horror, did I truly realise
that the evil in the sky was more than a fear-induced hallucination. Only when
the sun had risen again the next morning did this unnatural occurrence go away,
seemingly vanquished by the light of the morning sun. But even then, the sense
of dread and madness around me was palpably thick, like the stench of burnt
wreckage and copper that filled the air like a thick smog. It was safe to say
that we had seen something unnatural, possibly evil, amidst the destruction of
our once peaceful homes. When
it was deemed safe, we left our shelter to pick up the pieces, the desire for a
miracle of salvation much like the rain of blood burning desperately within our
hearts as we ventured forth. But it was all too little, and too late. People
all around me wept for their broken boats and charred fields. There was nothing
we could do but burn the bodies of the fallen in a mass ceremony amidst the
ruins and crimson soil that was once our village. I
wonder what my father would have thought of the devastation unfolded upon his
home. He had, after all, left with all the others of his age to fight when the
soldiers came to recruit for the war. I still remember his smile as he left my
weeping mother and my silent, confused self to join his fellows. They were all
so happy, I remember, so enthusiastic and proud in their belief of victory and
service to the Emperor as they did their best to march in step towards their
future, leaving our sleepy home behind. That was the last time I ever saw my
father. Perhaps, after all, he was better off for it. He would have been
heartbroken to see this. As
the days passed, we who survived began to experience to true extent of the
suffering wrought upon us. We had little to eat to begin with, our village
being allocated meagre rations for everyone. Even before the storm of fire we
had little to live on, the majority of what we produced taken away by the
soldiers’ carts month after month. And now that we had nothing to offer, there
was nothing to be given back. We were on our own now, they said. From their
tattered and unkempt appearance, it was safe to say that they too could
scarcely fend for themselves, let alone a village of invalids, women and
children. The
porridge got more watery as the days went by, to the point it was mostly water.
Grass and small pests did little in supplementing our diets, for they too were
as scarce as proper food, having been taken for the same purpose by everyone
else. There was an air of weakness and pestilence around us, as our fellows
began to collapse outside, never to awaken. To
the best of our frail bodies we got together to clean up our broken homes in a
bid to halt the spread of decay, gathering up the honoured dead into a pile. It
was nighttime when the Shinto priest, an elderly man who walked with a hunched
back, had finished performing their last rites. The pyre was about to set
aflame when my mother suggested that we eat from the pile of perfectly good
meat lying before us, rather than turn it to ash. This idea was turned down
immediately by the elderly priest, but even as the bodies of my neighbours and
friends burned in the darkness the air of disappointment and barely-restrained
anger was palpable to the point of nausea. Only then did I realise that
everyone around me had changed in a way, a way fuelled by hunger, desperation and
something inhuman that I could not comprehend despite many sleepless nights
gazing into the night sky, staring into what seemed to be crimson oblivion. Perhaps
my mother did have our interests at heart, clamouring for such a change in
diet. While scrawny lizards and bony rats were rather delectable supplements to
the watery porridge we frugally consumed, such a bounty of meat would have
lasted us for days. But the thought of it just felt wrong, no matter how she
would try to justify it to me over the days that passed as we survived on what
meagre scraps we could bring together for our meals. I began to fear for her
health as her mood would sway suddenly between rants for hours on end about her
hunger and her endearment for meat. It
was an inevitability that her maniacal antics would grow from bad to worse,
given the fact that what we had was barely edible and far from nourishing. But
as we sat down for dinner one night, I realised that things were far worse for
her than I could ever envision. I
was pleasantly surprised by the sight and aroma of roasted pork laid out on the
table, a rare delicacy especially when most of our livestock had either been
killed or taken by the soldiers for their war effort. But it was mid-way
through my meal amidst my mother’s urgings to eat more of the meat that I
noticed that the left sleeve of her tattered kimono hung bloody and empty. She
must have known that I had realised the origin of the meal I was consuming, for
she had been watching my face obsessively, anticipating my reaction. I wanted
to say something, but the dull gleam of the rusty, blood-stained kitchen knife
she held twitchily in her remaining hand as she eyed me with widened pupils
convinced me of the merits of silence and restraint. After that night, she seemed
pleased that I wanted only water and rice for my meals. More for her, she
cackled to me with great satisfaction as she roasted the rest of the now
meticulously salted meat, in carefully rationed portions such that she could
enjoy every bit of what was once hers’ with great relish for the longest time
possible. But
soon enough, I discovered the extent of her madness as her the entirety of her
carefully rationed portions were eventually consumed. At the dull edge of that
bloodied knife she demanded of me more to sate her hunger, and thus with even
greater fervour I set out into the outskirts of the village to scavenge for
more with more than just hunger on my mind. But bone-thin mice and porridge
satisfied her no longer, for she had developed a hunger that seemed to
transcend the mere need for sustenance, even during such trying times.
Eventually, she screamed that I too, had to give up some meat for a meal, as
any filial son would. And by the skin of my teeth I barely escaped, her howling
anger behind me every step of the way as I ran like the wind. I
ran and ran for what seemed an eternity, headfirst into the darkness, away from
the cackling cacophony of my mother’s madness as it became louder and louder
with each passing second. My legs were burning with fatigue as I forced my way
into the blackness, but fear kept me silent and going until even it could not
hold back the fatigue wracking my scrawny form. But I kept running until her
maddened cries were reduced to little more than frustrated echoes, and only
then, when I reached the seaside, did I fall face-first onto the sand as
darkness consumed my senses. It
was sunset when consciousness finally returned to me. I found myself awake by
the river, amongst the wreckage of splintered, burnt wood from a lifetime
before. It was a place I remember to be once beautiful and bustling with
fishermen before the war began. The men had all left to fight, and what boats
that weren’t broken down into material for the war effort had been turned to
burnt splinters and driftwood from the bombing. All that remained around me
were broken dreams from a life lost to war. And
it’s a shame, really, for it was my dream to be a fisherman like my father. The
sight and scent of the steamed fish my mother made for many a dinner thanks to
him made me want to walk in his footsteps. I knew little of the art, but the
thought of being out there in the endless blue expanse, living off the bounty
of the sea seemed a lot more exciting than being enslaved to the land, tilling
the fields in a methodical fashion, day in, day out. It’s strange, I know, but
I wanted a simple life, much unlike my classmates, who dreamed of Kyoto, of a
bustling city life they knew only from hearsay and rumour. And
he agreed, my father did. He was so happy that day, I remember, as he hugged
me, promising to show me the ropes after my fourteenth birthday. But then he
left to fight the war, two months before the promised day. It wasn’t his fault
either " it was a decree from the Emperor himself that none I knew could
escape. Even Satoshi, the son of the headman whom I once thought an untouchable
bully, was marching in step alongside my father at the call to arms. I would
have joined them too, but I was too young, and they wouldn’t let me despite my
idea to lie about my age. They so adamant about this, that they had me tied to
my bed on the day the Emperor’s men came. Only when the sending off parade
began in earnest did mother release my bonds, so that we could see each other
one more time. But
all that was a lifetime ago, a lifetime without war or hunger, loss or
desperation. Here I was by the seaside, amongst a desolate expanse of sand and
ruins, with little choice now but to eke out an existence by my own. No way in
hell I could ever return to the village, lest I face her once more, bloodied
knife in hand, determined not to let a meal slip from her grasp once again. I
couldn’t help but wonder if this hunger was not just hers alone, considering
that in the past week, there were increasingly fewer people out in the day, be
it scavenging for food or begging. They were simply gone without a trace, and
if they died, there was nothing to bury. Furthermore, the elderly priest was
also nowhere to be seen, as according, his disciple, he had fallen ill and was
not to be disturbed for any reason. But when she spoke, I could not help but
notice the blood coating her teeth that she savoured with great relish
in-between words while she eyed me with paranoid depravity, as if sizing me up
for something. She
too, had changed, like everyone else. Her name was Inori Noroi and she was a
tall girl with beautiful purple eyes and long red hair. We spoke little, but
what from our time together I knew her to be sweet and kind, and it was thus
shocking to see her in such a bloodied and depraved state. I was in love with
her, though I never had the courage to tell. But she belonged to someone else,
the son of that Shinto priest, as was tradition. But alas, he left to fight in
the war, and she took her duties in silence, ignoring everyone and everything
else until the mysterious disappearance of her master. Now, she was leading
everyone else in depraved reverence of the crimson moon, heralding the blood
rain as a sign of coming salvation, and she had called to me to join everyone
else in prayer, and it pained me to see her at the forefront of this madness.
She was visibly upset when I did my best then to politely refuse on the pretext
of caring for my mother’s ailing health. But she never insisted, instead
choosing to speak to my mother every morning. I would have forbidden it, seeing
how she was leading the mad reverence of that evil crimson scar, but her words
brought mother great comfort, and it was for that foolishness I let it be so. Looking
back at the signs, I was all the better to leave it for the sake of my own
survival. But no longer did I dare risk walking out in the daylight, choosing
instead to take refuge in a makeshift bomb shelter, the same pocket of
salvation that saved us from the flames that fateful midnight. After all, my
ex-neighbours, and by that extension, my mother, were out there in the
daylight, picking the land apart anything even remotely edible. Only by
nightfall, under that accursed, unnatural, crimson glow from the sky was I free
to roam and search for what little could ever remain from such meticulous,
hunger-driven scavenging. It was greatly to my benefit that they were all
afraid of that unholiness in the sky, some even taking to revering its evil
presence with frenzied prayer from what I had observed fearfully in the nights
leading to my escape from Mother’s clutches. But so long as it kept them away
from the beach at night, the feeling of being watched by someone, or something,
constantly bugging my every thought and action to the point of madness was
relatively trivial. I
took to my new lifestyle with an enthusiasm borne from desperation, hoping to
survive for little more reason than any animal would. But everything changed,
one fateful night, as that unholy rift bled the dark sky. It seemed like yet
another night, like any other in this hopeless situation. My scavenging was
interrupted a loud crashing sound that brought with it violent quaking that
threw me off my feet and face-first into the sand. Fearing the worst, I ran as
fast as I could towards the shelter, afraid that another bombing was underway.
However, the lack of overwhelming heat and oily smoke made me realise that this
was no bombing, as I heard numerous unintelligible human shouts and screams
amidst the sanguine rain that did little to deter any thoughts curiosity, both
theirs and mine. Dusting
myself off, I ventured out into the darkness once more, running towards what I
believed was source of the crash. It wasn’t far, judging from the deafening
impact it had made just moments ago. However, as I began to close in on the
commotion I was unable and unwilling to get any closer, for Inori, mother, and
my neighbours had arrived long before me and had surrounded the crash site, as
if the place had called to them somehow. From my hiding spot I could see them
shouting and screaming words of praise and reverence at what had crashed into
the beach in a maddeningly erratic fashion, which made me wonder if the crash
had something to do with the bloody tear in the night sky as I looked upwards
to court its gaze, as it too, seemed to have us all under its baleful presence. Venturing
closer with little regard to anything else than the satiation of my curiosity,
I caught a glimpse of the object of their affections. It is something difficult
to describe in mere words, for it was something like a female form of violet
flesh and shimmering scales, and yet, the rest of it was something alien and
impossibly beautiful beyond description. Before them it lay dying and weak
within the crater of sand heralding its arrival, watching its enraptured
audience helplessly with its multi-coloured eyes that were simply undefinable.
I didn’t know what it was, its alien, undefinable form unlike any known animal
from the books I had read or the folktales from the elders before the war
began. But even then, I knew it was something to be cherished and protected,
our salvation as its presence alone seemed to alter reality around it, to make
me even consider that as my fear turned to joy. My neighbours seemed to think
so too, for they were still screaming themselves hoarse in joy of this
mysterious arrival. But
what joy was to be had was quickly cut short as I watched the villagers take
salvation with a different interpretation even as they screamed themselves
hoarse with joy. I should have looked away, like all the times my mother had
shielded my eyes from the slaughtering of livestock during the yearly harvest
festivals a lifetime ago. But I did not, and from my hiding spot under the
midnight sky, I watched in silent horror as they tore into its shimmering,
violet flesh while it drew breath, biting into its scales and tearing into
their newfound meal raw like ravenous beasts. I should have done something
while its maddening screams from being eaten alive from all conceivable angles
consumed my senses, but I was afraid, and like the night the flames consumed my
old life I stood mesmerized by the violent spectacle unfolding before me, as
its bloodcurdling cries drove my bloodied neighbours to even greater acts of
depravity, picking the carcass clean to the bone and licking off every drop of
blood spilled upon the sand. And
when they were finally finished, they stood with shimmering, wet mosquito wings
protruding from their twisted forms and vicious claws, and their eyes glowed
virulently with an unholy, inhuman hunger. Following this, they tore each other
to shreds, feasting upon the fallen as they fought fang and claw in an orgy of
bloody violence and hunger. At
the end of it all I could barely hold the urge to scream as I witnessed the
sole survivor that was now seemingly human, soaked head to toe in blood. I
recognised her as Inori, even as her beautiful purple eyes glowed with that
wretched hunger even as those horrifying mutations had somehow vanished from
the engorgement of blood. It was unlikely that she saw me, or perhaps she was
too engorged with blood to care about my presence, for she took to the darkness
laughing, ravening with delight. Without
a second thought I took to the darkness as well, screaming as tears rolled down
my cheeks while my mind tried to cope with everything I had seen. I ran and
ran, not caring where I was going, or what was to happen next, until I passed
out in the sanctuary of the bomb shelter I called home. But
even as I try to make sense of what happened that fateful night, I can’t help
but wonder if it was all a hallucination borne from hunger and anger at the
village I had left. But the village was now empty, and Inori was nowhere to be
seen. And no longer did the sun ever rise ever again, replaced forevermore with
the darkness of midnight. I never saw that accursed crimson eye again, even as
the deathly wail of that violet, alien thing haunts my dreams.
© 2018 AurafiexAuthor's Note
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StatsAuthorAurafiexSingaporeAboutHi! I enjoy World of Warcraft, music and swimming. I'm someone who writes for fun. Pardon any typos or mistakes, because I write on my phone(lol). I'm new here, so if you like what you see do.. more..Writing
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