5 Minute Reads | Anthology

A Vampire in Stare Mestro by rosaimee

The sun sets on the horizon, painting the placid river surface with tones of scarlet and bronze, contrasting with the darkening green of the hills on the other side of the Vltava. Packing their merchandise into their carts, traders end a long Saturday of sales and trades. On the dusty streets, kids run after dogs to keep them away from the leftover legs of smoked ham hanging from hooks in the kiosks. Any food not sold would serve to fatten and nurture the already delicious inhabitants of Staré Mêstro. 

I take a leisurely stroll through the town square that looks desolate as the families head home to their little huts by the river bank. Now the narrow streets, paved and cobblestoned in patches here and there, become gloomy alleys where the lost souls, like me, roam. Lost to their own fate. The bustle of the town fades along with the leaving people. Far away from the town square, in a corner, a nauseous tavern stands. There, a row of men line up by its door, waiting to go inside and get drunk to forget the hunger, misery and sorrow. 

That's the irony of those who are alive; while in the plaza, where the torches illuminate the faces of those a little more fortunate, landlords and rich men who abandoned the warmth of their matrimonial bed, desire a roll in the filthy mattress of a cheap prostitute.

Inadvertently, I lurk under the shadows between the stinky alleys, seeking to satisfy my own vices... Ancient vices. My throat sore with a perennial thirst after three days without drinking a single drop of blood. I had to learn to be cautious and adapt a new life style; alternating some days to hunt in the woods close to the villages along the Vltava river, and others I have to conform with the scum left on the streets. The Crusades and Black Death left only a few healthy men for us. Blood is scarce from here to Rome and to travel alone as a lady would only drag unnecessary attention to me. So I resolved to stay here, in Staré Mêstro, a picturesque city like no other. 

In the distance, a shrieking, masculine voice of a drunk clears my thoughts. As he gets closer, I can perceive his heartbeat, the blood pulsing vaguely through his veins because the mead he consumed slowed his senses. The horrid smell of alcohol mixes with the sweet smell of blood. After three days, this won't turn me away and I won't be picky when I choose dinner tonight.