Blood Against Ivory

The Other End Of The Line

I live in a humble apartment in the more mixed part of the city. Humans live next door to monsters and vice versa. If you were to go further north monsters are the majority of the population. Yet those towns are separated and packed with rural off-grid housing. That's where I grew up. In a mansion by the sea. Where you could wake up to the sound of fiery pianos...

Down south you get pure suburbia. Humans stacked upon humans stacked upon humans. It would be too dangerous for me to live there. If I were to get found out, I would be burnt at the stake like they did in the medieval times.

I fumbled for my keys in the hallway light, and heard some very aggressive sounds coming from across the hall. They're new, so I'll have to get used to their complications and loud noises.

I finally twisted the knob open, and entered my apartment.

My neighborhood is fairly friendly. A mix of monsters and humans, mostly liberal ones. I knew that the conservative scaredy cats wouldn't let their kids near my part of the neighborhood. There's a vampire and his son on the floor above me. An immigrant human family down the hall, and a new monster couple by the sounds of it across from me.

It's fairly small, since I don't want to spend too much money with rent. I live by myself, so the extra space is not needed. I could afford a condo, but I'd rather save my money for something big in the future. Perhaps an accident insurance won't cover, or if someone I know needs financial support.

Maybe I'm just waiting for the day he comes back again.

The brick wall is exposed for the most part, spreading across about 3/4s of the flat. Squeaky wooden floors with a splintered surface make feet require socks at all times. A ratty sofa and a used tv stay parallel to each other, matching one another's hues. Bookcases full of medical textbooks, empty picture frames, a skeleton of a kitchen with a cluttered island, and an old keyboard pressed up against the side of the wall. The instrument is empty. Waiting. Expecting someone's burning fingers to fill it up with glorious sound. But not today. Not now. The music scorching inside of me stays silent.

I set my bag down on the rack, along with my autumn coat. After living in cramped dorm rooms for most of my life, I thrived in this one bedroom apartment by myself.

It was approaching the late depths of the evening, so I decided to fix myself dinner before the nightly news came on.

I grew up in a strict pedigree vampire household. We were never served meat, or any dead creature that once had blood pumping through it. My family gorged themselves on vitamins and fiber, repressing their taste for iron and protein. But that doesn't mean we didn't cheat. My father loved tomatoes. My mother loved cherries. I adored strawberries and my brother...

We were like bulls, lusting for anything crimson. Our cabinets were filled with rhubarb, cranberries, pepper, radishes, anything tainted with that hue. It was our own form of rebellion to the resistance we inflicted on ourselves.

I hated to say it, but I'm attracted to red. I only buy cherry soda from the vending machines, and drink pomegranate juice. The slightest tint of red can send my instincts ablaze. Although I try to fight it, it remains in my system.

I reheated the tomato soup I had from last night, and as I waited for it to finish in the microwave, I went to go turn on my tv.

When I overheard the lady on the bus talking about "them" I grew concerned. Because there's only one "them" I know of in this city.

A newscaster appeared on the screen. She looked somber, her low voice delivering the news like a eulogy. The bright logo of "Channel 7" seemed to contrast her very mellow behavior. I knew all the reporters by heart. This lady was a human.