Stolen Kisses

A dark tale of fleeting romance on a dark night, of two souls meeting in the street, of the bond they share.

Image Credit: 
Public Domain

Treading softly down a quiet cobbled street, trying not to make that echo of a ripple we normally hear. The lights glow dimly, ringed by a sparkling aura in the mist. Shadows dance long and thin; they seem to grow taller as I pass the street lamps. Eyes peering at me from mannequins in shop windows as I continue on my way.

I approach a darkened area where there is an alleyway and no street lamps. Looking around, I see there are a few windows in the houses across the street. All are blinded by curtains closed tightly for the night. There are bins in the alley; sweet pungent odours mask my own perfumes.

Encased in the darkness, all is still and calm.

I stand back to the cold brick wall, smoking a cigarette, and my heartbeat slows. Off in the distance a tomcat is wailing for his mate. He sings his song of love.

Hearing the clip of heels coming down these cobbles. Now from feeling like the prey, I become the hunter.

I have chosen my street well.

As she moves closer, the smell of her perfume entwines with her own heady aroma. My nostrils dance like a ballerina gliding across the stage. Scanning my surroundings deeper into the darkened ally I see a rat. The heat from its blood illuminates its entire body before it vanishes down a drain.

Ever nearer she comes.

I can now hear the swishing sound her hair makes as it is caressed by the damp misty air.

Only a few more steps. I prepare to pounce like a cheetah stalking a gazelle. My time has come.

I have chosen my street well.

Striking like a cobra when its prey enters the killing zone, or a spider when a fly crashes upon its web.

Swiftly, accurately, my fangs sink into her smooth pearlescent neck. She tries to scream but no sound comes. Maybe due to her fear, or acceptance of her outcome. The warm, sweet, sticky liquid kisses my lips, flows onto my tongue, then trickles down my throat.

Stopping for a moment to gaze into her eyes, all I see is a question: why me?

Leaning forward, I whisper, “Nothing personal, I just have to feed.”

Once again I sink my teeth back into her neck.

Our erotic embrace becomes a dance for a few seconds, twisting first one way and then the other. Finally, her frame and posture fails. I gently lay her body on the ground, lifeless and still.

Placing two pennies over her eyes, I bid my fond farewell. I turn and walk down the alleyway, fading into the thickening mist.

I had chosen my street well.

AC Violator in a musician, poet, performer, and harbinger of doom from Thanet.

Join the Discussion

Please ensure all comments abide by the Thanet Writers Comments Policy

Add a Comment