AROUND THE WORLD IN 33 DAYS: By Trey Dowell
Friday, July 29th, 2011I’m bored.
And I don’t mean like “this-three-hour-chick-flick-is-killing-me” bored. No, I’m talking more like “nothing-in-all-of-existence-interests-me” bored. I’ve felt this way for awhile and every time the Council convenes, I assume one of the other ten members will admit they’ve got the itch just like me, but it never happens. Once a decade, my fellow Eternals gather around the same table, drink AB-negative from golden chalices, and brag about how happy they are with their imposing estates, powerful allies, and their cowering minions. As far as I’m concerned, they can keep all that crap.
I’ve done the castle thing, ruled like a tyrant, and surrounded myself with human playthings. I’ve used mortals as cattle, slaughtered thousands–maybe tens of thousands–over centuries of long, increasingly tiresome nights. See the cattle run, feel their fear, extinguish their puny lives…on and on and on. Yes, it’s alluring, maybe addicting, but even the most potent narcotic loses effectiveness over time. And I’ve had plenty of time.
Immortality sucks, and no, I’m not trying to make a vampire pun.
My undead brethren argue with me at Council meetings, telling me I’m narcissistic, even insane…that I’m incapable of feeling anything anymore. As usual, their pompous attitude gets in the way. Doesn’t matter though, because I think I’ve finally figured it out.
There’s an old saying: the more things change, the more they stay the same.
That sucker has been popping into my head plenty the last few decades, and up until a few days ago, I was always thinking about how it related to me. By nature of my very existence, I am unchanging—a constant in a fluid universe. I don’t age, I don’t deteriorate, and I don’t die. I was convinced this stagnation was the cause of my boredom. But not anymore. I understand it’s not just about me. It’s about the entire world.
The Earth and its empires, with weak, mortal rulers proclaiming divinity. Arrogant fools sip wine and discuss the “inhumanity” of the Inquisition, then turn the channel of their televisions away from far greater wickedness visited upon African countries. Technology advances, yet mortal wisdom remains as constant as I do. The only thing humanity actually improves is its capacity for greater damage.
Mortals now cry about “recycling” and saving the planet’s resources. The grand irony is they’ve been perfect little recycling machines for centuries: the clueless world spins in place, regurgitating different colors of the same garbage and calling it “new”. If I wasn’t immortal, I’d probably die of laughter.
The silver lining to my monotonous cloud is that I know exactly how to change things; but as always, the Council shouts me down without even listening. The last ten vampires in existence, all but me crying about their precious “balance”, their age-old crusty grip on self-preservation keeping them rooted in their chairs. They’re all blinded by the last time I tried to shake up the status quo. When I decided to sire a few new vampires.
I shared my bloodline, allowed mortals to drink from my essence, and turned them into Eternals. Creating new members of our kind is forbidden unless deemed necessary by the Council, which has little desire to see our race swell. Of course, that’s why I defied their edict. I do enjoy being the rebel. Always afraid new vampires will act foolishly, perhaps drawing us into a war with the humans, the Council reacted with predictable haste. They hunted down my creations and killed them most brutally.
So now, they naturally assume I’m upsetting the apple-cart to be difficult. If they’d listen to me, they’d understand. All I want to do is travel. See the world. So in honor of the all-powerful, distinguished Council of Eternals, I’ve decided to be just as obstinate and predictable as they are. I’ll let my rebellious streak take control and have my jaunt around the world after all.
But before I go, I’m going to walk out into the street and turn the first human I see. Make a Feral out of him…no sire, no sharing of my essence to create a new bloodline. Instead, just kill him the old-fashioned way. Tear into his throat and drink him totally dry, then throw his husk in a dumpster. The worst way to turn a mortal, and the Council’s most reviled taboo. Not surprising, since Ferals do little but draw attention to our kind. Mindless animals, with no trace of their human personality, Ferals awaken with our strength and ferocity, and an unquenchable thirst.
Messy creatures, but fun to watch.
Afterward, I’ll leave on my trip. See all five continents. And I believe I’ll create a single Feral on each one. Their thirst will force them to feed at least once a night, and each person they slaughter will turn into a Feral themselves. Every single night, my little family across the world will double in size. Good luck to humanity and the Council trying to stop my children. They’ll be legion.
In two weeks or so, news will begin to spread. Within twenty days, fear will sweep over the planet. In four short weeks, governments will fall, civilization will be overrun. Ferals scouring the globe, devouring all they can find. The Council will panic and begin turning humans to bolster their ranks. And when humanity is finally extinguished, Ferals and vampires alike will still have to feed, and that’s when they’ll turn on each other.
Yes, in thirty three days the world will be many things…none of them boring.
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© 2011 Trey Dowell
Trey Dowell writes short stories from a darkened room with poor ventilation in Saint Louis, Missouri. Hard at work on his first novel, he’s been a Finalist in Writer’s Digest’s Popular Fiction Awards, and a first-place winner in Writers Weekly.com’s 24-hour fiction contest. His thriller short “Ballistic” will be published soon by Untreed Reads in e-book format.
