The Piercing
Saga of My
Existence.
by
Cary Anthes
Saga of My
Existence.
by
Cary Anthes
CONTEST
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The authorities in New Orleans were on to me. They didn't know who, or what, I am, but it
wouldn't have been long before the bodies would lead them to me. The tourists had long
provided a steady diet, but I had to make sure that the myth of the vampire remained a myth.
Unlike Bram Stoker's Dracula, the real King of the Nighttime world is no he. Most of the
stories passed down through time are completely off base; I wear a small wooden cross I
purchased at a charming boutique in Pirate's Alley, I rather enjoy a stake through the heart,
and I wear clothes that most mortals would consider ordinary (I especially love jeans from
the thrift shop). That famous woman who lives uptown has written many stories about us,
and though I do find her tales rather entertaining, what she writes of the interpersonal lives of
the vampire has been almost entirely wrong. But a lady doesn't talk about such things, so
other than to say that I often spend many nights with my prey before I drink, I'll leave the
rest up to your imagination.
Up until recently, it's been an easy game to play in a city where visitors often sleep in their
hotel rooms with the shades drawn until daylight is gone. I require no coffin, but as folklore
suggests, direct sunlight will burn my flesh. Also, though I am required to drink human blood
to survive, I also enjoy much of the same food and drink that the mortals do. I like to put a
good buzz on, and I certainly have my favorite restaurants and watering holes.
I must add this: Despite the reputation of New Orleans as a favorite "haunt" for vampires, I
can assure you, I'm the only one. I've been here for decades, and I've never sensed the
presence of another.
I feel I should tell you a little more about myself before I tell you about my new home. I'm
sure curiosity is the only reason your reading this, and some of the things I'm fond of will
probably only add to your curiosity. I love going to Saints games, bad as they are, and
watching a Zephyrs baseball game while munching a hot dog and nachos is perhaps my
favorite All-American pastime. I'm also particularly fond of a debris sandwich from a
restaurant on Poydras, and a little hole in the wall bar on the corner of Bourbon and Orleans is
where I generally enjoy drinks and find the boys and girls that I "party" with. Also, I love a
late evening walk through City Park, visiting the animals at Audubon Zoo (I sneak in at night,
though many of them sense the evil in me), jazz in the bars of Frenchman Street in the
Faubourg Marigny, shopping on Magazine Street on an overcast day, and, of course, I've
been known to hang out with inquisitive strangers in various necropoleis around the city.
But all that is in a past life. I'm now living in the city and state of St. Charles, Missouri. Like
New Orleans, it's an old city by American standards; apparently founded in 1769 as Les
Petites Cotes by a French fur trader named Louis Blanchette, and later renamed as San Carlos.
Knowing that I had to leave the city, I met two girls from St. Louis and decided to leave with
them when they returned home. The girls were heavy drinkers, so they understood when I
spent the entire 10 hour trip under blankets pretending to be sick until nightfall.
The first night in St. Louis we went to a bar in the Soulard neighborhood, and there I met a
man from St. Charles. I found his looks and mannerisms appealing, and that first night I went
home with him. He lives in a second floor apartment on Main Street, just a block up from the
Missouri River, and I've been staying with him for some time. Since I can't tell you his real
name, I'll call him Charlie.
Charlie is a part-time student at a small college a few blocks away, but he also works long
hours as a cook at a neighborhood bar. He works during the day, so the fact that I only go
out at night, or an extremely overcast day, doesn't create any suspicion. He's the perfect
keeper, if you will, and he even found me a part-time job as a bartender at a popular Main
Street saloon. I once played bartender in a blues club on Bourbon Street, so I know how to
pour a cocktail, and it provided another outlet to meet visitors to the city.
Still, I must kill, and in this relatively small town, murder is almost unheard of. Fortunately I
found a quick solution, and that was simply to travel to the city to party on occasion and
feed. The all-hours bars and strip clubs of the East St. Louis area provide ample drunks and
easy prey, and murders are commonplace enough that a dead body doesn't create much
shock or chaos.
So my "life" goes on as usual some 700 miles from my old home in New Orleans. I'm even
thinking of taking some classes at the college. Night classes, of course. I understand they
offer mortuary science courses.
Thanks to the Internet I can keep track of the happenings in the New Orleans, and I'm sure I
will return in the not-too-distant future. For now this small town on the Missouri is my home,
but the spirit of the Crescent City is constantly calling on me. Someday I'll be back with the
people and the place where I belong. In the meantime, I have many more stories to entertain
you, and I'll write again soon. I might even tell you my name.
(972 words)
wouldn't have been long before the bodies would lead them to me. The tourists had long
provided a steady diet, but I had to make sure that the myth of the vampire remained a myth.
Unlike Bram Stoker's Dracula, the real King of the Nighttime world is no he. Most of the
stories passed down through time are completely off base; I wear a small wooden cross I
purchased at a charming boutique in Pirate's Alley, I rather enjoy a stake through the heart,
and I wear clothes that most mortals would consider ordinary (I especially love jeans from
the thrift shop). That famous woman who lives uptown has written many stories about us,
and though I do find her tales rather entertaining, what she writes of the interpersonal lives of
the vampire has been almost entirely wrong. But a lady doesn't talk about such things, so
other than to say that I often spend many nights with my prey before I drink, I'll leave the
rest up to your imagination.
Up until recently, it's been an easy game to play in a city where visitors often sleep in their
hotel rooms with the shades drawn until daylight is gone. I require no coffin, but as folklore
suggests, direct sunlight will burn my flesh. Also, though I am required to drink human blood
to survive, I also enjoy much of the same food and drink that the mortals do. I like to put a
good buzz on, and I certainly have my favorite restaurants and watering holes.
I must add this: Despite the reputation of New Orleans as a favorite "haunt" for vampires, I
can assure you, I'm the only one. I've been here for decades, and I've never sensed the
presence of another.
I feel I should tell you a little more about myself before I tell you about my new home. I'm
sure curiosity is the only reason your reading this, and some of the things I'm fond of will
probably only add to your curiosity. I love going to Saints games, bad as they are, and
watching a Zephyrs baseball game while munching a hot dog and nachos is perhaps my
favorite All-American pastime. I'm also particularly fond of a debris sandwich from a
restaurant on Poydras, and a little hole in the wall bar on the corner of Bourbon and Orleans is
where I generally enjoy drinks and find the boys and girls that I "party" with. Also, I love a
late evening walk through City Park, visiting the animals at Audubon Zoo (I sneak in at night,
though many of them sense the evil in me), jazz in the bars of Frenchman Street in the
Faubourg Marigny, shopping on Magazine Street on an overcast day, and, of course, I've
been known to hang out with inquisitive strangers in various necropoleis around the city.
But all that is in a past life. I'm now living in the city and state of St. Charles, Missouri. Like
New Orleans, it's an old city by American standards; apparently founded in 1769 as Les
Petites Cotes by a French fur trader named Louis Blanchette, and later renamed as San Carlos.
Knowing that I had to leave the city, I met two girls from St. Louis and decided to leave with
them when they returned home. The girls were heavy drinkers, so they understood when I
spent the entire 10 hour trip under blankets pretending to be sick until nightfall.
The first night in St. Louis we went to a bar in the Soulard neighborhood, and there I met a
man from St. Charles. I found his looks and mannerisms appealing, and that first night I went
home with him. He lives in a second floor apartment on Main Street, just a block up from the
Missouri River, and I've been staying with him for some time. Since I can't tell you his real
name, I'll call him Charlie.
Charlie is a part-time student at a small college a few blocks away, but he also works long
hours as a cook at a neighborhood bar. He works during the day, so the fact that I only go
out at night, or an extremely overcast day, doesn't create any suspicion. He's the perfect
keeper, if you will, and he even found me a part-time job as a bartender at a popular Main
Street saloon. I once played bartender in a blues club on Bourbon Street, so I know how to
pour a cocktail, and it provided another outlet to meet visitors to the city.
Still, I must kill, and in this relatively small town, murder is almost unheard of. Fortunately I
found a quick solution, and that was simply to travel to the city to party on occasion and
feed. The all-hours bars and strip clubs of the East St. Louis area provide ample drunks and
easy prey, and murders are commonplace enough that a dead body doesn't create much
shock or chaos.
So my "life" goes on as usual some 700 miles from my old home in New Orleans. I'm even
thinking of taking some classes at the college. Night classes, of course. I understand they
offer mortuary science courses.
Thanks to the Internet I can keep track of the happenings in the New Orleans, and I'm sure I
will return in the not-too-distant future. For now this small town on the Missouri is my home,
but the spirit of the Crescent City is constantly calling on me. Someday I'll be back with the
people and the place where I belong. In the meantime, I have many more stories to entertain
you, and I'll write again soon. I might even tell you my name.
(972 words)