The guy at the meat counter was hassling some ghoul ahead of me. I tried not to look.
“Pleez… just hambone… for soup…”
“Yeah? You run out of corpses in the cemetery? My mom is buried there, you creep.”
I don’t get involved. I’m three, four generations back. Just a little pale, pronounced canines. I like steak tartare. I know some of the other thin-blood vamps play hardcore, all blinged out with capes and coffins. Not me.
The ghoul gave up after a while. They’ve got butcher shops in Bonetown.
I smile at the butcher. I don’t open my lips.
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6 comments:
Love it!
Hey, wait a second, I grew up on steak tartare.
I think there's something my parents haven't told me.
Maybe THAT's why there's no photographs of great-grandpa...
Yeah, I wish I had an awesome inspiration-story for this one, but it's one of the weird ideas that popped into my head more or less full-formed. I think it may have enough legs for a full short story if I let it stew a bit longer.
(And hi there, Orrin! Long time no sort-of seeing. You still hanging around the EA forums at all?)
I pop in when I can, but it seems like I go too long without doing so.
I did see the Best of Pseudopod '09 nomination post, though, but haven't gotten a chance to weigh in yet. Thanks for your vote!
i'm a fan, i was a fan on drabblecast, i'm a fan here. this thing rules!
Always nice to see new faces, though what fanbase I have tends toward the quiet side at best. ;-)
Hopefully this isn't the only one that proves enjoyable...
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