Friday Night in Portland

It’s late. A figure on a motorcycle cruises east on Marine Drive, a long, narrow section or pavement between river and the city’s airport.

“This is annoying that this still distracts me. It’s been so many years…Oh, come now. I have needs .”
She shakes her head and scans out over the river’s banks. To the left, a low sloping sandy beach and a dozen or so wood pilings stick their heads out of the water. Closer, a couple of stoned teenagers dance on the sand. A couple make out on the beach.
“They still have time,” she bargains with the wind.
A red car pulls into the parking lot below her. It stops too close the other car to open the door. The driver gives the other driver some money, and receives a plastic baggy in return.
They don’t realize she sees them.
“Ah, lunch.”

The smaller car slowly backs out and turns and discretely joins the traffic slowly winding east on the embankment. In the distance a cluster of three small lights appear from a bank of clouds over the river. It approaches and quickly reveals itself to be a large passenger jet preparing to land. With the thundering rush of air she leaps down from her vantage point and plants herself just a few inches from the front of the still parked larger car.
Behind the windshield she sees two surprised faces. The driver blinks and starts to laugh. “That’s a great trick, lady. Are you an acrobat or something?”
She walks slowly, confidently, coldly to the left side of the car door. The laughing man isn’t laughing any more. He looks into her eyes as if caught in a trance and begins to sweat. The man sitting next to him grabs his shoulder and shouts, “Let’s get out here man, there’s something wrong… she’s a cop or…”
His voice trails off as she effortlessly swings the car door open and lifts the driver out of the car. The driver’s whole twitches involuntarily as she places her fangs over his neck and bites down.
Life! Youth! Vitality! This young man had all of these things and now they’re hers. A warm rush of joy fills her body and for a brief time she’ll be free of the hunger, the desperation, and the cold. The warmth of the man fills her again as she takes a longer bite. This one’s even better than the first bite. The richness and light is almost overwhelming. Like the old days when she counted herself among the living folk. But that was a long, long time ago. Sometimes the rush from taking the blood of the living was better and more real than life. This could almost be one of those times. The man in the passenger seat is shaking his head in disbelief and swearing. Desperately he’s trying to unlock the car door while fumbling to find some kind of weapon hidden in the many pockets of his baggy jeans.

Friday Night in Portland


Astoria, United States

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