Ariel - The Arrival - Except from the story Immortal

My rocker friends landed me in Royal Oak, MI where I have conveniently located my cousin, Denida.
The moleskin of her brown overstuffed couch held the scent of cigarettes and Apple Pucker martinis. It was so musty and thick in the tattered fabric that it intensified my nausea by ten.
One big gulp, because obviously I won’t be calling Earl anytime soon to end my misery.
I sat up to find one shoe missing and one pant leg jammed between my thighs. The other pant leg still on and uncomfortably cuts into my skin.
It was morning, which is traditionally sleepy time for my kind. We don’t do well in daylight. The sun is a bit dangerous, we can get vicious sun burns and prolonged exposure in direct sunlight, well let’s just say it’s not a good idea.
Contrary to urban legend, we are able to go outside in the day time, it’s just suggested that we cover up, similar to the traditional Saudi women’s attire.
Denida came in looking like she just fucked the neighbor’s cat, auburn ringlets astray on her head. She was still short and portly. Her waist was small but her breasts and butt were made for a woman twice her height. All 5 ft. 3 in. of her looked as if she would topple at any given moment.
“Mornin’.” More of a grunt than anything else.
Before I could attempt my own grunt, a bald dude with tribal marking tattoos all over his svelte, chocolate body appeared in the doorway.
He made me before I made him.
Even without seeing his mark, he wasn’t hard to figure out. Denida’s anemic look and circles under her eyes told me that he took a good healthy dose.
Besides, even in my hung over state, I could smell the blood scent drift in from the bedroom.

The blood of a relative is real sick and has an unmistakable odor. I found out the hard way after running into a distant cousin in a fit of hunger. I took from his veins and ignored all of my instinctual warnings. It didn’t help that I had been drinking.
I was sick for days and even things that normally did not irritate me were under my skin. The sound of birds chirping, and the rustling grass sounding like big band music. Never again I promised.
Now, again, I feel that rolling wave of cool illness, just from the smell.
I could feel my cousin’s friend eyeing me and I knew that he and I wouldn’t exactly get off on the right foot. He wouldn’t like me being around threatening his lair, so to speak.
We Vampire are not friendly to outsiders. Too dangerous, the trusting of others is always lacking. You’ll only find yourself compromised in the end.
“What’s your name?” I reached out to him to find something about him. I wanted to know where he was from, or pick up some dialect.
Denida speaks too fast.
“Omar… Omarrr Cattel.” She was smiling and rolling her r’s in a way that should have been sexy. God, she’s an idiot.
“Yeah, I’m Omar. Me and Denida good… good friends.” He stammered over good and friends. I know what he means. She’s a friend with the benefit of feeding.
“So, my cousin Ariel is here for a few days and she’s going to stay with me. I haven’t seen her in yea-ears.” Denida still talks too much.
Actually, the last time I’d seen her was yeeeee-ars ago. My mother’s funeral.
She’d been in a car accident and run off the Rouge River Bridge. They found the car half submerged in the mud and the tail sticking out of the water. It was a ghastly scene. She was severed at the torso.
That day, the day of her accident, we had argued about me leaving for school. I wanted to come home to meet my father’s side of the family. I called her to tell her that I was leaving for the bus station. My real father called me and asked me to come home so that we could talk. I was going to leave Michigan State University; I wanted to go see him.
She was livid and was on her way up to East Lansing, in the snow, rather in a snow storm. The first snow of the season…October.
“Omar, where do you live?” I had to cut in; otherwise Denida wouldn’t have let me get a word in edgewise.
“Romeo… On 23 Mile.”
Figures, there’s nothing out there but farms and a military base. It wouldn’t be hard to put a place out in the woods and nobody would know what lurked behind your doors.
I felt his eyes run over me. He was attempting to size me up.
I already had his number. He was a young vamp, only a few years, maybe 5 years old. His body was good, but he had little strength.
As he stared at me, I extended my nails a bit and my jaw muscle tightened... He heard them grow and I could sense his fear. Obviously, he can’t do that yet.
Punk.

The Art of Procrastination

I'm not quite sure whether you've ever taken the amount of skill that it takes to be a procrastinator into consideration. Not only am I afflicted with this ailment, but I've managed to surround myself with folks that are no less than master's of this affliction. As my elders would say, these people are just 'flicted.

I can't speak for the others, but in my case, I am always preparing... I prepare to prepare my plans, then prepare to execute those plans, rework the preparation, only to start planning again.

Take my novel for example. I've been writing it since I was 15 years old in my mind, and since then, it's changed genre's about 1000 times, from a young girl living on an island with her obsessed and demented father, to a young woman living in Georgia that is a wicken, to finally a vampire in Detroit with some serious emotional difficulties of her own.

Well, as Oprah would say, "this I know"... the best laid plans can lead you down the road to hell. I have vowed (to myself, of course, in case I backslide... I don't want anyone to see:-) to set up this blog, on which I will develop my stories, allow an outlet for all those shorts that clutter my thoughts, and along the way, vent my frustrations with the process. I will write. My biggest procrastination of all, my dream deferred, will be realized.

And if I should fall of... may my writer's block have no mercy and the well of words in my soul dry up and wither away. If there are fans, then so be it, and if not, I will be my audience of one.

Cheers!