His attention could stray from the task at hand. And to be honest, it was a mundane he kept focused on. The beeping of the ship, the whining of other aliens surrounding him. He mashed the shoot button and controlled the plane with the joystick. Around him, he wasn't at an arcade but a prison for trash.
His score was 180,000 and he didn't plan to stop. His mother said he had an addiction, but no one was truly addicted to video games. The comparison was retarded at best.
Chauncey turned the stick left, moved it up, brought it back down. Keeping his right hand on the shooter.
Despite the system being in a junkyard, it worked fine. Dirt on the screen added a challenge. It kept his mind on something else rather than… that other thing. Jacking off was an addiction. He didn't plan to get trapped in that.
He did ponder, what color is alien blood? He liked that new movie, Smile At The Immortals, Welcome To The Praise House, and that one black film by Broderick Powell. Going, Going, Gone. Most black films were inspiring telling a story of struggle. What he loved so much about it was… the kid in the film, Zakari Charles. He was a fat kid with a square head. Chauncey was big bone, he related to that. But he was much cuter.
In the film, it was told by Zakari's conscience. 'Am I sick?' said his conscience. 'Sometimes I think about blood.'
And Chauncey thought to himself, he thinks about that too. Sometimes, often cutting his arm just to see himself bleed. 'I think I'm normal. I have five fingers and toes like everyone else.'
The dialogue ended, skipping to a scene of Zakari stabbing a younger kid. He spat up blood, Chauncey cheered him on. He eased closer to the TV. "Finally!" said Zakari on tv. "You're dead and gone. I don't have to take care of you anymore!"
Zakari started voicing his conscience. 'I felt relieved. But then I felt worried. I came out the woods and a police car passed me. I don't think they noticed the blood on my shirt. So, I took it off.'
Now, Chauncey lived among vampires. He knew vampires at school. They didn't like him and called him ignorant.
One day at Alan Clare Prime. He sat with five vampire children. He knew one, he shared math, art, and gym with him. Draco Grey, he was ugly, he told him all the time. Just a British kid and that was it. This wasn't his territory. His jaws slender, his nose turned up, his top lip fatter than the bottom and cheek bones visible. He always seemed to be blushing. He knew Draco carried an asthma pump which was very entertaining. A vampire with asthma.
He patted a girl on the shoulder. "What does blood taste like?"
She sneered. "Evangeline, don't make faces at me!" She scooted over to her friend. Chauncey grabbed her arm. "Why are you moving from me!" All he did was ask a question. "Get off me!" Evangeline jerked her body away from Chauncey. Draco hopped over the lunch table and punched Chauncey in the face. "Let her go!" Chauncey released Evangeline. He grunted, glaring at Draco Grey. "Your so fucking weird. Blood drinking ass…," Draco cross over the table and took Evangeline's hand. "Come on Evangeline… let's go tell Principal Vanderpoole."
The tables in the lunchroom, started to chatter. Throwing names at Chauncey. And the old redundant insult: You shouldn't be here.
Chauncey didn't believe that. So, he ignored it. Vampires believed in longevity. It was hypocritical to tell someone to kill themselves. If vampires could be hypocrites, then why not him? He could be a hypocrite. His mother told him; he was a boy with sense. "What if I'm not?" he told her.
His mother said he was a bright boy with a good head on his shoulders. "What if I don't"
His mother told him; he could be anything he wanted. "I wanna be a vampire."
His mother said, vampires were damned. "Maybe I am too."
His mother said, murder is never the option. Fighting leads to nothing. "I get what I want." He smiled at his mother. "It's a benefit. You just have to know how to use it."
"Chauncey, power is a sin. No one knows how to do it right."
"But… isn't that how I got here?" said Chauncey. The notion a pure insult to his mother, Faith Vansant. "I wanna know. And you don't tell me."
The next day he was going to school, Chauncey took his books. He laced up his shoes. His mother came by the room, peeping in to say, "Chauncey don't forget. We're going to grandma's funeral tomorrow." His eyes lit up; he wouldn't have to go to school tomorrow. "How did she die again?" he asked. "Mama took too much insulin." She spoke. "She had a seizure."
Chauncey knew if he voiced it out. His mother would surely give him a beating. "I hope grandma resting." In his head, he thought, she wouldn't have died if she was a vampire. Even though vampires at Alan Clare took classes considering their bloodline. It was said immortality wasn't present in vampires. Instead, they maintained their lives through hiding, bone marrow, blood, and staying indoor.
According to Count Cromwell, a vampire teacher who taught Heritage. Vampires come from illness not magic. Some magic is incorporated but used to stay alive.
Chauncey went to school and skipped three of his classes to merged into vampiric classes. He wore a black hoodie over his head, long enough to hide his face. "Dracula is a biography. Written by Bram Stoker in 1897. It has carried many forms of vampire stories to this day." Voiced the teacher upfront. A student raised their hand, "Count, I heard that some theorized that Bram himself was a vampire."
Count Cromwell chuckled, his fangs casting the shine off the projector. "I've heard that before. But take into consideration, Camilla was written by Frances Burney in 1796. Are you claiming that Frances was a vampire?"
Another student called for attention, "It's funny that this is heritage class but today we're talking about books." Claimed a female student with blonde hair. "Are you trying to tell us something." Count Cromwell grinned widely, "Perhaps. Isn't it quite funny these books are technically outdated, and we haven't seen anything like it. There are re-adaptations. But no one can write like Bram or Burney. Gothic fiction some call it. And the reason we are talking about books," he paced on the stage. "Is because of secrets. Can anyone tell me how Bram, 'died'"?
The class was silent though one knew, Chauncey, he wasn't a student in the class. He deepened his voice, "Syphilis." He answered. The class of heads turned; he kept his head low to hide his face. "That's right. Nothing weird or out of the ordinary. But does say he was…" Count Cromwell snickered. "A lover."
The class snorted and went back to silence. "Vampires in history didn't die from too many diseases. But you have movies and this new retarded thing called fanfictions. Where we come in packs. Because that's what bat do." His back bled, unseen by the students until his wings tore his shirt. "I'm not a bat. So, science wanted to know more. Now we got science in our history. Can anyone tell me a vampiric inventor? He lived in the heat…"
"Dracula?" a student said. Count Cromwell shook his head, "We've moved on Hodges."
A girl in front snapped her fingers. Chauncey doubted she'd get it right, the answer was Tufail al-Noor. What did he invent? Grips, for toothless vampires. He molded teeth out of a dead camel. He was old and his final tooth escaped him while he was biting into some stale bread. He found a dead camel in the desert that had left it's rider. He punched the teeth, but they didn't break. So, he picked up a rock near a tree and smashed the teeth out of the camel's jaw. He tied the two top teeth together and tied seven bottom teeth. He went a carpenter, Lutfi Abdelrahman. And asked Lutfi to beat the teeth into his mouth so he could eat. He did. When Lutfi beat the teeth into Tufail's mouth, he gave him brain damage.
Lutfi didn't want to be known for murdering a man. He knew of a tribe in Africa and went to find the tribe. They had the means to revive the dead. Lutfi was Muslim and by his religion this was forbidden.
He found the tribe and begged them to revive the man. The tribe agreed but told him they needed a body. Lutfi gave up his own body because he didn't want people to find out it was him. He said he had a wife but she would be better off without him.
How he knew all this, Chauncey had snuck in classes many times.
He twiddled his fingers at the girl. He didn't have any magic, but he supposed that the mere thought itself would transfer. "Uh… what was his name—I KNOW! I know Mr. C!" she hopped in her chair with her hand up. He motioned for her to calm down, "Easy, Shiloh. I'll say it—"
"I can say it!" she blurted. He snorted again, "It was Tufail Noor. Though some say, the credit should go to Lutfi Abdelrahman."
"Why," asked a student in the back. "Well, the methods was used. Tufail had no teeth and used the teeth from a dead camel. He asked Lutfi to put the teeth into his jaw so he could eat."
"Well, that's not bad." Said Shiloh. "He gave the man teeth."
"But, Lutfi was banging the teeth in his head, he gave the old man brain damage. It sounds like a middle eastern fairy tale but they say that was the first walking jinn."
Chauncey perked his head up, his attention turned to the girl named Shiloh. She sat with her chin in her palm.
The school bell rung. Bodies collected in the hallway; Chauncey ran up to Shiloh. Her hair black with a strip of white on the left side close to her forehead. She pulled the hair into a ponytail. "Hey!"
She jolted, gazing at the boy. "Can I ask you a question?"
"Yeah…," she closed her locker. "What is it?"
"I wanted to know… if you're a vampire."
She grimaced as if the question was obvious. "Yeah," she said matter a factly.
"Ain't you with those niggas that call themselves The Business?"
"So," she hugged her books to her chest. "what you want? You one of those niggas that think we kill people?" she stuck her neck out, "Cause we don't!"
"Nah, but you are a vampire, right?"
"Boy, gone somewhere." She turned heel going down the hall. Chauncey caught up to her. "I'm just curious. So, in history—"
"Look little human, we call it Heritage."
"Same fucking thing!" he argued. She continued walking, speeding up trying to lose him. "Girl, let me talk to you!"
"No!"
He paused in his steps, "Fine. Fangless…"
Shiloh halted; her books rested against her knees as she slumped over. "What?"
RUN, reSHA. An echo creeped out the corridor. In a blink of an eye, her hand was on his throat. "How did you know I was fangless?" she snarled. "You're a vampire, right?" he gasped. "Stay away from me!" she let him go. But not before punching him below his stomach. "Stay away from me, unless you want me to break in."
Chauncey clutched his stomach as he slid down from the lockers. Feeling the urge to throw up, "You weren't invited…"