Max's Nightmare

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He wanted to help so badly, but the odds were against him
812 words
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It is snowing, you are wearing a Santa Suit. Written across the bag slung over your shoulder is the message “Clean up the Streets!” You walk along the street, searching for people to bestow your kindness upon. You smile to yourself, thinking how grateful they will be.

Ahead you see a small child, barefoot, wearing shorts and a torn shirt, playing in the snow. You move quickly to the child, pulling a package out of the bag, handing it to him. You smile as you watch him open the brand new set of clothes and pair of shoes. You are so pleased with yourself, you hardly notice the way he looks at you as you turn to walk away.

Further down the street you find a pair of girls playing jump rope, talking softly to each other, looking around as if afraid of being overheard. As you walk toward them one girl pulls out a small pipe, loading it full, lighting it. She hands it to the other girl, nearly screaming when she sees you walking toward them. They scramble to hide the pipe.

You gently twist one girl’s wrist until she drops it, giving her a new jacket instead. You crush the pipe and its contents into the snow with the heel of your boot.

Further down the street you find a woman, obviously a prostitute. Severely malnourished, obviously looking to get money for her drugs. Needle tracks scar both arms from elbow to wrist. You sigh at her, shaking your finger, telling her how bad it is. You pull a steaming hot home cooked meal from your bag, telling her to eat.

You notice as you continue walking that the state of the neighborhood is changing. The snow is melted in places where people have built fires in desperate attempt to keep warm. Children dodge into alleys, avoiding you.

One child throws his gift back into your face, screaming at you. “YOU ABANDONED US!” You blink, frowning at him, trying to explain that you just got caught up in other things. He ignores you, turning around and running away. You see that the back of his jacket has a gang symbol…

As you stand watching him go, the bag is suddenly ripped away from your grasp. A harsh female voice says “We don’t need your charity leech boy.” As you are hit across the back of the head with something large and blunt, perhaps a baseball bat…

You fall to your knees, twisting around to confront your attacker, and are frozen in shock. She seems like a normal woman, attractive even, in an exotic sort of way… If it weren’t for the ten heads…

You manage to climb to your feet and dodge as she swings the bat at you again. One of the heads hisses “You did this to them.” As the bat whiffs less than an inch from your nose. You dodge as she swings again, another of her heads speaking. “You abandoned them.”

“You left them to die.”
“You ran like a bitch”
“You don’t deserve this”
“You don’t deserve anything.”
“You are useless”
“Worthless!”
“Pathetic excuse for a vampire.”
“Unfit for even the compost heap!”

In unison the heads begin to laugh, a high pitched, painful sound, digging into your eardrums and piercing into your brain.

As you watch her, nearly overwhelmed by her words, you are hit again, by a bullet, in the left shoulder. Spinning around with the force of the impact, you are again stunned stock still. Your old friend stands before you, alive and whole. “You let him kill me” He raises the gun, firing again. “You bastard.” The bullet tears through your right kneecap.

From behind you are hit again, square across the damaged shoulder, with the bat. “Waste” she mutters.

Another voice speaks up from a nearby doorway. “Not entirely.” You manage to move enough to see Kreiger, grinning at you, a severed arm thrown over one shoulder. “Hiya Kid.” He looks to the woman. “You met my boy?” She nods, faltering slightly as he tosses the severed arm to her. Two of the heads fight over it like hungry birds while it is stolen by a third head.

You are distracted just long enough that you don’t notice him move. You don’t feel him until he is already latched onto your neck, drinking. “Give it back” he says as he tears a chunk of flesh from your undamaged shoulder. “Its mine.” He digs his teeth in, drinking, trying to take back the blood he used to make you.

You struggle, but every time you seem about to free yourself, you are hit by the baseball bat, or another shot from the gun.

Your last sight as you enter final death is of the woman, two of the heads still chewing at bits of the leg, smiling at you.

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