Undead Rocker Disease - Feb. 20th, 2011
Tonight, you've caught an unwanted illness - is it the common cold, or the black plague? Wait... does your kind of creature even get sick?
What do you have, anyway? And what do you do about it?
Word Count: 576
It was a searing pain behind his eyes. It was the first sign that something was wrong with him. Something was going wrong. No... it was just wrong. Too late for the 'going' part. Even though Joey was still asleep his body knew something was wrong and when he opened his eyes he was blinded. White light filled the room and his body shuttered and gurgled. He only just made it to the bathroom before he puked.
His normally bright, nearly florescent blue eyes were pale white. His skin was thin and dry, his lips chapped and cracked. The pain behind his eyes had exploded to a migraine and the pain he felt deep in his bones was just another sign. He was in trouble. He was sick. He couldn't stand still when he eventually made it to the living room. “whatthehelldidyoudo?”
“what was that Joey?”
“thehell di-ju do?”
He couldn't see very well in this light. He was speaking far too fast, almost twitching and the cramps were going to happen next. He knew that was coming. But why?
The died-blond with fake tits he had brought back here night somehow somehow survived the night and even half blind he knew was in the kitchen. She took one look at him and shouted.
“OMG Whats wrong with you Joey?”
He knew. It was sun-sickness. Every shuttered window in his place was open. He was baking. Burning through the blood he had drunk quickly. It didn't matter if he closed the windows. It was too late. He'd have to wait for sunset for it to even begin to go away. Soon he was going to be very very sick. No matter what he did next.
“getout. GET OUT BEFORE I KILL YOU.”
He had killed people for this before. The agent from the studio who he was suffering from withdrawal. The other girl he had brought here before this one. His eyes flashed red. His hands itched. His arms itched. His legs itched.
“Just go. Just leave me alone” he growled
His teeth and hair itched. He frowned. Why wasn't she running? His muscles spasmed and he was on the floor. She was there, holding him. Why didn't she leave? Why did she have to see him like this? What did she do this to him? For a moment he was desperate for the pain to go away and nearly lost control. It wasn't enough. It wasn't going to help him. So he invaded her mind. The first time he'd tried to do it and he might have over done it. An address belonging to someone who could help him, supposedly, and the infallible urge to get there now.
After that cop showed up here last year he stopped keeping blood bags in the fridge. Where did he stash them? It was almost noon anyway. If he could just get out of the light. He turned out of the kitchen after scaring her out of his house and just about dove into the bedroom clawing the thick blinds closed before dropping to his stomach and reaching under the bed. A chilled portable safe and his stash of blood bags. Even though he knew it wouldn't really help with this, what else was he going to do? Call a doctor? He could only wait it out here on the floor. He'd save the bags for tonight, when they could help him.
What do you have, anyway? And what do you do about it?
Word Count: 576
It was a searing pain behind his eyes. It was the first sign that something was wrong with him. Something was going wrong. No... it was just wrong. Too late for the 'going' part. Even though Joey was still asleep his body knew something was wrong and when he opened his eyes he was blinded. White light filled the room and his body shuttered and gurgled. He only just made it to the bathroom before he puked.
His normally bright, nearly florescent blue eyes were pale white. His skin was thin and dry, his lips chapped and cracked. The pain behind his eyes had exploded to a migraine and the pain he felt deep in his bones was just another sign. He was in trouble. He was sick. He couldn't stand still when he eventually made it to the living room. “whatthehelldidyoudo?”
“what was that Joey?”
“thehell di-ju do?”
He couldn't see very well in this light. He was speaking far too fast, almost twitching and the cramps were going to happen next. He knew that was coming. But why?
The died-blond with fake tits he had brought back here night somehow somehow survived the night and even half blind he knew was in the kitchen. She took one look at him and shouted.
“OMG Whats wrong with you Joey?”
He knew. It was sun-sickness. Every shuttered window in his place was open. He was baking. Burning through the blood he had drunk quickly. It didn't matter if he closed the windows. It was too late. He'd have to wait for sunset for it to even begin to go away. Soon he was going to be very very sick. No matter what he did next.
“getout. GET OUT BEFORE I KILL YOU.”
He had killed people for this before. The agent from the studio who he was suffering from withdrawal. The other girl he had brought here before this one. His eyes flashed red. His hands itched. His arms itched. His legs itched.
“Just go. Just leave me alone” he growled
His teeth and hair itched. He frowned. Why wasn't she running? His muscles spasmed and he was on the floor. She was there, holding him. Why didn't she leave? Why did she have to see him like this? What did she do this to him? For a moment he was desperate for the pain to go away and nearly lost control. It wasn't enough. It wasn't going to help him. So he invaded her mind. The first time he'd tried to do it and he might have over done it. An address belonging to someone who could help him, supposedly, and the infallible urge to get there now.
After that cop showed up here last year he stopped keeping blood bags in the fridge. Where did he stash them? It was almost noon anyway. If he could just get out of the light. He turned out of the kitchen after scaring her out of his house and just about dove into the bedroom clawing the thick blinds closed before dropping to his stomach and reaching under the bed. A chilled portable safe and his stash of blood bags. Even though he knew it wouldn't really help with this, what else was he going to do? Call a doctor? He could only wait it out here on the floor. He'd save the bags for tonight, when they could help him.