Tag Archives: adventure

Vampire Boys Of Summer (revamped) Ep. 1

A/N: Well, it’s a new year, so let’s go with another attempt at completing Vampire Boys Of Summer. 😉 We’ll just start from the beginning again. This version is re-vamped, which is to say it’s a new edit, with stuff added and the story restructured to be like a true serial. More chapters this time around, but they are shorter so they don’t take long to read. Look for regular episodes every week. Hope you enjoy! Okay Nora, tell us your story….

Episode 1: Nora & Miyavi

A vampire moved in next door to us this past summer. I knew he was a vamp right away because he was so unbelievably freaking hot. So hot it was almost unnatural. Kind of like those anime boys I watch online. You know the kind – so pretty most girls would throw themselves in traffic just to meet them. Perfect hair, perfect eyes, perfect teeth, and beautifully bare chested through half the episode. Of course, I should mention that these boys usually hook up with perfect anime girls with cutesy faces, girly voices, and breasts so large you could carry your lunch tray on them. I was none of these, so I took one look at the vampire boy who was standing on his front porch looking up at the lonely night and said, “yeah, whatever.” Then I returned to the manga book I had been reading before I noticed him. Ironically, it just happened to be about vampires…

It was hard to concentrate on the book. Once you have seen a vampire they kind of stick in your head, even if you didn’t get a good look at them. With my face buried in the manga’s cute illustrations, I tried not to think of that shadowy figure out there on his porch, but I kept looking at my window, wondering if I was going to see him hovering outside the glass, saying “come on, invite me in.” I had never had a boy in my bedroom before and I certainly wasn’t going to start with some guy with sharp teeth and a lust for blood.

I had returned to reading the manga when I heard the scratching on the glass. Glancing towards the sound, I swore I saw something rake across the window. It seemed a fog had descended on our valley and it was all swirling outside my house. I got up from my bed and approached the thick mist that was gathering outside. I peered through the glass, squinting my eyes and trying to see. Something scraped the window again. To my surprise, or perhaps disappointment, it was nothing but my cat Miyavi trying to get in after a night on the prowl.

I sighed, “Oh, it’s you,” and opened the window to let the black tabby in. He came in easy enough, but looking past my temperamental pet I saw the vampire boy again. It looked like he hadn’t even moved. He was still staring up into the expanse of the night sky, and against this backdrop I noticed a few things about him.

First, he was thin and pale, unlike the boys at my school who all seemed to think they were the coolest thing since Nutella. Half of the guys seemed interested in showing off their muscles to each other instead of to the girls who made fools of themselves chasing after them. But this boy was no football star in the making; physique wise, he appeared to have more in common with the library nerds or science geeks.

Second thing I noticed was that his hair was blond and uncombed. Again, this set him apart from over half the people I knew. Everyone at Chelsea Valley High seemed obsessed with the whole goth look, meaning they all wore leather, wore purple eye shadow, and dyed their hair black. Last year, the whole wrestling team darkened their hair because they thought it made them look meaner. They still lost. Hair may not make the man, but this vampire boy must not have known this because it sure made him more arresting to the eye.

The final thing I noticed about him was that he wasn’t from around here. He looked Asian, probably Japanese. And since there was no Japanese community in Chelsea Valley, this made him the only one for miles and miles. Normally, around about this time, my mind would have been screaming, “Girl, you have a hot blond Asian guy living next door! Get busy!” That didn’t happen this time because no matter how you cut it I knew he was a vampire and I was going to have to kill him. Miyavi meowed his approval. I reached down to scratch his head. When I raised back up to look out the window again, the fog had lifted and the vampire boy was nowhere to be seen.

I hung some garlic over the window and went to bed. No sense in taking chances. As my father used to tell me before they locked him up, “You can’t trust a boy with shiny teeth and blood on his mouth.” Not that my new neighbor exhibited any of these, but still he was a vampire, and come tomorrow I would prove it.

“Vampire Boys Of Summer” 2018 Paul D. Aronson.

Continue to Episode 2: Angela

Vampire Boys Of Summer (Re-vamped) Main Page

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Writing Prompt: Put Down That Book and Fight Me

Here we go with another writing prompt to get the creative juices flowing. Today’s task is to write a short story beginning with the phrase, Put down that book and fight me. 

If you want to participate, it’s easy. Just start writing 😉 Feel free to share what you write in the comments, or provide a link to your blog so others can see what you’ve come up with.

Have fun! 🙂

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“Put down that book and fight me.”

The old man in his easy chair didn’t look up. “I admire your tenacity, but I truly must finish this chapter.”

“To hell with your chapter. Stand up and defend yourself.”

“Ones defense is not determined by some notion to get up from your reading chair. Now if you don’t mind, I only have a few paragraphs left and you are interrupting my solitude.”

“You can have solitude when you’re dead,” the young assassin exclaimed. To prove his point, he swished his sword back and forth as if he were cutting through the very air. 

The old man ignored him and continued to read. So intent he was on the written word, his killer could have trashed every shelf in the library and he wouldn’t have budged from the comfort of his chair. In this, the newly arrived Intruder would have to take more drastic measures with his intended target.

“I will give you to the count of five to put your book down and fight. After that, I will kill you where you sit.”

Still, the old man read on, as if the assassin’s voice was nothing but the whisp of a memory echoing in the room. He turned to the next page of his book, and continued to take in each word. A slight smile crossed his face in the same way we ourselves might exhibit when reading a particular clever passage in our favorite tome.

The killer, shuffled from one foot to another as he counted. “One…”

He waited a beat. “Two…”

The old man’s eyes glued to the page, as he nodded in satisfaction.

The killer gripped the hilt of the sword tighter. “Three…”

He took one step forward. “Four…”

A breath. He raised his sword, preparing for the deadly swing. 

Crack! An excruciating pain in his ankle. He staggered back on his other foot, looking down unbelieving at the damage. He hadn’t even seen the old man move, and yet his his leg had shot out from him in deadly precision to strike the breaking point of the killer’s ankle. The rest of him had not moved, and in fact still sat in the high backed leather chair engrossed in his book.

“Oh, you are so dead,” the assassin snarled and charged forward, his sword swinging forward in an arc towards the chair. Before he reached it however, it was flipping backwards, the old man still in it, tumbling over twice until the avid reader was buried under it.

The sword had missed its mark and struck only fabric, enraging the killer. With his good foot, he tried to sweep the chair over on its side so he could see the old man, but the chair was too big and he staggered and swayed off balance. Regaining his footing, he thrust the point of the sword through the chair. 

Thunk! The tip of the sword didn’t meet flesh and bone, but the solid wood of the floor. The old man wasn’t under the chair. 

Looking up, he spied him right away. He was standing by the fireplace. In one hand he held a hot poker, just removed from the embers. In the other, the book he had refused to put down. He raised the volume to eye level and began to read again. 

Angered to the point where the broken ankle no longer mattered, the assassin charged, the arc of his sword swishing back and forth in crisscross movements before him. 

Holding the book out at arms length, the old man brought the poker to bear, gray ash flying off its tip. Sword met poker with a clang. The metal vibrated in their hands, but neither dropped their weapon. Instead, they parried back and forth, the old man taking the lead by driving the young killer back, while the would be assassin himself couldn’t believe the elderly gentleman in coattails still had not put down the book, even while fighting.

This distraction was too much to bear, and the old man with one swift twist of the poker, disarmed his attacker. The sword flew across the room, too far away to be retrieved. With a roundhouse movement , he swept the legs out from under his younger opponent. 

The youth landed on his back hard, the breath nearly knocked out of him. The hot poker was inches from his chest as the old man leaned over him. But the victor was not gloating, nor was he even paying attention. On the contrary, he was still reading. 

He nodded his head, smiled, and put his heel upon the young man’s chest to let him know he was not to get up. He snapped the book shut. He took a deep, satisfactory breath and tossed the poker away. Leaning down, he looked in the young man’s nervous eyes.

“The true reader doesn’t allow anyone to interrupt the tale,” he said.

The fallen warrior shook his head. “I can’t believe you beat me,” he whined.

“I was finished with the chapter.”

The old man reached down with his free hand and helped his student to his feet. 

Age Of The Two Kindreds

In the Age of the Two Kindreds
We lived in harmony with the land,
Forging the flames of the west
And the edens of the east,
Wedding the daughters of twilight
To the men who toiled the land,
Knowing we would return soon
To the far lonely isle.

We heard the dusk singer’s song
Born of the nightingales,
And we lamented their silenced voice
At the end of this time,
All the old songs are dead now
All part of ‘morrows myth,
But in the Age of the Two Kindreds
We lived in harmony with the land,
And loved all living things.

Poem by Paul D Aronson.