Lost Faith in Humanity

Lost Faith in Humanity.jpg

He had lost faith in humanity. People just didn’t seem to understand. They didn’t want to understand. They didn’t want to come to conclusions, they didn’t even want to get along. Irrational madness everywhere. There was no hope.

He went for a walk to clear his head. The night was as dark as his mind, no stars, not even street lights. The power seemed to be gone, at least in his street.

He walked down to the river. The lamp posts were still working down there. He sat down on a bench, watching the river. He was tired. He’d been trying to find a solution. He knew there was, if people could just open their eyes. All this hate, all this closed-mindedness, all this… strange moral foundations. He didn’t see any possible way any more.

Presidents threatening with nuclear attacks, and people seemed to think it was OK. No one seemed to care about anybody but themselves. Sacrifying other people’s lives and homes was no problem, but they sure would not scarified their own. Incapable of putting themselves in the place of others, they were constructing their own doom. Fundamentalism everywhere. Christian fundamentalists. Muslim fundamentalists. But that wasn’t the real problem. It was greed and egocentrism.

As he was sitting there, watching a plastic bottle tangled in some kind of rope floating down the river, he heard a voice behind him.

Such a beautiful night, is it not? It was a woman.

I guess it could be, he answered without turning around. He just kept looking apathetic at the bottle disappearing down the stream.

May I sit? The woman asked. Her voice was strange. Metallic, yet soft. He thought he could hear a longing, a sadness of lost loved ones. She had a strange accent he’d never heard before.

He glanced at her. Shrugged. Sure, why not.

He didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything. The world could end for all he cared. People sucked anyway, and this one probably did as well.

She sat down beside him.

I can help you, she said. It doesn’t have to be this way. He looked at her. She was looking straight forward, into the thin air, as if she was talking to someone else. There was no one else there.

Er… He wanted to say something, but he didn’t know what. She was beautiful, this girl. She looked young, yet wise, experienced. Green eyes with a yellow shine to them. Her lips was full and red, her skin pale, as if she hadn’t been in the sun for ages.

She leaned towards him. Trust me, she whispered. She touched his cheek, moved his head a little. Kissed him. Her lips felt good. Her tongue entering his mouth just a little bit. He met her. She had her hand on his chest, stroking him. She started kissing his cheek. Her hand moved down on his abdomen. She kissed his neck. He felt something sharp. Teeth? They entered his skin. He moaned in a rush of pain and pleasure, spreading out under his skin, throughout his body. Beyond orgasms and dopamine. Deeper, more real. Beyond life. He disappeared into darkness and beauty.

He came to himself. She was sitting over him, one leg on each side of his lap. She looked different. More beautiful than anything he’d ever seen. A goddess. She bit her lip. Blood.

Drink. Her mouth next to his as she spoke. She kissed him again. Blood poured into his mouth, down his trout. It felt good. Tasted good. His mind wandered off again. He was somewhere else, he saw himself from outside, his life, mankind, everything. Nothing really mattered. This time he didn’t come back.

Come. She took his hand. The world had changed. The darkness was no longer dark. The world of humans was no longer important. And he was hungry. Thirsty. Thirsty for blood.

Let’s find someone to eat.

https://draculvanhelsing.wordpress.com/2017/04/07/donald-trump-trumps-history-teacher-and-bashar-assad/

https://mcdulac.wordpress.com/2015/04/05/flash-fiction-hipsters-versus-vampires/

Tears of Blood

48 thoughts on “Lost Faith in Humanity

  1. Wow. I’ve been sinking into this same attitude for some time. I even discussed Requiem on a separate blog. I’ve been obsessed with this song lately. It hits the same note that this post does. (And I really like this post.)

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Best not to be susceptible to vampirism of any sort, even when dejected. (From at least one of the associated links, looks like Trump’ll get bit soon enough — and you don’t want to join him. Maybe he was already bitten, and is so not self aware he doesn’t know it. Even if he’s not bitten, he works for them.)

    Liked by 1 person

  3. good write but you seemed to explain everything let the readers feel things and it will be just so much more beautiful… I saw an old me in you(not just saying) anyway it was good keep writing 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

      • What I find interesting about the story is that you/we/anyone can empathise with a person in a story or situation, and then depending on what way that person goes based on their pain… that someone/person might not deserve empathy anymore (or the person maybe never did, we didn’t know what was in the deepest of their soul). Or, depending on how empathy is characterized or defined, some people might not like the application of the word “deserve” in that context. The point being, nevertheless, that not everything is justifiable as a way to reduce or eliminate a sense of unhappiness or injustice. Just to get on the side of the “winners,” for example, or those who don’t feel anything about it is not really a solution.

        It’s evil.

        So, there, now I’ve spelled things out more (while you left things a bit undefined). I think literary discussion is fine.

        Like

      • Thanks for sharing. I think anyone capable of suffering deserves empathy, though. Inflicting suffering at the psycopath just creates more suffering. The only good justification of punisment is to prevent future damage, the way I see it. But I agree, becoming indifferent because it makes *you* happy makes you a lesser person indeed.

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  4. Well, yeah. I wasn’t talking about inflicting suffering on the psychopath; I don’t think that came up at all. The main question was whether one continues to identify with said “lesser person” or transfers identification to the new figure who introduces a supposed improvement. Where are we with an aim to feel indifference or to be the future inflictor.

    However, on another note, when we make satirical stories or tell the truth, it’s not unheard of that the psychopath feels or seems to feel pain. I don’t know what to make of that, exactly — whether it is real pain or manipulation. But there is such a thing as being too hindered thereby, as you do indicate in your statement as to preventing future damage.

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      • It’s interesting that a vampire story inspired by me would inspire a discussion about psychopaths in the comments.

        Because for some reason, a lot of people told me that I was a psychopath.

        Right before I killed them and buried them in the back yard (in the days when I had a back yard).

        Now, it’s a bit of nuisance to drag bodies down and throw them into the river. 😛

        Liked by 1 person

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