Delicious -- August exercise -- 500 w...
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|Thu, 08-03-2000 - 2:45pm|
Delicious -- August exercise -- 500 words exactly
Although (according to Lunatic Fringe) the Writing Class motto is "No Vampires Allowed," I give you Vlad.
One wheel squiggled beneath Vlad's cart as he stalked the aisles of Piggly Wiggly. A wrinkled price label and a filthy chunk of watermelon Bubble Yum pressed into the wheel made for a bumpy ride. "Disgusting Americans," Vlad muttered, temporarily stuck to the tile floor of the produce section.
“Meat, Tide, Snuggle; meat, Tide, Snuggle,” Vlad snarled. His black silk cloak enveloped his sinewy frame, the collar brushed the lobes of his pointed ears. Vlad's shirtfront, as always, was impeccable. Starched, gleaming, pristine.
Vlad swept through the bakery to the meat section. If only he’d anything else to put on. A late supper ruined his last pair of clean pants and he was forced to set his shoes aside after a scrubbing. Vlad’s cape couldn’t conceal the lupine yet deathly pale legs stemming from his cutoffs. Nor did the clacking of the shopping cart drown out the thwack-thwack of the Kmart flip-flops.
Vlad took stock of the specials. Ground meat and cube steak were out; Vlad disagreed with the texture. White meats were not to be considered. They didn’t contain enough blood. Then, perfection.
First he tossed cellophane packages of liver into his cart. Then he filled it with the weekly special -- beef tongue. He’d been drawn to the store window that read: “Bring home tongue: the tasty meat that tastes you back!”
His task completed, he searched for the laundry aisle. “Tide and Snuggle,” he chanted. “Tide and Snuggle.” Vlad didn't notice the greasy man in a ripped flannel shirt and overalls racing along the dairy aisle.
“Whoa, slow down there, boy,” the man spat. “Whoa-ah, that's some get-up! That Gortex?” “Disengage from my garment, you foul creature.” Like lightning, Vlad brushed the oil-stained hand from his wilting collar. Too much cholesterol for a meal but Vlad used him another way. “Direct me to the Tide. And Snuggle.”
“Tide's down aisle 13, but I ain't gonna snuggle,” the man guffawed. Acquaintances slapped his meaty shoulder and congratulated his witticism. Vlad snarled.
Before him in line was a heavily lipsticked female, her head enveloped in a cloud of blue cotton candy reeking of Aqua Net.
As she snapped her gum to the beat of the obnoxious music blaring from the ceiling speakers, Vlad noted her items. It brimmed with kitty litter, Pistachio rose lipstick, orange Metamucil, an industrial strength bottle of Oil of Olay, a package of ground beef and more. She produced a stack of cat food coupons from her plastic floral-print purse; Vlad anticipated a long wait.
The ground beef dripped onto the plastic daisies adorning her open-toed jellies; juices trickled between her shriveled digits. “Delicious,” Vlad purred.
"Don't be fresh, sonny," she growled. "I know kar-rat-ee."
To amuse himself, Vlad's ice-blue eyes pierced blaring tabloid headlines. “Having Alien's Baby, Dan Quayle Says!” “Elvis Fired from Kalamazoo 7-11; Claims sexual harassment!” “Vampires Relocate South for Warmer Blood!”
Intrigued, Vlad tossed this publication atop his selections and licked his pale lips, watching blood dry between the woman's toes.