Vampiryirya, Acting Queen of the Damned. Chapter 2.

‘I, Vampiryirya, have come to collect my dry cleaning.’

‘Okie dokie then. Have you got your ticket poppet?’

‘Ticket? I have no ticket! I, Vampiryirya…’

‘No problem, I’ll just have a look on the computer. When did you bring it in?’

‘It was when the moon was at its apogee, when the owls filled the darkling vault of the sky, when the…’

‘Was it within the last fourteen days? Cos if it was longer than that it’ll have gone off the system. If it’s not collected within fourteen days it’ll have been put in the back.’

‘It was a day of tempest, a day of torment, a day of ecstasy…’

‘What, when we had that really heavy rain? That was, hold on, last time it really pissed down was Monday before last, I remember because I was booking my holiday on my lunch hour and all my brochures got soaked.’

‘Monday? All days are days of sorrow. For I am Vamp…’

‘So that’d be the 8th then. I’ll have a look for you. Could I just have that name again?’

‘My name is Va…’

‘Hold on, I have a Ms. V. Ampiryirya.’

‘Ms?’ She laughed scorn at the assistant, swirling her raven tresses, thick as blood, black as night. ‘Do you not see the bloodstone on my finger? I am the bride of darkness, the bethrothed of pain…’

‘Oh sorry, he must have taken it down wrong. So it says here it was three tartan wool skirts, and a floral duvet cover, yeah?’

‘You would mock me!’ Vampiryirya flashed her eyes, those pools of molten pitch, like the tarns at the gates of hell, like the pits of endless night that await the souls of those begotten in  damnation’s fire. ‘Tartan! Floral! I, Vampiryirya…’

‘Was that not it?’

‘My gowns are of midnight’s hue, my cloaks like the moonlit backs of ravens!’

‘Right. See, it would be so much easier if you’d kept your ticket. Cos what it says here is tartan skirts, three, and floral duvet cover, one. I can’t see any raven’s hue or, what was the other thing you said?’

‘Midnight! When the souls of the lost dance, when the antic musicke of longing creeps upon the tarry waters of the…’

‘Yup. No, sorry but it just isn’t in the system. You sure it wasn’t the tartan…?’

‘Be silent! Your chatter is distasteful to me!’ She turned, and addressed the queue that was building up behind her. ‘I am not mocked! Be warned! Cower before me! For I, Vampiryirya, will return!’

The girl behind the counter smiled and nodded.

‘With your ticket, yeah?’


7 thoughts on “Vampiryirya, Acting Queen of the Damned. Chapter 2.

  1. Gertrude says:

    Thank you Simon! This is great and it feels like you wrote it specially for me ;0) I hate those visits to dry cleaners so I really sympathise with your protagonist. I would like to see how our Acting Queen of the Damned would handle the CEO of a global telecommunications provider in the next episode. She has shown such mercy so far… X

    • Why not check out my new Blog4U service: just specify the subject area (ie vampires/pigeons/space stations) and our team of expert pranksters will come up with a personalised blog entry, just for you! Your name and personal details will be expertly woven into the text. Paypal only.

      • Mature Fan says:

        Grampiryirya: elderly undead bride of darkness argues with Polish careworker over whether her catheter bag needs emptying.

        500 words, £10 but need it by Wednesday. £15 if with pictures.

  2. Jockie MacDracula says:

    See youse, that’s ma kilts youse are goon on aboot! Can ye nae ken the difference between ma traditional national dress and a poor wee lassie’s underknackers? Youse are denying me mah cultural heritage so youse are. Ye may take mah dry cleaning ticket but youse can never take mah FREEDOM!

    And dinnae think youse’ll be gettin paid if ye cannae get rid a those Buckfast stains by Tuesday. Aye, so it is.

    • Hello Mr. MacDracula. I do sympathise. Cleaning of any kind is of course still something of a novelty ‘north of the border’, but you and your wonderful, proud people will soon adapt to it. Blood stained flags will look like new, and those old leggings clotted with fecal matter and shreds of splintered bone will be unrecognisable: you simply won’t believe the difference! Your nation will rise up, independent, glorious and clean.

  3. lololol, I love it!

    I’m sat here trying to guffaw quietly because my poor hubby is in bed (he works nights) and I don’t like to wake him during the day – expecially with joyous sounds… (this is MY time… if he gets up I have to socialise with him which means less time for reading/writing… is that so terribly wrong of me???)

    The only problem now is that I can see how trully boresome my own blog is – no witty paragraphs there…

    Need to go swallow some funny pills and try to come up with something clever and funny if I’m ever going to make it in this industry!!

    Top Marks Simon!!!

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