The toxic numbers on his watch glowed a green 10:45 as Ozzy checked again for the third time in an hour. Underneath him, the usual nightlife thrived like herds of gazelle in an urban savanna. On the wet sidewalks and pavement, people filtered in and out of the streets, looking for new ways to amuse themselves as the light April rain began to clear. Various dull, rhythmic thuds came from scattered nightclubs as the regular night scenes mixed bled until ravers and goths stood huddled together on the sidewalks getting their collective nicotine fixes. Ozzy's blue eyes stared down the five flights locking on random people for no more than a handful of seconds before moving on to the next stranger. It had been four hours since Ozzy woke up, and he had yet to find anyone of interest.
Then his gaze lazily locked eyes on a man with a mop of silver hair. Unconsciously, his hand began to idly finger through his brown tresses and he thought of how his hair should have been that color by now, or his face should have creases around his eyes and pale lips. Ozzy stopped keeping track of his age, but knew by this year he would be in his fifties.
Ozzy turned from the edge of the roof and looked up to the sky. Although he loved the cities, he missed the stars that he could only see nights he spent in the country. The lights of the cityscape ruined the sky for him, even with his eyesight. For a few minutes he stood there, eyes on the waning moon, passing blinks of planets, sparse stars and the occasional satilte. After his attention span expired, he turned and headed to the rooftop door.
He could feel the electric pulse of the city as his boots stepped onto the brick sidewalk. The cool spring air brushed over his bare arms and back through his t-shirt. It was then Ozzy thought of the black trench coat he left at his apartment. Ozzy didn't want to head back yet, so the coat was again forgotten as he began to wander the block. His eyes passed over the various clubs and other places still open in these late hours. He was more than aware of the eyes that traveled over his thin frame. Some was concern over someone som young out so late, but others were less than maternal. They glared and leered at him, their minds slimed over with thoughts of ravishing him like veal or some other metaphor that meant they liked their partners or victims rather young. He would deal with them as they came. At the moment, he only needed a dark corner to sit in, some good company, and his fix. That fix, of course, being human blood.
For Ozzy Rampton was a vampire. |
Submission Name: Revisiting an old character
