Three Weeks Ago

I reject you, Maggie continued reciting the words in her head as she walked down the crowded streets of New York. She was in ‘Queens’ and even though it was getting dark out it appeared light as dusk. This wasn’t due to electricity, but for the wildfires burning through the apartments. Police and Fireman were fighting like hell to arrest the encroaching flames, to keep them from spreading any farther. So far they were winning, but the unruly crowds were far from finished.

In order to make her way through them, Maggie wore a thin grey sweater covering the logo of her t-shirt and pulled the hood over her face. Just to be extra safe she also wore a necklace made up of small round onions. The onion had become a symbol of the anti-vampire groups, it was displayed everywhere and they still believed it to be a valid way to kill or scare away her kind. It was a foolish notion, but it was moderately better than using a stake which would definitely be more terrifying and dangerous.

Every night the ant-vampires searched for where they believed vampire clans lived or hung out, and each night they always seemed to target a community or district full of innocent people. The vampire clans had long intermingled with human society, and although they tended to live close to family, so too did most people. Vampire clans that tried to keep solely to themselves were rare, and often seen as backward to the majority of modern vampires. The only traditional clan she knew of lived somewhere in Delaware.

All Vampire families were associated with a clan, her own was part of the larger Nyxian Sept. The Nyxian clans were among the youngest to establish themselves in the city, and already there were discussions of them evacuating it. New York was in her blood, she was born there and never even thought about leaving, but with each passing day she felt like a thorn being pushed out. New York was rejecting them, forcing them to flee for their lives. As she looked up at the ash choked skies a single billboard seemed to glow through the murky haze. A giant neon onion stood out. The emblem burned brighter than any full moon.

Maggie Read Nyx somehow navigated her way through the smoke and chaos until finally arriving at her apartment building. A thin line of neighborhood watch observed everyone coming and going. They didn’t care about vampires or anti-vampires, they only cared about keeping the chaos outside from their side of the street. They knew who she was, and waved her to hurry up. Her neighborhood block was spared from the violence so far, but the onion smelling smog was still thick in the air. It took fifteen minutes to rush to her apartment building and find herself safely inside on her rooms doorstep.

“Dorothea I’m home!” Maggie’s voice rang across the small confines of her apartment interior as she burst open the door. Lavender scented candles welcomed her the moment she walked inside, a pleasant replacement for the noxious odors coming from the streets. She could still hear the noise from outside. The protests were happening more and more frequently in New York but spiked after the rise of a new flu pandemic. The news of the new flu just happened to coincide with the opening of the Vampire blood bank, the first ever in the city, and thus spawned a series of conspiracy theories.

Maggie Read Nyx just so happened to work at the new blood bank, so it was hard to ignore the tension in the air every time she went to and from work. Today the crowds surrounding the bank had resorted to violence. Typical violent protests might include Molotov cocktails or jars filled with disgusting liquids. Against the blood banks they threw makeshift crosses and entire bags of onions. The onion had become an awkward symbol for the extreme anti-vampire movement, displaying it on their logos and even going so far as to light entire pallets of the stinky vegetable on fire in the middle of the streets.

Humans had come to the conclusion that stinking up their own city by burning entire crops of onions would somehow expel the vampire’s and their associate clans. Even after a year of trying to no avail, they continued to do it. Human logic didn’t seem to be part of the equation, people were simply reacting.

Needless to say scented candles and oils were all the rage now. Maggie took off her hoodie to reveal her work shirt with the blood bank emblem proudly displayed. The shirt was supposed to be simple and non-threatening. Humans and vampires both worked there, so the happy smiley faced yellow blood cell was supposed to appear inviting. The uniform came with a hoodie or jacket that the employees were keen to wear the moment they left the building.

As she walked inside her tiny studio apartment she couldn’t help but notice the lack of music. Her girlfriend was a 90’s rock fanatic, and would often have vinyl records play non stop throughout the day. When she wasn’t listening to music Dorothea was writing it, trying to kickstart her own career as a musician. She wanted to write songs, and had a talent for the keyboard.

Their tiny apartment was barely large enough for the two of them, a full sized bed occupied nearly a third of the room. A single couch had become Dorothea’s work station, piles of notes and musical scores would cover it while her keyboard would sit in front. The bathroom they shared was the only adjacent enclosure to the room. What little space was left barely made room for a kitchen table and a microwave!

Maggie knew something was wrong simply by how clean it was. The couch was sparse and recently wiped down. The bed had been made with its pillows fluffed, and the kitchen was devoid of stains.

She became more uncomfortable with each step. By the time Maggie had made it halfway into their private sanctuary she felt as if she had walked into the wrong apartment. There was smoke outside, even with the windows closed Maggie could smell the sulfur and onion’s trying to pollute the building. The lavender scented candles were struggling to compete against the outside world. It was very likely nothing would keep the madness at bay for much longer.

Dorothea’s vinyl records were gone, so too were her instruments and piles of notes. Somehow the room seemed larger than it actually was. It was so empty, so silent and grey.

“Dorothea? Babe? You hiding somewhere?” Logically there was only one spot in the room she could hide if this was a prank. The bathroom door opened awkwardly, making the same creaking noise it always made. Nothing was inside, not even Dorthea’s favorite pink towel.

For several agonizing seconds Maggie stood there absent minded and lost for words. The empty room, the smell of onions, and the noise surrounded her for an eternity.

“Dorothea…” she continued to call out to the emptiness. Goosebumps formed on her arms and legs, and the hair on the back of her neck stood straight. All the while she continued to ask the emptiness the same question over and over again, “…Dorothea…”