"Flying Tadpole" wrote in message
...
THE CURSE OF THE VIRTUAL VAMPIRES

Behold a once noble and gallant sailing* Captain, down on his luck, with
time and money running out, having spent too long fighting holy wars on
the losing side each time. He still has a small circle of supporters and
tolerators in the little squabbling village which has been his only home
and refuge for many years, and which indeed he once governed. But he has
only one old, small sailboat remaining, an outcome which is a cause for
angst and rage at those (most) villagers who are better endowed. But much
of the time, he succeeds in hiding his pain.

Now...weave through the mists of cyberspace, to the lost isle of vampires.
Behold there a harpie, aged, haggard, but still with the power to confuse
men's minds and libidos. She marks the once gallant Captain out as a means
to return, no matter how briefly, to the waking world, and perhaps to
liberate her undead vampire brothers and sisters, whose movements in the
real world are, unfortunately, limited more by their low intelligence than
by their allergy to illumination.

The harpie takes flight, which she still does very well despite her great
age, and flaps her way into the little squabbling community of which the
declining Captain is part. Once there, disguised in a form which, if not
beautiful, is at least acceptable on a dark night, the harpie circles her
unwitting prey. She makes "friends" with the other females, and generally
creates herself a not-too-uncomfortable nest in the community, which has a
high ratbag toleration index anyway.

She flirts ostentatiously with those males who seem to enjoy it, enough to
eventually prompt our declining Captain to invite her on a short cruise.
On which, inevitably, she seduces said Captain and robs him of his
remaining wits.

On their return to the little community, the harpie and her Captain
proudly boast of the small amounts of bodily fluids they've managed to
secrete. One of the women, unimpressed, makes a caustic comment. This is
the opportunity our harpie has been waiting for. "Let's you and her fight"
she whispers to her Captain "and I'll bring my Family into it too!" So
both she and her besotted Captain fire bullets at a target which they
know will cause the other female to respond angrily rather than wisely.

The female shot at complains to the police, waving the hot bullets about,
so the police take the Captain's gun away. Other members of the community
are also unhappy about the nature of the shooting, and voice their support
for her. The harpie now has grounds to gleefully call her vampires across
to feast on the members of the little squabbling community. (They arrive
in dribs and drabs, having difficulty finding the address).

Together, the harpie and the horde of vampires rampage through the little
village. "Look what you're making us do" they cry, as they fire the
thatches. "This is necessary for your own good" they sigh, as they sink
teeth into necks. "You too could become a supporter of free speech like
us, if only you would silence those we tell you to silence" they proclaim
as they slaughter the fleeing lurkers. "It's for your freedom, as
determined by us", they whisper as they construct a gulag. "We're here for
as long as you need us, and we'll decide when that is", they smile.
"Anyone who is not with us, is against us", they mao. And behind all their
cries runs the unspoken adolescent undercurrent of vampire
motivations--"we're victims, so why shouldn't we trash any community we
choose?"

And the harpie gives the Captain a new gun, which he can and does fire
indiscriminately, in all directions at once, spraying a lifetime's pent
rage, aggression and angst at the little squabbling community, that being
the only place he truly belongs. He even gives the neighbouring villages a
burst. "I'm a victim too!" his actions proclaim.

The vampires don't behave quite so indiscriminately, because they know
about the possibilities of wooden stakes, and stop short of doing things
which would result in the appearance of such implements. But they're
happy to give (or rather, sell) the Captain the wherewithal to eventually
summon a whole fence of stakes onto himself. After all, in the end, it's
fun for a vampire to watch people being impaled, especially those foolish
enough to think they can join them as friends and allies.

But over time, the vampire flock and the tricksy harpie find that the
feeding isn't as easy nor as filling as they had hoped. Many of the
village locals simply leave for less infested areas, or close their doors,
or start erecting barriers of copper and silicon, with garlic for
flavour. Eventually, most of the vampires are reduced to wan rustling
things gazing through the stockades barring them from access to their
intended victims. Pale echos of their increasingly fearful cries can be
heard if one knows the places to go, but otherwise, a sort of silence
descends on the little once-squabbling community.

Our tricksie harpie, although shut out by most, is still in communication
with the Captain on his slippery slope of self-degradation. She shacks up
with him on his elderly boat, while she waits for the inevitable lawsuits
to follow his indiscriminate shooting, shooting which she continues to
encourage and which he doesn't wish to stop anyway.

The lawsuits arrive. The harpie separates, demanding the boat in palimony.
The Captain reaches rockbottom, cleaned out, unacceptable in his old
squabbling community, no boat, no woman, derelict on a beach. He dies in
the snow on Christmas Day, selling matches, but it's not angels which come
nor heaven to where they take him.

The harpie wings her way slowly back to the vampire isle, where those of
her hungry relatives who can understand a map have already returned. And
despite their hunger and their exile, they're warmed by the hatred burning
toward them from many parts of the world. But most particularly, they're
most warmed by the knowledge of their complete destruction of the mind,
soul and reputation of the once proud and gallant Captain, who thought
they were there to help him.

-----
Flying Tadpole Apr 2005

*obligatory sailing content

*****

Better than verse.

John Cairns