She is a dark-skinned woman in her late twenties or early thirties, wearing a dark leather jacket. Sitting in the passenger’s side, she is illuminated by the streetlights. “Are you afraid of the other bloodsuckers, or are you afraid of the Parasite?” Tajea asks. Whenever a car passes by on the freeway above, the reflected light reveals flashes of an ashen gray face, gray hands clutching the steering wheel. “I could be killed for this, you know.” He is nothing but a hunched shadow in the driver’s seat. His rough and phlegmy voice may conceal a tiny hint of an accent. “I shouldn’t be meeting with you,” he says.Eat your dinner.” Basil walks out of the room, leaving his reflection to sit and stare at the disembodied eyes. “You are nothing but a passenger, and you may as well start enjoying it. The reflection stands, but Basil moves his hand and the glass seems to pulse. A pair of eyes - golden brown irises, red muscle and pink nerve tissue still clinging to the sides and rear - stare out. Then he strides to the bookshelf and fetches a block of clear acrylic, which he slams into the center of the table. He chews, swallows, and washes it down with the dregs of his wine, leaving greasy streaks on the glass.
You remember what happened to the last person who got in my way.” Basil pauses, picks up what’s left of his dinner, and shoves it unceremoniously into his mouth. You could inconvenience me, and then I would have to hurt you…but you’re too fucking scared. I mean, I may be as a god to you pitiful mortalĬreatures, but humans have always had a talent for punching above their weight class. “You do know you could fight me, don’t you? It’s been years - I’m sure you’ve figured that out by now. It has been, in the past, with others.” The man in the mirror doesn’t say anything. This could be a much less pleasant arrangement, Basil. I could make you watch as I chopped off bits that I don’t really need. It’s always ‘please go away’ and ‘please let me die’ or ‘when will this be over?’ You do know that I could torment you if I wanted to, don’t you? I could spend all day shoving needles under my fingernails. “You are such a fucking drama queen, do you know that? Live a little, why don’t you? I feed you the most exquisite foods imaginable, find the most gorgeous examples of humanity to share your bed, and do you ever thank me? Of course not. Will that make you happy, Basil?” “As long as it means that it’s over.” Basil rolls his eyes at his reflection. I expect that with a little help I could squeeze another seventy or eighty years out of your mortal frame, and then it’s on to new digs for me and down into oblivion for you. “Well, Basil, you are young and relatively healthy. “Christ almighty, Basil, why are you such a drag? If I’d known you would be so painfully dull, I’d have just let you die.” “I wish you had.” Basil, choosing to ignore his reflection, continues. “When will this be over?” the man in the mirror asks. Basil’s image in the glass has barely touched his food, only picked at it and moved it around his plate. He is Caucasian, tall and slim, with sandy blond hair and green eyes. “You aren’t enjoying the meal?” Basil asks his reflection around a mouthful of delicately braised, pale ivory flesh. He devours mousse de foie gras, steak of bob veal, caramelized pears, and spinach salad, occasionally pausing to pat his face with a silk napkin or sip deep red wine from a crystal glass. On one side - the real side - a man is having dinner facing the mirror. A mirror runs right down the middle of it, presenting reality with an illusion of itself. PIEDMONT, CALIFORNIA, 2010 The table is only half a table, and the dining room is only half a room. Dymphna Coy, Jesse Heinig, David A Hill Jr, Cassandra Khaw, Danielle Lauzon, Anna K Loy, Hayley Margules, Stuart Martyn, Michelle Lyons-McFarland, Michael Murray, Marianne Pease, Renee Ritchie, Peter Schaefer, Malcolm Sheppard, John Snead, Mark Stone, Monica Valentinelli, Audrey Whitman, Filamena Young, Eric Zawadzki Chris Allen, Cam Banks, Russell Collins, J.
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