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Critique Wanted: A Filipino Vampire Story

It's time to be brave and tell Karmila's story to the world.

By Karina ThyraPublished 8 months ago 9 min read
Critique Wanted: A Filipino Vampire Story
Photo by Pawel Czerwinski on Unsplash

In my Chapters entry, I explained the need to establish a background and motivation for my heroine, Karmila. I described how her journey would feel incomplete without a story exclusively devoted to her, narrated in her preferred style. This short story is what I envisioned in my mind's eye back in 2016 while waiting for the bus to commence a long journey, including crossing the ocean, on my way back home. I am seeking critique and advice. To gain a deeper understanding of Karmila's character, I recommend reading this: Memoirs of a Vampire: A Background


By Aleksandr Popov on Unsplash

Sometimes I still get denied access to certain clubs because I look like a "teenager" rather than a 174-year-old immortal blood-sucker. I was around twenty-four when I was turned! I had to hypnotize them to let me in. These humans, they are pathetic. They go to clubs to drink their lives into a stupor and wake up on a stranger's bed the next day. One of the reasons why there are a lot of unwanted pregnancies, sometimes from whoring youngsters, and then the STD epidemic!

I do not give a damn how they live their lives; I am just put off that it is very rare to feast on untainted human blood nowadays. I have my own personal blood bag, but it's only so much until I had to pick up more for variety. And the club is a perfect place. Little do these little humans know, this club is owned by my vampire brother, Hector.

My thoughts were interrupted when the person two seats from me started wailing. Clearly, this man is already drunk. I do not like the blood of the intoxicated, but they're easy targets.

"Why?! Why did she leave me??" The person lamented. I was trying to drown out his stupid stories earlier, as I sat here drinking a Bloody Mary. Literally the blood of a girl called Mary who pissed off Hector. She's now a whore in the basement of this establishment, and we take blood from her ever so often.

I couldn't concentrate on my task any longer. If I couldn't lure non-STD carriers, this intoxicated man would have to do. He doesn't seem to have any ailments, aside from being a complete hopeless romantic.

I walked over to him, tapped his shoulder, and smiled. He suddenly felt so conscious about himself, like the fact that his eyes were puffy, and a snot from his nose was threatening to fall.

"M-me?" The man pointed at himself nervously. I smirked in an amused way. "Yes, you, handsome."

"If I were handsome, she would have never left me."

"I do not say compliments to just anyone if I do not mean it."

I spared the poor bartender a look; there was a knowing look on his face, indicating that this intoxicated blood bag was a regular customer. I know the bartender; he's a human employee of Hector; he is also in charge of getting us our drinks. His look told me that this poor breather wasn't good enough for food.

I sat down at the bar stool next to the mortal and waved the bartender away; he shrugged his shoulders and moved away to mix new cocktails.

"Nonong! Don't leave me! You are my only friend", the breather said. "Sorry, sir, new customers have arrived. I'm sure the pretty woman won't mind your company."

Nonong. I inwardly cringed. It is a rather ugly nickname for someone called Norman. I focused my attention back on the breather who was to be my new blood bag for the month.

"You are not doing yourself a favor drowning your sorrows with tequila." The breather looked at me, his drunkenness now more evident. Now that his face is in full view, I can't help but rack my brain as to why this face was so familiar.

"What would you know, pretty?" He snorted. "You look like the type to lead a guy on, and then leave him preferring death over anything."

That's partly true. In my newborn days, I held no qualms about killing those who particularly ticked me off. I would feign interest in the human before taking them to my nest and drinking their blood. When they got Stockholm syndrome, I would mess with their heads by holding their gazes and hypnotizing them, a trick known as 'glamour'.

"You know not of what you speak, child."

"Why are you calling me child? You look younger than me," he said, drinking another shot.

"There are so many things you do not know about the world, little one. If you continue to drink your life away, you will not live to see your brightest day."

Aside from material possessions and money, the only other weakness of these mere mortals is their stupidity in matters of love. Far too often they get their hearts broken by being utterly foolish, in one way or another.

"She is the love of my life," he said after seeming to see reason in my words. "And she broke up with me. We were to be married . . . I know that field trip to Monaco wouldn't result in something good. I was right."

I wanted to interrupt him, but for the first time, maybe I should hear someone else's misery. "What happened?"

He took a deep breath. "She got impregnated by her boss. I told her it didn't matter because I loved her, but she said that she loved the bastard and that her feelings were reciprocated. For a long time, I thought that he was gay. Whenever he sees Emmy and me together, he would look at us like he's checking us out. Little did I know he had his eyes on my lady."

"You are not meant to be, then," I said simply. Norman was back to serve us more drinks. He served me another Bloody Mary and the breather another twenty shots.

"How could you say that? She'll snap out of that whirlwind romance soon."

He aimed for another drink. I slapped away his hand. "That is quite enough alcohol for you, little one." I finished my Bloody Mary quickly. "Put it on my tab, Norman. Including this man's drinks."

"I need to test my alcohol tolerance. Thirty shots aren't enough to numb the pain."

I chuckled darkly. "That is quite enough, little one," I said as I pinched his neck, and he blacked out.


By beks mu on Unsplash

"Uggghhh," the man said. He was in a grand but unfamiliar room. It was painted in an almost Moroccan theme, even his bed. However, the sheets were all white; the bed where he was lying face-first was so soft and comfortable he was sure he'd stay in it if it wasn't for his pounding headache. He knew what it was easily; a hangover. He was fortunate that the curtains weren't drawn, otherwise, the blinding sunlight could have worsened it.

The man slowly stood up, taking in his surroundings. He saw no clothes littered everywhere so he probably hadn't slept with someone, a good thing, he thought. He also noted that he's still wearing his clothes from last night, well, at least his white t-shirt. Someone had taken off his polo and folded it neatly on the rear end of the bed.

He walked around and found out that there was an adjoining sala and a small dining area in his room. There was also a medium-sized refrigerator. On it, he found a note.

"You must be wondering where you are. You're in my house. Don't come out until I've returned. You were piss-faced last night. Help yourself to anything in the fridge. I'd like to talk to you once you're sober and the hangover is gone. You will find the medicine cabinet inside the bathroom, the only other door aside from the exit. I'll see you at 8 pm."

He was utterly confused. He quickly scanned the room to find a clock. He checked the windows to find that it was already dark. He even glanced at his wristwatch only to find that it was already 6 o'clock in the evening.

"GABBY!! What have you gotten yourself into?!" He said to himself as he scratched his head in frustration. He went to the bathroom and readied a nice cold shower. It was easily the most magnificent bathroom he had ever seen. There was a huge tub decorated with stones and a shower, with hot and cold handles. He found himself awe-struck that there were so many expensive bath products in here; bath bombs, body wash, soap, shampoo, conditioner, and expensive creams, oils, and lotions. Even those for male use like razors, shaving cream, male deodorant, and a range of fragrances from Dior to Versace were found and neatly arranged in a drying area just outside the tub. But being a simple man, he just chose a bath bomb (for he hadn't really tried one) in the fragrance of mint and sandalwood, an anti-dandruff shampoo, and took a body scrub.

He needed a cold shower, but he really wanted to have a dip in the tub. He still had roughly two hours before the meeting with the stranger who brought him here. If it was to be his last day on earth, which he hoped not, at least he'd look and smell good.

When he was finished bathing, he saw a fresh change of clothes in the walk-in closet connected to the bathroom. He noticed a sticky note outside its door, which he neglected to see earlier while he was gaping at the large bathroom.

He wore a crisp black shirt and black dress pants as instructed, and tried on the black leather shoes sitting on top of the vanity chair; it fit his 12-inch feet perfectly. Now, he was spooked. Why was he dressing all in black? Was he getting ready for his funeral?

He slapped himself silly; this was just a dream. A dream!

"I thought you had drowned," the woman from last night said. She was smirking in an amused manner with a look that said 'I-know-something-you-don't'.

The man gaped and was aghast. "Y-you!"

"Stop gaping like a fish and come outside once you're through."

He continued to stammer and even pointed an accusing finger at her. "W-what did you do to me?" He was panicking now. "Did you drug me? What happened last night?"

"Nonsense, little one. If you hadn't drunk yourself silly, I would have never taken you here. You were delirious."

"D-delicious? What are you, a vampire?"

"I said 'delirious'. Looks like you've gone deaf as well. Come along now, dear. It appears that you're done."

He said nothing, but even though he was still dubious, he thought that this had been the most lucid dream he'd ever had. Whether he was delirious or dying, it didn't matter. This phase was so much better than waking up sober and finding a note that said "I'm breaking up with you." from the love of his life.

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About the Creator

Karina Thyra

Fangirl of sorts.

Twitter: @ArianaGsparks

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