The Unappreciated Velvet Count
A humorous gothic reflection on eternal life, office fatigue, and suspicious ceiling noises.
Today is Dracula Day.
I wasn't aware he had a day, but even Bram's great count must travel.
And show resilience despite Singapore's extreme tropical heat.
So here he comes to Singapore,
For a little satire and colloquialism
An uncle with a velvet cloak, sweat and smell.
Even creatures of the night must remain steady in the heat.
🦇🕯️🦇🕯️🦇🕯️🦇🕯️🦇🕯️🦇
Singapore.
Land of mist and darkness.
Tropical fear.
Or so my mandibles thought.
But--
My black velvet cloak--
Collapsed against my chest.
The heat seared, even at night.
The moonlight I loved--
Wore yellow HDB fluorescence.
Not tropical fear.
Tropical heat.
🦇🕯️🦇🕯️🦇🕯️🦇🕯️🦇🕯️🦇
Preserve my gothic dignity.
An absolute must.
Finally, a coffin.
At Bukit Brown cemetery.
Casually creepy.
It simmered with invitation in the yellow moonlight.
My fangs clicked beside the fan sealed within.
Still, too hot.
My black velvet cloak--
Black Armani velvet--
Collapsed against my back.
🦇🕯️🦇🕯️🦇🕯️🦇🕯️🦇🕯️🦇
I finally managed to pop the coffin lid,
With that dreaded velvet cloak
Still collapsed against my back.
I boarded the MRT --
With perspiration-drowned denizens
And their cloaks
Stuck against their backs.
🦇🕯️🦇🕯️🦇🕯️🦇🕯️🦇🕯️🦇
I shunned the daylight streaming from the windows--
Moisture collapsing further.
And below--
Office workers.
In their velvet cloaks.
Marching beneath the searing sky.
A boy.
"Eh, Uncle.
You smelly ah."
🦇🕯️🦇🕯️🦇🕯️🦇🕯️🦇🕯️🦇
So I wore
The same black velvet cloak
Collapsed against my back
And stepped forth
Beneath the searing sky.
Watching velvet-clad minions
Perform their duties
Glowing in the sun.
They wear velvet here.
So can Count Dracula.
To a coffee shop for iced kopi.
With the same little boy.
He showed me around.
Not so smelly, ah.
🦇🕯️🦇🕯️🦇🕯️🦇🕯️🦇🕯️🦇
Original poem by Michelle Liew Tsui-Lin. AI tags are coincidental.
For Mikeydred's May prompt
Mirrors of the Mind by Michelle Liew is a collection of psychological and supernatural short stories that explore the quiet unease beneath ordinary moments. These are not tales of spectacle, but of subtle fracture — where memory distorts, silence speaks, and the self is not always singular. In these stories, what is unseen often carries the greatest weight, and what lingers is not what is shown, but what is felt.
About the Creator
Michelle Liew Tsui-Lin
Hi, i am an English Language teacher cum freelance writer with a taste for pets, prose and poetry. When I'm not writing my heart out, I'm playing with my three dogs, Zorra, Cloudy and Snowball.
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