Gregory Yates

"Ticket, please?"

The guy's voice cuts into my thoughts, but I ignore him - instead trying to listen to the train. I like the train. It's so familiar to me; the bumps, jolts and shaking all form a rythm that I love to hear, love to sit back and think to. I brush a strand of hair out my face and close my eyes once more.

Click, click. Then a scrape. The train is stopping.

"Sir, I'm going to need to see that ticket."

I turn this time, swearing under my breath. Who does he fucking think he is? I stare him full on in the eyes, making sure he knows who it is he's speaking to. And he does, I'm sure. A little twinge of panic crosses his features as he sees my face - my beautiful face - and he steps back a little, trembling.

"I'm...sorry, sir," he says. He starts to make a move for the open door. "I'll just keep going!"

I lash out, grabbing him suddenly and wrenching his head close to mine. I can see his eyes now that he is closer - they're all white, with beautiful pools of green in the very centre. And they look scared. Why would they look panicked? He has nothing to fear; after all, he's just the ticket man. He's just doing his job. I'm the one that should be panicking.

The doors close again with a thud. It's just the two of us again.

I've always wondered what I'm supposed to do when the doors close. Am I supposed to kill him? Spare him? Run away?

I go with the first option, bringing my fist back and punching the guy hard in the face. There's a cracking sound, and he crys out in pain. I put a clawed hand over his mouth and hit him again. This time, my knuckle comes away bloody. He's still crying, so I hit him again, and again - until he shuts up and stays quiet. I take a step back and admire my work.

Beautiful. I'm such an artist; his nose is broken, and splayed across his face. His teeth are mostly broken too, though some are still dangling from the gums. A matching effect, if you will. I lean in, and sample a little of the fluid running off his cheeks. It's coppery, and has an odd tang. But it makes me feel better - so I drink more.

Chug, chug. The train starts moving again, and ticket man wakes up with a groan. I put a boot in his crotch. He passes out again.

Only his eyes are intact now, really. I like those eyes. They're the only attractive thing about this guy. After all, he doesn't have a nice body. He dresses badly...wait, what's this? I can see a little green thing on the floor, half hanging out of poor ticket man's pocket. It's plastic. Could it be...

It is. It is, it is, it is! A lighter. By God, such a gift. Ticket man proved useful after all. I snatch it up greedily, holding it up to my nose and sniffing.

There's still a little left in there. Enough for me to just...

Oh dear. Looks like I don't like his eyes that much after all. Me and my true love are united once more. His suit catches fire quickly, of course. Dry material. It's almost like he was expecting me here. My debut performance, perhaps? I am somewhat of a connoisseur in the art of flame. Anyway, he burns nicely. He'll be a miniature inferno in a moment or two.

The smell of burning attracts a few people over; I just glare at them, blood dripping off my fangs and running down my chin. One of them screams, and they all run away. More fucking cowards.

The flame is so much more beautiful than they are. It's roaring orange hue, it's subtle dance. It all makes sense. I find rythm in the dance, and move my body in time.

More, my mind tells me, make more.

What can I do, but obey? I am entranced. The fire is a delicacy - and I am so, so hungry. I grab ticket man's burning body, ignoring the screaming in my muscles, and throw him onto one of the seats. They're cheap fabric; they'll burn easily enough.

I need more. More! What can I use? I rip my shirt off in a frenzy, hurling that into the blaze. It devours it instantly, and I know that it was not enough. The fire must be fed. I run to the other seats, tearing them off the floor and hurling them onto the pyre. They burn well. Thick, black smoke starts to rise from the flames.

But still, I need more. I glance around, desperately searching for any kind of fuel. A group of children catch my eye from outside the window; they are being ushered out by the driver. I see fear in their eyes, and relief as they jump off the burning train. My hands curl up into fists.

More.

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