The Corporate Vampire

“And this will be your station.”

He sat down at the desk. The typewriter was like nothing he had ever seen before. Each key struck out and narrowed like a pin. There was a man behind the desk next to his, old and wrinkled, his skin was paper-thin and his veins throbbed out against the white backdrop. The typewriter he was using clicked away as he recorded the necessary information.

Ting!
Ssscchhhhhrrrrip!

His eyes were hollow crevices full of murky repetitious thought. As the man typed away, each key stuck into his finger and drew a little blood as though he were testing his diabetes a hundred times a minute. Hooked into his arm was an I.V. A bag of blood was attached to a rack behind him, continuously feeding the crimson ink the typewriter was using. On the right corner of the desk was a dark blue-framed picture of a family smiling at the old typing man.

Ting!
Ssscchhhhhrrrrip!

There was a pinch in his right arm. Looking down he saw a thin metal needle slide into the vein at his wrist. A bag of blood was hooked up onto the rack behind him. The still warm fluid slid down the tube, eager to be of use once again.

Ting!
Ssscchhhhhrrrrip!

The typing at his side had stopped. He looked over at the old man to find the cause of the hesitation. Cracking his knuckles slowly, one, pop, at, a, time, the old man bent down to his desk, each movement seeming slow and exaggerated. Opening one of the drawers his hand retrieved a rusty metal scalpel. Slowly, ever so slowly, the man cut off the skin at the ends of his fingers. The circle sections of skin fell into a neat pile onto the desk one at a time. It was a casual movement for the man, as though he were simply trimming his nails. After trimming off the skin of his left pinky finger, he replaced the scalpel and looked up. His eyes stared into the newcomer’s, no inch of muscle out of place in a show of emotion. Yet deep in the dark orbs the newcomer saw his future.

And they both began to type.