Sometime in the distant future, about five or six years from now Vampires have taken over the world and humans running free and in their natural habitat are almost forgotten memories, although the wealthiest vampires can still afford to purchase a hunting trip to remote estates and gorge on fresh drained natural blood as their ancestors had in those heady days when the shriek of dying humans soothed the young vampire to sleep!
Down at the Sunless Arms, a local hostelry, some old chums, ( what other kind are there,) had gathered for a pint or two of their favourite fluid, talking of love and the sporting world while nodding in appreciation of their chosen tipple: blood group “O,” supplied from a chamber behind the bar where a thousand humans living in tiny pens, were fed intravenously while waste was removed and blood drained by suitably attached tubes, enabling red nectar to be drawn, but not so much as to endanger supply.
All was good and dandy and everyone happy apart from the humans, of course, and young Tommy Drain who was being introduced to the adult world as part of his initiation ceremony. What was not known was that the Drain family were part of that small but growing cult who believed that cruelty to other species diminished their own and so they had become vegans, manufacturing their life nourishing liquid from batches of illegally grown spinach with a squeeze or two of onion according to taste, and iron additives of course: red dye was added for cosmetic purposes!
“I’m a bit under the weather” said Tommy, producing a large flask of the “homebrew” from his bag while requesting a glass from behind the bar. Such behaviour was unsettling to the gathered old-timers, one or two of whom were over 200 years old and facing middle-age.
“We can’t have that” said one, but young Tommy, nimble of mind and foot, said his parents had only allowed him out on the basis he would promise to drink nothing but his medicine, a large measure of which he poured into his glass.
After the alcohol-enriched beverage had raised the spirits of the others to levels where singing was required, and with that inevitability Tommy feared, one of the group said, “Oh go on then Albert, put a splosh in my glass and extended said vessel towards our nervous hero.
There was no escape he knew, so he poured a portion into the glass and “Bandage” as he was known to his chums, raised the container to his lips and took a cautious sip, and then another before turning round to his friends and saying, “Not bad, not bad at all. Lovely truth be told,” before turning back to Tommy and saying “Tell your Mum and Dad I’ll be round later to get the recipe.”
As Tommy walked home, that growing terror impending disaster brings, filled the aperture wherein his soul once dwelled and he asked the world around him if principal could be sacrificed on the altar of survival. The darkness offered no reply!