Things I wrote this Week


Two pieces based on Bram Stoker’s Dracula, written as exercises for the Writing MA I’m doing. They are not consecutive. Have fun!

The dark library. Enter Von Helsing, checking behind him.  He goes to the fireplace to gather himself. The dying embers are glow weakly.

Yes, yes. 

Unnoticed, Mina is curled up in the wing-backed chair. A moment. She coughs. He knocks over the grate.

Fuck the duck until exploded! This sign means most dangerous things as death or serious injury or damage to your possessions!

His eyes adjust to the light.

They’re open awake at this time? Madonna, Budapest says hello with arms that are spread-eagled.

Mina stays silent. There is nothing she can say.

Are you in good odor? What is up in the air with you? Smoking eludes us both, it seems. Please, don’t be…edible. I share your slow cooker but unlike you, I put my shoes on my face and very wonderfully and more pleasantly press the button, a number, for the wishing floor. Power, money, tasty food, Grammys, all these elements are afoot but one must not – Miss Mina! Your tears!

My apologies. Perhaps…Please… Leave your values at the front desk. The genuine antics in your room come from our family castle and it is a simple matter or not having a valid ticket (long life to it).  Yes. I am preferring only to become respected all over the map as a 100% artist but may I say this to you? Your facets are working like global tension all the way around the clock. You have been too busy to try the goulash that makes your country one for the record books. It is not correct or proper that you are driving un-alphabetically by national order. This sign means forbid things. This sign means things. Mark your duty as compulsion! Bite the wax tadpole, eat your fingers off! Teeth! Teeth! Extracted by the latest Methodists -!

He wipes his hand on his leg. They have never been alone before.

My apologies. Do you have a manger or something?  All these elements are afoot. Salad’s a limpid red beet soup with cheesy dumplings in the form of a finger.

Mr Friendly Quality Eraser, Mr Friendly has arrived and this is my very humble opinion. Moon time pulls out the rotten child and means tiny grass is dreaming, is smiling. Let us help you try the cloak. Try not to perambulate the corridors in the hours of repose in the boots of apprehension. It will leak in your pocket, make you pregnant with cannelloni. What you need instead, is a Salem. With a Salem, you will feel so refreshed. Your mind will seem again to be free and empty. Slip down and fall carefully. Happy yourself. It is our hope. A pleasant story. I hope a big dream. Yes, yes.


Thank you for this candid chitchat.



It is late at night. Dracula is sat in his tower, alone, ready for bed.


I know I do not miss you, but the thing I feel, the thing I feel is –


I no longer feel safe.

A kitten appears in the window.

She looks. Ha, she looks at a king!

Can she eat me? Am I a button for her teeth and tongue? Today, the world is your mouth, little one. A mouth.


Your puzzling-out gaze is a black hole. All that space in your mind, at the disposal of your imagination. How does your galaxy glow, little one? You look at me, do we share stars? Don’t censor, brittle-bones. The kitten approaches.

Tell me, how much blood is enough, puss-cooch?

A filmmaker once told me – Brendan? Ye-ess, that’s right. North Carolina, I s’pose. Was he as crooked as they said? – that you always need much, much more than you ever budget for, but you must never, ever show the colour red in adverts for tampons or sanitary pads. (Eek, kitten, eek!)

Never depict a traffic accident accurately. Always look left, right and left again. Detached retinas. Plasma separating. Co-a-gu-lation. Strangulation. Death by masturbation.

Goodness, I have eaten too much cheese this evening. What other explanation is there, kitten? He strokes the small cat who settles in his lap.

The stickiness of blood’ll ruin fur. I would not miss you, greedyface. Always wanting more. Moonlight dancer. My habit. My heart. My bloodJE-sus!

The cat is startled.

Oh, darling. Hush, shush. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Dammit. Cheese, Chekhov, water biscuits, love, lies, poetic rabbitsdeadinmoonlightribsoutinopendancehallforthewind. What’s the time now, and now, and now, and now? I can no longer box for England.

A moment.

Do you dream of rabbits, puss? Fields? A collision of teeth and bone? You’re small. With you, I feel the small things too. Yesterday, a milk tooth, on the rug! Will you grow big teeth, youth? What’s hereditary and what is willed into being? Bloodlust legacy, big ears! We are the same!

The kitten sleeps.

I feel wonky, kitten. I really do. Don’t you dare laugh. The plan stays as it is.

He sleeps.

© Vera Chok 2014

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