Once, approximately here, there was this guy Flak. Being an asexual teenage boy, obviously Flak did not lead the most normal of lives, or have the most normal of friends. There was nothing unusual about his high school, though. There, every day, he spent at least seven hours, toiling uselessly in its prison-like buildings.
Flak and the Friendly Mormons
Guest story by Alarivana. Based on a true story.
On a rather sunny Tuesday once when he had, in fact, spent eight hours at school, Flak was walking home. Beside him strode his friend and companion, and the owner of the affections of his hat. She, too, was walking home, though her home lay in an entirely different direction.
The were walking in peaceful, friendly silence, occasionally talking of nonsense, cats, lesbians, and other such mutual interests, when suddenly a smiling woman greeted them very politely. But her politeness was really only a mask over her true evil intent. Within seconds she was asking, “Have you ever been to the Mormon Temple?”
Horrified, Flak and his companion made quiet whimpering noises, which the woman interpreted correctly as “no.” She gasped in false horror, “Never? Well, you must go there!” As she said this, another Mormon woman snuck up behind the two friends. Sensing he was surrounded, Flak reacted instinctively, lashing out with his heat vision. Both Mormons fell over, seemingly dead, and Flak turned to continue walking home.
It was then that the vampiric Mormons struck. Flak was lifted of the ground, a vampire Mormon attached to his jugular artery, when suddenly the vampire dropped him lightly and spat out a mouthful of blood. Retching, it fell to the ground, for Flak’s blood was very bad for all involved, as well as lacking in flavor. The other vampire, heedless of the direct sunlight, was closing on Flak’s friend.
“We’re Jews,” she cried, in a desperate attempt to fend it off.
“Really?” said the vampire Mormon. “Oh, I’m sorry. Have a nice day.” So saying, she left, dragging her poisoned companion over the sidewalk. Flak looked at his friend in confusion and blood loss.
“Why’d you say that?” He asked, applying pressure to the bite wound on his neck.
As she made an impromptu dressing from the sleeve of Flak’s shirt, she replied, “It’s true… kinda… and it worked, didn’t it?”
Flak could not deny that it had worked, and his neck had mostly stopped bleeding, so he turned and walked home, and his friend set off for her own home, in the opposite direction.