Vlad the Impaler’s Rainbow Rampage

Portrait of Vlad III by Annonymous (c. 1560).jpg

Portrait of Vlad III by Anonymous (c. 1560)

Strange tales are what I primarily have to tell, and this one is no exception.  This story was originally written on the 9th September 2016 as part of the New Bizarro Author Series (Eraserhead Press) Evil Rainbow Microfiction Competition.


Vlad the Impaler’s Rainbow Rampage

Vlad Dracula was a Wallachian prince with a problem. He had returned from the grave, and he wasn’t very happy about it. The product of a lightning bolt from a nuclear warhead detonation and a perfectly timed incantation from a now-vaporised cult of wannabe vampire emos, the resurrected corpse now stalked the lands of modern day Europe with nothing but anger coursing through his revived veins.

Why had his ancient slumber been disturbed? Why was the land so different than he remembered it? Where were the Turks? Vlad was confused. And deeply, deeply, pissed. There was only one answer to all of these burning questions: genocide.

Vlad loved genocide. It was his number one thing to do when he’d been alive. So he called upon his own personal demon from beyond the veil to grant him a weapon with which to commence the slaughter. Owing to the fact that he held a lot of sway in the afterworld, he was immediately gifted a hand cannon. It was an ethereal rainbow blaster, the kind that never requires reloading or even a license.

“Sweet tits!” exclaimed Vlad, having taught himself English and vulgarity during his time in Hell, as he started firing the thing indiscriminately at peasants, buildings and cows. The land was soon awash with the fragmented entrails and liquefied soup smears of the dead. Vlad laughed and cheered, danced and pirouetted as he unloaded round after round of nullifying rainbow beam into people’s screaming faces.

But soon, the gays appeared. As did the transgender people, the bisexual otherkins and the ones who refused to be pigeon holed. They arrived with their placards and signs and began cheering the irate slaughterer on. Vlad was unsure what they were doing. He’d never seen so many genders or piercings in one place before. The crowd grew bigger and bigger, swelling with seething diversity until it was soon a massive entity all of its own, screaming and chanting things about sexual liberation and social justice.

“Thanks for standing up to our oppressors!” shouted one man.

“Bless the zombie rainbow dude!” yelled another.

“He’s wiping those privileged bastards off the face of the planet for our cause!”

Then it clicked. Despite his brain being more of a paste than an organ these days, the reanimated prince figured out that social attitudes towards sexuality and gender and their associated arguments had taken over the collective consciousness of the world since his original departure from it. Judging from their loud t-shirts, posters and face paint, it seemed that the rainbow was a symbol of their unity and cause. They thought that Vlad the Impaler was there to bring sexual justice to the world, via his ethereal rainbow blaster.

But it wasn’t true. This wasn’t symbology, it was a genocidal madman doing what he does best. Sure, Vlad didn’t discriminate (unless it was against the Turks), but he also didn’t care about people’s feelings. And so he blasted the cheering mob into a billion pieces of red slop.

7 thoughts on “Vlad the Impaler’s Rainbow Rampage

  1. Reblogged this on jmwwriting and commented:
    I’ve been trying to get through Kostova’s The Historian, but my interest is all but dry now. The book central mystery is long-winded and convoluted and the chapters are full of filler that reads like amateur travel writing rather than a key part of the novel. After the first ten chapters or so I simply skipped over the location descriptions; it made for a much better read. I feel like Kostova tries to prove her Dan Brown-esque expertise in geography but never gets passed the tourist-targetted details found in a Lost Planet book.

    So my point own long-winded is that I prefer this take on Vlad a lot more. It knows what it is and it sticks to that.

    I admire writers who can do sarcasm and humor. It’s a fine edge that is hard to walk. Not only do you need to get the rhythm and timing right, you also have to avoid alienating too many readers who have contrary senses of humor. Dinsmore does it quite well, I think. I am looking forward to reading more from this author.

    Liked by 1 person

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