Wrong.

Ace wanders the clubs, totally bored out of his mind, working on trying to find himself a girl to ghoul, a smart girl, a hot girl... Many things to ask for in a single person.

He shakes his head at himself, rather alarmed at how lonely he is feeling all of the time. *I thought we didnt have feelings anymore...* He shakes his head, drinking from some random girl who trades for a gram of something to make out in a back room. He leaves her passed out, tucking his phone number into her curled palm along with her payment.

He heads home to his Haven, walking the big warehouse and eying his worldly possessions, a huge rack of guitars on the wall, Gibson, Les Paul.... he hasn't picked them up in years. He remembers first coming to Sacramento with his band and falling for a little goth chick, his future sire. Her teaching him about the back allies and the life of a dealer, then changing him and teaching him about the life of a Mekhet.

He pulls one down, dusting it off and plopping on the couch, strumming idly and playing along with whatever happens to be in his stereo. He flips it to radio, head tilting when a new Depeche Mode song comes on, listening to the lyrics to Wrong.

I was born with the wrong sign
In the wrong house
With the wrong insanity
I took the wrong road
That led to
The wrong tendencies
I was in the wrong place
At the wrong time
For the wrong reason
And the wrong rhyme
On the wrong day
Of the wrong week
I used the wrong method
Of the wrong technique

Wrong
Wrong

There’s something wrong with me
Chemically
Something wrong with me inherently
The wrong mix
In the wrong genes
I reached the wrong ends
By the wrong means
It was the wrong plans
In the wrong hands
The wrong theory for the wrong man
The wrong lies
On the wrong ???
The wrong questions
With the wrong replies

Wrong
Wrong


I was marching to the wrong drum
With the wrong scum
Pissing out the wrong energy
Using all the wrong lies
And the wrong signs
With the wrong intentity
I was on the wrong page
Of the wrong book
The wrong rendition
Of the wrong hook
With the wrong mood
Every wrong night
With the wrong two ???
And the sound ???

Wrong
Wrong
Too long
Wrong
Too Long
Wrong
Too Long
Wrong

I was born with the wrong sign
In the wrong house
With the wrong insanity
I took the wrong road
That led to
The wrong tendencies
I was in the wrong place
At the wrong time
For the wrong reason
And the wrong rhyme
On the wrong day
Of the wrong week
I used the wrong method
Of the wrong technique


He feels a deep pang in his dead heart, this song seeming to be written for him. He downloads the song instantly from his phone, playing it until he gets it right...

Perhaps I would feel better if I got a band back together. Just something simple, a little Depeche Mode cover band. It's so different than my punk days, but hell, IM different from the punk days.

He taps his foot to the beat, scribbling himself a note of all those that might be interested.