Another September challenge piece

[annwfyn.livejournal.com]

I prefer it when they die.

I don’t say that, of course. It don’t fit into the image, and I like my image. Worked hard on it, I have. Makes life easier, don’t it?

But still, I prefer it when they die.

Oh, don’t look at me like that. I don’t kill ‘em all. I’ve let them live, often enough, and turned myself into a tart in the process. I’ve smiled in nightclubs, made the moves, wound up with my face stuffed into some geezer’s pubic hair, licking at his cock while I try and get to his veins. I’ve got corsets that I can’t bloody bend in which I’ve worn to get some bloke to stare at my tits while I chew on his neck. I’ve taken men and women home, to screw my way to a good meal, and I’ve hated every fucking minute of it.

But I don’t kill ‘em all.

I wish I could.

Yeah, you are still looking at me like that. Don’t tell me you like feeding that way? I hate it. I hate feeling cheap and dirty. I hate the smell of the sweat, the heat of their bodies against mine. I hate the way they groan, I hate the way they smile.

I hate how they remind me, with their fierce and captivating light, of everything I can’t have.

Sometimes I tell myself it is a kindness when I do kill them. What better way to die? They die in my arms, young and beautiful, and bright with happiness. I give them an amazing night, and take their life from them with a kiss. I hold them afterwards, and kiss their cooling skin. Then I close their eyes and leave them to their forever sleep. Who else amongst us gets it that good? I can tell you for sure that my death never came so sweet.

Am I right?

I don’t know.

I do know that I still feel better when they are dead. Maybe that’s just me being selfish. It feels good, you see, to come so close to the blessed peace of oblivion, to touch it with my trembling hands. To combine that with the ecstasy of blood, even if it is just weak human blood, is the closest I think I ever come to really feeling truly happy.

So I prefer it when they die. And that brings me, at last, on to you. And I know you ain’t Kine. I know you ain’t food. But you see, you are very alive, ain’t you? You’re sweet with Humanity, bright with the joy that you still find in this existence. You laugh and you love, and you almost feel alive. You’ve got the light.

And vampire blood tastes better anyway.