Lance De Vampyre
I heard him before I saw him. At least, I think I did. There was a 'whoosh', and then he was there. 100 feet away, 10 feet, 1 foot, on me. No, literally, he was on me. Or, for the squealing schoolgirls, I suppose you could say he was also in me. Yeah, he'd stuck his hot, pumping, hard, pointy teeth in my neck. I've got no trouble admitting that.
Now I know you've probably seen a bunch of vampire movies, and I know I've read too many vampire novels to count. So in this situation a vamp-fan might both freak out and start screaming for her life, or she might break down and beg for vamptitude. But consider that since reality isn't a book – no matter how cool that would be – our panic buttons are much more reactive.
When I saw him, I didn't scream or run (regardless of the fact that there hadn't been time for either option anyway). Neither did I plead for his blood when I felt his fangs break my sensitive skin (although I did whimper a little. That shit hurts). No, I quickly placed my right hand on the back of his head and gave a gentle push. Then I craned my neck to the right in order to make the vein on my left a little more accessible.
Needless to say I had to be fast, his eyes snapped open the millisecond he sensed movement. I'm sure he was expecting an entirely different reaction from me. His wide, confused, grey eyes bore into my placid green ones. And let me just take this moment to make sure you haven't mistaken me for some ditz. Remember that panic I mentioned? Well panic has a funny calming effect on me. I assure you, on the inside, my nerves were wrecked.
So we stared at each other, his lapse in urgent hunger providing me the opportunity to think straight, and to look at him. I mean really look at him. Long white-blonde hair, quaint nose, wide mouth (or so I imagined while it was pressed against me), porcelain skin, slender build, clothes straight out of the 1800's, and don't forget those eyes. Of course, he was observing me as well, but he was doing it at twice my speed.
We must have had five minutes like that before the blood loss caught back up to me. I couldn't hold my head up anymore. My eyelids shut on me as I lowered my forehead to my killer's shoulder. My arm went limp, draped across his back. I thought I was dying, and I didn't mind. I was just happy that I had managed to smile at my murderer and to accept my fate. Sure I didn't want to die! Better than being immortal, though.
Maybe that's why the vampire wasn't forcing his eternity on me. Maybe he knew I'd rather die. But, strangely, as I was fading, he pulled out. I first assumed that he might be saving me, but what vampire would be stupid enough to let his victim live? Okay, any pop-culture or over-merchandised fiction vamp would. This guy wasn't fiction. He had no soul. This very real vampire was the sort to kill for no other reason than for the thrill of it. He wasn't a sappy pacifistic squirrel-eater. Must be prolonging my suffering, I finally decided. Then I blacked out.
I awoke on a starched and sterilized bed at my local hospital. Which is where I am now, wondering what the hell happened. You should be up to speed.
A/N: I know it isn't very long, or even very good. My short-story style attempt at a paranormal romance that makes fun of its kind (borderline metafiction, perhaps? Although probably not). This was created mainly for myself and for fun. I am uploading it now so that my friend at school can read and make fun of it. As for the rest of you, kindly Read and Review! And please; keep the flames to a minimum. Only my close friends get to critique my work that informally ;)