Turned

She falls onto her bed and he bites
her, thrusts into her carotid,
then jugular, and saws
his way in. The mattress
shivers under her
palms, her open mouth,
until he is full. He stands
flushed with stolen blood,
leaves the same way he
came.

She rises hours later and hunts
him between street lights,
finds him over another
cooling, open-mouthed
woman. Finds his neck,
breaks inside the first
vein she finds and takes
what he takes. She stands,
he falls half-empty.
One woman rises with enough
to live.


Turned out a bit darker than I'd originally intended, but consider it an antidote to the sparkling idealism of recent vampire lore. Comments and concrit welcome.

Happy New Years!