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Vampire — Vampyre — Dhampir — Nosferatu

Are you knocking on death’s door or is death knocking on yours?

By I. Am. Verboten

Vampires have needs. Fewer than you and a little blood is such a small price to pay for eternal friendship don't you think? The breath isn't so bad first thing in the morning. The Dhampir are day walkers and Nosferatu are happy to enjoy a sip at twilight.

At all times your reliable companion. Patiently waiting beyond the threshold for you to invite them inside for good conversation and a quick drink.

It's easy to forget vampires have feelings. Really their hearts are well guarded. Yours would be, too, if you endured centuries of abuse. Shunned by those who once loved you. For what? Religious bigotry? Superstition. Old stories of monsters preying on innocent town folk? Don't let prejudice close another coffin on a great relationship. Next time you see a vampire, engage the humanity.

Memento mori is an artistic or symbolic reminder of the inevitability of death. The expression 'memento mori' developed with the growth of Christianity, which emphasized Heaven, Hell, and salvation of the soul in the afterlife. - wiki

The hunger is unbearable. Consider some sympathy for a creature driven to madness by desire. Such a small contribution from your replenishing vein could be the difference between a romantic evening and frustration. Imagine the possibilities, for surely everyone gets lonely sometimes. Those seductive eyes with the attentive hand. No-one will know if you lift your long hair just a little bit as your welcome guest kisses your neck.

Share a drink with yourself. The smell is something between old dirt and damp wood. Yet, soon you won't even notice as bats dance in the corners of the room for your every amusement. Your wrist is plucked gently from the bosom where you've been holding your excitement. Just a little kiss, painful for the briefest moment. Yet the rewarding pleasures move you quickly past midnight.

You awake naked and alone. Beside you is a pile of blood stained cloths. Shaking your head, the memories are distant. The drink was strong and your guest even more intoxicating. You notice the muddy foot steps leading in and out through the threshold of your front door. You don't remember inviting anyone inside, but evidently you must have. Why would you do that? You know better.

Now you're weak... tired. Wiping the sweat from your brow you close the door then stumble toward the kitchen in search of water. It's unbearably hot. The sun is brighter than you ever remember it being before, but water goes down easy. The cat hisses, though you barely notice. A glance at the mirror in the hallway reveals your eyes are sunken; cheeks shallow.

Looking crossly into your own disappointed eyes, through mirror fog you whisper under your bad breath, "fucking vampires."

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I. Am. Verboten
I. Am. Verboten is a mysterious ghost of an author wondering through the studio as if he owns the place.

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