Writing Exercise #3

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Based on this photo over at yeah write.

I thought my last sunset would be different. I don’t know why I was under that impression; I’ve never been romantic or overly fond of sandy vistas and the freezing cold water. If I’m real about it, I’ve never been overly fond of anything. I hate the rigors of keeping myself alive. Food, water, sleep, shit, dodge unwanted male attention, be nice, be fly, secure the bag, look good but not too good, grow my hair but not too much, look good but don’t have the audacity to look good to myself, fuck all this. Fuck it I’m done. 

I’m not suicidal, I’m not outstandingly mentally ill I’m just done. Once I decided to find another way, there were always rumors about them. I found the right kinds of bars, the odd places where the people were all a bit, timeless and spent too much time sloshing their drinks around. Most of them left me alone until I found him. I found him and watched for weeks. Unlike most of them he had no pretty companions, no groupies.  

When I was ready, I sat outside of his favorite bar and waited. I saw him look out at me, he frowned I smiled. I waited. Most blood sluts behaved like groupies at a concert, flash skin, nick themselves, they do all kind of extra shit to get attention. I did none of that. I just waited. 

– 

“Excuse me, why have you been following me?” He stood there frowning at me, I wanted to lick his dark brown bald head. I stood up and squared my shoulders, “I was waiting to meet you.” We stared at each other, he was trying to intimidate me into saying more, saying too much and I waited him out. “Okay we have met. Congratulations, you know a vampire.” I laughed and took his arm. “Oh, I know a few. But you’re special. You’re going to either kill me and I’ll be done, or you’ll kill me, and I’ll be reborn. My place?” 

He let me take his arm and just looked confused. “What? What are you talking about um miss?” I gave his arm a squeeze, “Mx. Please. I am talking about the fact that I am sick and mother fucking tired of being human but I’m not suicidal. I investigated other options but most of them seem very unpleasant and wouldn’t solve my problem. You do. So, if I live on as your undead, um what do you folks say now? Paramour? Pet? Cattle? Lil blood bitch?” 

The last made him laugh and he stopped walking and held me by my shoulders, he looked me up and down, then stared into my eyes for a while and shrugged. “Okay Mx. Your name?” I smiled at him as we started to walk again. “I dunno, I’m picking a new name if I wind up undead. We’ll figure it out. My place is right up here.” 

Inside we sat and I explained to him how I felt, what I wanted and what I was willing to risk. He listened and asked smart questions. We talked for hours, he tried to frighten me. He told me vile stories about torn throats, wars, loneliness. “I get all that. Look, I can just say I’m built different. Turn me and I will go away forever if you want. I just don’t want to do this anymore.”  

– 

The actual turning was anti-climactic. It hurt, then just before I went into shock, he put his cut wrist to my throat. It was a little clinical, I chose well. When he left me to see my last sunset, he shook his head at me. “You’ll know when it is done. I’ll be at the club. Wear something nice.” 

And so, I sit here, not weeping at the lowering of the sun. I can feel my insides cooling, slowing, and making ready for a final evacuation before I never have to deal with this human shit again. No sickness, no degeneration, no shitting, puking or other disgusting things. As night settles around me, I strip and walk into the water for my first bath as a newborn.  

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