They came tonight to do “an intervention.”
I was told I should not sleep in a coffin anymore. They said it was creepy.
They said, “Vlad, you don’t live in a cobweb filled castle anymore. Stop acting like it.”
The other Vampires treat me like a child or an old person.
I went shopping for a bed. The woman in the store said I was cute. I keep hearing that word cute. Cute. My cat is cute. I am not cute, yet they say I am.
I drank her blood in the warehouse. The bed was delivered today. The cat crawled underneath it. I can’t get her to come out. She sits and purrs and stares at me with big green eyes. She will not listen to reason.
The only thing about this situation I can agree with are the black silk sheets.
The other Vampires said I needed more tools. From their description I thought we were going to a fruit market. We entered a space devoid of decoration. Everything was white and silver. Why did they call it The Apple Store? I do not understand.
The box is called a MacBook. I was told to just play with it. I’m not sure how to do that.
I also have a smaller white and silver box. When they started to explain in slow loud voices I told them that I know what a telephone is. I am not that out of touch. Then again, why would a Vampire need a telephone?
The young girls who stalk me told me to get on Tumblr. What is a Tumblr?
The cat is still under the bed.
Around dusk there was a knock on my door. A woman stood on my front porch holding a basket. She lives across the street. I was surprised she was bringing and offering since I am not the largest landholder or a titled ruler anymore.
She said the basket contained banana bread, jam and cookies. She welcomed me to the neighborhood. I have never been welcomed anywhere before except… but I do not believe she wants me in her bed.
She has brown hair, which falls about her shoulders and good teeth. Her neck is lovely and exposed. I get my thoughts back to what she is saying.
Her thoughts on the neighborhood were full of pleasant visions of parties and happy families and friends. I’ve never had a conversation such as that one. Her name is Jennifer. She is married to a man called Rob.
Jennifer said, “the girls are right, you do look like the boy next door.”
After she left I thought about what she said. I couldn’t imagine who she thought I looked like. I don’t look like Rob. I don’t look like two-year-old Josh or his father Kyle. They live next door to the left side of me. Kyle is bald and at least a head taller than me and has huge shoulders. Kyle has thick hair on his chest that comes up his neck and then joins a red beard. Rob has a big belly and blonde hair. Dave who lives on the right side of me is 85 years old and small and bony. His grandson Harrison looks like a Samurai in skinny jeans (I believe those are skinny jeans and not called tights.)
I pulled out a small portrait painted of me. I don’t look like any of them. Jennifer must have bad eyes.
I looked up “boy-next-door” on my silver box Mac.
“A cute shy boy. Often loved by all females in the neighborhood secretly. Basically, a shy man-whore.”
I have lived in seven centuries. I have seen battle. I have seen kings fall and kingdoms fail. I have seen famine and death. I have been called by many names but never Boy-next-door. I have never experienced anything like this. Man-whore? I sit and wonder about that. I wonder if the bed was a good idea.
At the mailboxes Kyle’s wife Diana said to me, “Vald you’re so cute. All of the women in the neighborhood think so.” I’m beginning to wonder if this place is safe. I still don’t understand what they mean by cute. I’ll have to look it up, but I am afraid what I might find.
Yesterday Diana also called me Fluffy’s dad. I am not the father of the cat who lives in my house.
This is all so confusing. I am used to being feared, but now I’m beginning to be afraid.
On the other hand, this thing Jennifer calls banana bread is quite good.