What is this thing on Friday nights they call pizza? I do not understand.
I stood upon the cliff, the wind in my hair, eyes closed, thinking of long ago when I ruled all that I could see. I opened my eyes to find myself nodding hello to a man walking his dog.
Another man passed on a bicycle wearing skin-tight pants. It was not attractive.
There is peace in the land, at least in this little stretch of land I now call home. It is a neighborhood. I have neighbors. They are not powerful. They are not concerned with power.
One of my neighbors mentioned a debate among those who wish to rule. This debate will be next week. Then he said there would be a drinking game. When certain men who wish to be powerful say certain words everybody drinks. Is it so bad that people must drink to forget about what horrors might come to pass if these men come into power?
But it isn’t just men. There are women too. Scary women. Scary women who yell, but seem to yield little true power. Where are their men? Where are any true men in this game. Where are men who are brave and true? They should not talk. They should fight. To the death. With swords and knives like real men.
I do not understand. I will try to stay away, or drink excessive amounts of alcohol.
The cat has no opinion on the matter. She does not care.
I went into my front yard today to inspect a plant called Bird of Paradise. The exotic flowers do indeed look like exotic birds. I shouldn’t take joy in such a trivial natural event, but I found myself in wonder.
One of the women of the blue house down the street greeted me. Her name is Joy. She is always happy. Her eyes went from the top of my head, down to my feet, then back up to my face. It made me feel as if she was inspecting a slab of meat hanging from a butcher’s window.
“You look sharp today Vlad,” she said to me.
My fangs were not showing. I did not understand.
“You always dress so well, nice jacket, jeans that show off those cute buns, natural blonde highlights. You’re so cute. All the women say they could just eat you up,” she told me with a grin full of large white teeth.
If my heart had been beating it would have skipped a beat. What sort of woman was this who would tell me that she was going to eat me? What horrors have I yet to discover in this quiet neighborhood?
Why did Joy talk about buns? Was she thinking of making me into a sandwich?
I excused myself and went back inside my house. Fear isn’t a normal feeling for me, but there was a slight tinge of it along with rage and confusion.
I was starting to feel like a prisoner in my own home.
I was out tonight on a quest for blood. I found it. I drank deeply from the necks of two beautiful women, then left them with smiles on their faces. I suppose the power of cute has its advantages.
I was relieved that neither one of them wanted to eat me up.
Gillian, my Vampire lover, was here in my bed tonight. I ran my fingertips over her cold skin and kissed her shoulders and neck. She purred like a kitten and kissed me.
“What sort of women eat the flesh of men?” I thought she’d know the answer.
She gave me a confused look and said, “Vlad, tell me what happened.”
I told her of the conversation. Gillian said nothing, but laughed out loud, then took me in her arms and I belonged to her for the rest of the night.
I looked up cannibalism on a place called Wikipedia. There have been only a few cases of men who eat human flesh in this area since the Donner party in the late 1840’s. Most of the cannibals have not been women. This frightened me for women are far more dangerous than men.
I will watch, and as I did in days of old, I will protect my people. I will protect my neighborhood.
I am the Vampire King. My people will not be eaten. They will not eat my cats. They will be stopped. I will not be cute.
Civilization has changed in so many ways, yet in so many ways it stays the same.
I do not remember a time when there has not been war. I do not remember a time when fools have not ruled great countries. I do not remember a time when ignorance has not been worshiped over knowledge.
I do not remember a time when I was called cute. I looked in a mirror and caught my reflection, which if difficult unless I am completely still and looking into my own eyes and the lighting is just right. I am attractive. Women have always thought so.
I look away from my haunting reflection. Masculine beauty is a gift and a burden. It is something I can be undead with.
Gillian came over with a large flat box.
“I brought pizza. We can eat it tonight and watch Grimm.”
I opened the box. There in the box was a large flat round of dough, like a tart, with blood-red sauce and round blood-red pieces of meat. I took in the haunting fragrance. I agreed. We should eat pizza.
I took two goblets out and filled them with spiced blood.
Then I fed the cats. They do not eat pizza.
Gillian, my love, said, “Life is good.”
Yes, life is good, even for the undead.
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