The Only Way to Know for Sure

We set upon her as she slept, stake at the ready.

It drove into her heart, and the scream was nearly… human.

We almost lost our courage.

We didn’t. Because we couldn’t. We had work to do still.

Cut off the head, fill the mouth with garlic, and return it, face downward, to the pillow. The only way to know for sure.

We left the building, emptying a can of gasoline behind us, as the sun began to set. We set the blaze, work finally complete, and shared a private smile.

There shall be no more Twilight Books.

You’re welcome.

The Hunt

As the sun goes down I wake.

And thirst.

The new tools of my hunt are simple, yet shockingly effective. Hair product, much, much more hair product than a sentient being ought ever to use, and silver glitter I bought from the makeup aisle of an all-night Wal-Mart.

That’s all it takes nowadays.

I never thought it’d come to this. When that damned movie was first released, I was offended by it’s portrayal of my kind. Profoundly so.

Since then, I admit, it’s grown on me.

Hunting has never in my exceedingly long life been easier than this. I play dress up, put on my best sulky face and women who think I’m brooding and romantic fall into my lap like ripe fruit. When I get them home they’re putty in my hands.

By the time they realize life isn’t like their story books, it’s long since too late.

It’s humiliating to be seen in public looking like this, but I’ve never eaten better. And a silly costume is a small price to pay for a good, hot meal.

I run my hands over my rock hard, overmoussed hair, run my tongue over my razor sharp fangs and smile, though I wouldn’t be able to see myself do so if a mirror were handy.

It’s about time I got some young blood around here.

Another Cheap Shot at Twilight

Meyers released her thrice damned book, and Vampires were defanged.

No longer would they consume plasma, nor spurn the cross. Hurting none, they were gentle protectors, companions to young girls. They glittered and sparkled prettily but ultimately harmlessly in the sun.

It was irritating, to be sure. An affront to a thousand years of mythology, throwing out the mystique of what had been a creature of terror. “Glitter-pires” left nothing of what vampires were in their new, shiny, glimmering personae. But nobody saw the harm.

Until the day the Pixies, the Sprites and the Fae started thirsting for human blood.

Glitterminator

The tanker truck behind him exploded, a ball of fire engulfing him, and for a moment he was gone, seemingly destroyed in the blast. He couldn’t have survived that. Nobody could. I was finally safe.

But a moment later, he walked out through the fire, flesh burned away to nothing, metallic skeleton revealed, and shambled impassively toward me, determined, murderous, unstoppable.

Machine.

As he walked out of the shade of a nearby building and into the sun, he glittered and shone beautifully in the sun, like an angel.

They should never have let Stephanie Meyer write the new Terminator flick.