Blood heals

In a fireless flicker, the streetlights ignite. Gold illumination floods the sidewalk as I shrink back into the comforting shadows.

"Come closer." A voice slithers softly into my ear.

I envision the warm mortal lips that uttered the seductive phrase. They must belong to a college miscreant. Desperate to score, he waits for a curious campus visitor to naively venture down the alleyway. Surely, he has lured victims with the promise of warm meal and has provided false directions, which claim to lead to the cafeteria. The purchase of my dinner with his blood will be just dessert for this would-be predator.

I lick the corner of my mouth. Still smarting from my disastrous tumble, the cracked skin oozes.

Plunging into the shadowy tunnel, formed by the towering, two-story buildings, I stagger away from the bright gateway to the street and deeper into the throat of darkness. Already, a strange limp impedes my ordinary hobble. I need to feed. Blood heals all wounds.

"Hello?" I call out. My immortal voice shudders against the stone walls. "Where are you?"

"Come closer," he commands. Then, he hisses in a whisper audible only to my preternatural ear. "It's actually working!"

The little blue pill, which he has already popped (after pilfering it from his dad's medicine cabinet, no doubt), surprises him with speed and vigor. Won't he be even more surprised when I deprive him of the fluid engorging that organ! Males. They've only got one thing on the brain.

Scuffling from above attracts my attention. I halt.

A sneakered foot drops in front of my face. It dangles from a denim-clad leg. Another foot joins the first. Now, it's a pair. Patiently, I wait through more scuffling, the clanking of metal, and a heaving grunt. Shoving the structure with two flabby arms, the fat man drops down from the fire escape. He lands awkwardly, shuffles his footing, and poses with shoulders back and hands on hips.

The boy has delivered himself for dinner.

"At last, you've come," he drools. I drool, too. "You might even say that you're were compelled to visit," he babbles. "Now, a victim stands face-to-face with a nightmare."

Yes, a nightmare. Hunger claws at my stomach. Desire surges in my veins. I drop my gaze from his scruffy face. My lips slowly part...



What happens next? You decide

Does Deirdre:
A. Tackle for some ardent tonsil hockey?
B. Sink her teeth into his unshaven neck?
C. Lecture him about wearing capes after Easter?
D. Ask him for a bandage for her boo-boo?