He’s tall. He’s sexy. He’s chiseled. He’s free of unsightly back hair but riddled with teen-style angst. He’s a goddamn vampire.
He is noble. He doesn’t want your innocent blood. He’ll get his dinner from the blood bank in single serving refrigerator pouches or from an artificial blood-serum substitute or from the necks of would be murderers and rapists prowling the night.
Or maybe the new vampire doesn’t feed on blood at all. Maybe he feeds on the romantic notions of young girls and the wish fulfillment of dudes that dream of going from bland to badass in the half a day it takes for the bite to take hold.
I say he but she’s out there too. She is allergic to anything but black leather cat suits. She’s too sexy for her bat form. Her nails are gorgeous. She’s wearing make-up applied flawlessly without a mirror…like she’d use one even if she could see herself in it.
What happened to the vampires that made you cringe? The ones that skulked, preferably in shadows? The ones that carried with them the lingering scent of decay instead of the sensual reek of Hugo Boss?
They died. This is a new day. The vampires know this because they can face the sun now thanks to Ray-Ban and Coppertone. If only the old heads knew that the only factor standing between them and a midday snack was sun protection factor 15…
The old heads died cause vampire hunters killed them. It wasn’t a very high paying job, hunting vampires, more like community service, but they did it, at threat to life and limb cause back then vampires were a menace. Vampires back then terrorized the countryside. They didn’t quibble about where their next meal was coming from. They liked innocent blood.
Now vampires maintain a night vigil, fighting crime and corruption, the whole time feeling alone, unloved, and cursed. He is Batman in an Armani blazer, the utility belt is built into his cell structure. His hair has incredible body. The vampire girl next to him has incredible body too in that skin tight cat suit. She could be a model if the camera flashes didn’t feel like UV rays penetrating into the depths of her cold lonely soul. They have beautiful hearts, hearts that don’t beat. But if they did, they’d beat for love.
You know who else maintains a night vigil? The 7-Eleven clerk on the graveyard shift. It’s not a very high paying job, more like community service, but he does it, at threat to life and limb cause he can’t quibble about where his next meal is coming from.
Both vampire and clerk think they’re cursed. Cursed is being afflicted with something no one else wants. So if your neck was on the line, would you rather have a job application?
The lunatics! Vampires as superheroes, anti-heroes, hero-saviors! We’ve diluted all their negatives and improved their positives. Now they’re little “v” cause they’re victims no longer, big bold AMPed to extremes. Yet they’re frowning all the time, stressing their ire.
90 years post Nosferatu, who’s not for you, we introduce: vAMPire.
Who’s responsible for this madness? Stephanie Meyer?
“No,” says Angel. He’s sipping on a pouch of hemoglobin like it’s a Capri Sun.
Did Buffy not slay the undead dead enough to stay them dead?
The vampire LeStat laughs. His hair is perfect.
So maybe it’s Anne Rice’s fault, but I find myself staring at a cold trail, or maybe it was into Bela Lugosi’s eyes. It’s hard to tell, cause his eyes, they’re so magnetic, and he’s dressed to kill, though he rarely does, and the votes are in…
And the public’s responsible. But by what margin? No one knows, there’s too many votes to count.
But in a musty, dimly lit castle, an old school vampire, a vampire’s vampire, is determined to try.
“One ah-ah. Two ah-ah…”
“Vampire” artwork by JNL used under FreeArt License 1.3