Vampire Stories

Mirror Image - A human hull transformed into an everlasting prince of the night, a Vampire. So much is gained, but not without loss.

One with so many powers is now powerless to gaze into a simple looking glass. What does this malaise represent? No turning back? A release from mankind, yet the need for mankind in order to survive?

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Vampire Short Story - Vampire Fashion Statement

ACT II

Kala and Mickey spent the commercial break mingling with the crowd, tossing wet, fake kisses into space. Vincent mulled in silence, wishing he’d passed on that second helping of blood pudding. The noise, the bright lights, and music were bringing on one doozy of a headache.

He wasn’t used to crowds and preferred working alone. If not for the in-depth exposure that he was certain to receive for the evening, he would have passed on his agent’s recommendation to substitute for a very ill Steven Cale.

Vincent was basically eeking through the event, for unlike half the nation, he hadn’t been following the fashion showdown. He’d heard bits and pieces here and there, but other than that, he’d remained in the dark.

“Welcome back, everyone!” Mark was yelling, his lipstick a bit smudged. The man had a bad habit of rubbing his lips together, and if he didn’t quit soon, he was going to look like he’d feasted on a flock of redbirds by the end of the show, Vincent silently considered.

“As you know, audience - both here, and at home,” he added, his eyes boring into the camera, “our contestants design and create an original costume. These creations are crafted with their personal choices of fabric, and are designed on a drawing board – from scratch – without a pattern. What talent! Don’t you agree audience?” he challenged, holding the mike out towards the mob as they roared their obvious approval.

Mark continued, “Our judges – all fashion gurus in their own right - have whittled our contestants down to the final three, and we are hoping that our winner and runner-up will be announced this evening. Then again, will it end in a tie, leaving the victory to be savored until next week? Oh – the pressure! Now don’t go away! We’ll be right back!”

A rather famous seventies recording bayed in the background as they faded into yet another series of commercials.

By the time they were on again, Vincent’s head was filled with a dull throb.

“Let’s introduce our first contestant,” Mark yelled, his lips now laced with a big false smile. “

She’s a little bit country and a little bit rock and roll,” he laughed, reading in precise measurements from the cue cards. “Welcome, Tammy Trotter from Tallahassee, Tennessee!”

Where did all those t’s come from, Vincent silently mocked, feeling a bit cranky due to his undesirable situation, his overstuffed tummy, and the headache which was fixing to slip off the edge and shatter into a full blown deal.

Tammy Trotter. Vincent’s agent said that this girl had been a favorite from the beginning of the season.

She entered the stage, the crowd’s delight swelling with each move she made. She walked the stage lights with a bit more jerkiness than Vincent preferred in a woman, but she was first class for a human – blond hair, blue eyes, and an azure-colored sparkling gown that she’d supposedly created from scratch.

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