Prompt 1: The Stench of Blood
Word count: 487
Setting: In the universe where a newly turned Vampire is sticking to his morals. Or trying to.
The stench of blood is in the air, every way I turn.
It seems inescapable, it’s maddening, a craving I can not turn off.
Yes I know, craving and stench don’t usually go well together, but old habits die hard, and besides, I like some of those old sayings.
As weird as they seem now, they tell a story, my story.
Well the biggest part of what I know so far, which was when I breathed and my heart worked. When I was human.
But that is all behind me now. I’m eternally a Millennial.
Heh, that’s pretty funny.
What was I saying? Right, back to the stench.
I still say stench because that is what it smelt like before.
That metallic zing that is blood in the air.
Women seem to recognise it faster than men do, but I suppose that makes sense really.
It’s not pleasant, or the type of smell one would crave, like a good roast dinner, or a chocolate cake in the oven.
But that too has changed.
I think that was the first thing I noticed after my rebirth to this new life.
The stench wasn’t so much a cover your nose and mouth kind of smell, it was a wafting, alluring, promise like the warm promises that assault our noses when it’s almost dinner time, or dessert has warmed up.
That’s the problem with this life, really, you don’t have to wait.
Blood is everywhere, fresh, although let’s be honest, some fresher than others.
Everyone says children taste underripe, and I’m going to take their word for it. That just seems immoral to me, biting children, vampire or not.
I have to take a stand somewhere.
Some say the aged taste rich and thick, as long as they aren’t dying. Some of us apparently love the kick their cocktail of medications bring to the table, but I’m not so sure.
Those vampires call themselves guardians, like they are the saviors of the elderly they bite. They seem like gluttons to me, and have forgotten that they once had a soul.
Me? I stick within my age group, well what should be my age group.
25-45, non smoker, preferably lactose intolerant, who likes their vegetables.
Normal food tastes like ash to me now, but I still cry when I think about donuts.
Did you know your food leaves an aftertaste?
I prefer the ones who like salad.
How odd, right?
But I’ve got to have rules, better rules than they’ve got about how many vampires you can spawn in a year, or about crossing thresholds, tanning beds or holy water.
Is it ironic that now I am what I am, powerful, immortal and kick ass, that I’ve realised how much I need rules or my life is going to be more hell than it was before?
I probably should look up the definition of irony.
I wish Vampires had photographic memories.
