I note good omens this evening. Surely something good lies in my future.

Perhaps I will feast today.

...I am undead. This is a thing is completely different to that one.

I have languished of late, but I think that will cease. I find a renewed yearning in myself, not merely to survive but to thrive. It pleases me.

This should be fun.

I am cold. I don't shiver, have not for years upon years, but the cold bothers my mind.

I have not been warm for so long.

Once I was. I devoted myself to the gods, who were inscrutable but (almost to an aspect) not malicious, and I was not ashamed, and the sun beat down in warm waves. There was comfort there.

Then I — I —

Stop it! (it hurts)

_I ^I I _hunger

— I don't know. My memory...

I don't know!

(Reposted from last year:)

I shall make my usual All Hallow's Eve edibles this year: bloodied apples. They are similar to the traditional candied apples, but I have no taste for caramel so I dip my apples in blood.

Does anyone else want a taste? I promise you, there definitely probably is no vampire contagion in the blood, so chances of becoming undead are slightly slim.

While I am being blatant, I may as well do this.

You Are A Vampire

You have a real thirst for bliss, and you consider yourself a true hedonist. And you're not afraid to walk alone in life, if it means getting what you truly crave. You truly enjoy entrancing people. Not to mention the ensuing pleasures of the flesh. Your tastes have been called decadent and bizarre. You usually give in to your temptations, no matter how primal Your greatest power: Your flawless ability to seduce and charm Your greatest weakness: Human flesh You play well with: Werewolves

You are Zombie Barbie!
You are a zombie. Enough said. Braaaaaiiinsss...
'Which Barbie are You?' at QuizGalaxy.com

I suppose that is close enough. Good photo.

Such happenings these days.

It was then my wont to wander someplace thick with filth and utterly without redeeming character. That early night passed without incident. I did my best to feed myself, but the swine seemed interested only in staring hungrily at my flesh. They drew back in unspoken fear at my every attempt to draw them in. By the time the bars prepared to close, my veins were parched and my temperament short.

As I dragged my frustrated self out of the latest vile establishment, I heard muffled noises -- a pair of people scrabbling in the alley, male and female. The potential opportunity appealed to me. I reached my senses around the building corner.

As I expected, the male was physically dominating the female. I did not pause to assess further; that was all I needed. I leaned into the alley and yelled at the cur. By the time he registered the sound and turned to my face, my concealed handgun was already in my hand and precisely aimed. It glinted handsomely under the only working streetlight on the block.

"Let her go or I shoot!" I demanded. He stared at me in momentary shock, as I knew he would. I met his gaze and fixed it upon me, forcing him to obey my command.

He ran, knocking over trash as he darted away. I didn't bother to pursue him. The gun slipped back into hiding.

"Thank you," my rescuee told me hoarsely. "You saved my life."

"We all do what we must," I replied tersely, angry with myself. I had not thought ahead and was now faced with the prospect of a less appealing choice than I had hoped. These things happen when the nights are too short and the pickings too few.

"Did he hurt you?" I asked her in abrupt, false compassion.

She shook her head. As she did so, her long, limp hair shifted to reveal his grimy handprints pressed deep into her neck. I had to look away to hide my fury.

"Let's get you cleaned up before you bruise," I told her while artfully pretending to bite my lip. I slipped a disposable damp cloth out of its foil packet and gently dabbed some of the dirt away. She had a lovely throat, even underneath the trauma. Thin lines of blood welled where his fingernails had broken her delicate skin.

I didn't need to mesmerise her. She had entered a state of shock already.

Bruises never formed. I left her there, slowly bleeding even as I walked away. Her neck divided in two sections: a man's clear fingerprints on one side and a freshly gaping wound on the opposite.

She would have died anyway, as she herself admitted. All I did was spare her some pain and satiate myself in the process.