Death is Only the Beginning: A Guide to Vampirism

One: Who Needs Sunshine

Endless, sleepless night

Eyes open wide, no safe dream

Waiting for the dawn.

Cursed is the light

Giving life to all but me

How bogus is that?

"Happy Tuesday, Baby!"

I'd roll my eyes dramatically and whine a bit if it didn't take so much energy. Mom would celebrate anything. Seriously. I'm probably the only one in school who has actually seen an actual maypole ... and danced around it. Who even knows what a maypole is these days? I bet all my friends would have to look it up on the internet. And I'm sure no one could picture boring ol' Tiffany (that would be me) taking part in a fairy festival.

Of course, that was before my life came to a very abrupt end. No more maypoles and fairy wings for me.

Besides, I'm not in the mood for my mom's... uniqueness. I'm bored. I'm starving. I'm sick. I'm angry. And I'm having myself a monster pity party (no pun intended) and no one else is invited. I'm royally pis- hey... is that a gift?

"Is that for me?"

It was a big box, all wrapped up with bows and ribbons and everything that a salesperson probably conned her into buying to throw on there. It's not my birthday or any other special occasion. Hmm... Maybe it's a "cheer up the dead daughter" gift.

That works for me. I'm up for receiving some well-deserved pity. And gifts are never a bad thing.

"What is it?" Mom looks so excited that she is practically bouncing around like a puppy. Whatever it is, it must be good!

"Open it up and see!"

No one has to ask ME twice! Opening presents happens to be one of my favorite things to do in life. I rip into the polka-dot wrapping paper (I'm not one of those careful tape peelers who save the paper for whatever nefarious purpose one uses used wrapping paper) to find a plain looking white box with big yellow letters.

What the heck?

"It's a light box," Mom explains patiently, as if I can't read the big bold words on the side of the box. Becoming undead did NOT make me suddenly lose my capability to read.

"Oookay."

Before I can blink, she takes the box from me and pulls out this odd-looking, squarish contraption. Without reading the directions, Mom monkeys around with some wires then plugs in the box. Sure enough, there's this white light coming from it.

"I'll turn it on its lowest setting and we'll give it a try."

"We?" Somehow, I really doubt there is a 'we' in this scenario.

Tilting my head to the side, I study this strange woman who claims to have given birth to me. I have no clue what she's talking about. She usually leaves me out of any of her new weird craft projects ever since the hot glue incident (which no one is ever allowed to mention again). I can't help it if crafts aren't my thing. I much prefer art to crafts. And yes, there is a big difference between the two. My type of art doesn't involve hot glue guns that require trips to the Emergency Room. And so far, not a single one of my paintings has drawn blood, started a fire, or caused an explosion.

Picking up the instructions, I try to figure out just what in the world it is that she has brought home this time.

"Sunlight in a box!"