Death is Only the Beginning: A Guide to Vampirism

Two: Vampires With Tan Lines

To know it's there

But never to see the sun

Oh what a tragedy

My life has become.

To feel no warmth

Never to see the glow of light

My life has now become

Eternal night.

"Bunny, someone is at the door for you." My Dad looks at me, looking slightly surprised.

I'm glad I don't know any other vampires. Can you imagine what they'd think if they heard anyone call me Bunny? At least he didn't say Honey Bunny this time. I'm not sure if the embarrassing nickname is better or worse than "Tiffany". Both give a person the impression of a bubbly blonde cheerful cheerleader type of girl. Yeah. That's not me. I'd prefer to just slink away and not be noticed, thank you very much.

I never really belonged to any group, much less the popular crowd. It is a complete fluke that I'm actually friends with one. Cheerleader, I mean. Angela, my best friend since second grade, made the squad last year. Of course, I went from being 'best friend' to 'a girl I went to junior high with' (much less elementary school) reeeeeeeaaaal quick. Eventually she felt guilty about my rather sudden demotion and took me to a club where she abandoned me for a guy who gave her 'the look'. Then I became one of the undead. (Thanks for that, Angela. I owe you one, buddy.)

Oh, how life is good to me.

Since becoming a vampire, my days have consisted of feeling sorry for myself and basking under my new "sunlight in a box" like a lizard. Most of the time, I have to wrestle with Pete for a spot in the artificial sunlight. The cat and I seem to both be sunlight addicts. At night, I generally felt sorry for myself and moan a lot. I can't help it. I'm too miserable to sleep and too hungry and tired to be anything but grumpy. It takes too much energy to do anything else, even answer the door. Regardless of how many times they ring the stupid doorbell.

"Ugh," I reply.

Nothing is getting me off the couch. I'd rather just lay here feeling sorry for myself in my pink piggy pajamas. Not even my favorite jammies can cheer me up today. I'm still nursing the wound of getting snubbed by the cat this morning. Apparently, I'm no fun to lie on anymore since I don't produce body heat. The only exception is when I've been using my box-o-light. He'd prefer to sit on my computer than on my lap anymore.

Rejected by my cat. So depressing.

"It's a young man." He shuts the door firmly and puts his hand against it as if trying to keep out a dangerous intruder.

Okay.

That will get me off the couch. Quickly, I jump to my feet and begin smoothing the wrinkles, wishing I had dressed in something more... well... dressed-looking.

I wonder who it is. Jared, the cute guy from Biology? Matt, the cute guy from Calculus? Anthony, the cute guy from... Aw, who am I kidding? Cute guys never come to my door. I've never exactly been one to inspire passion in boys. Or even the slightest glimmer of interest. I'm average height. Not tall and statuesque. Not short and cute. And my hair isn't red or blonde or even a nice striking black or a deep chocolate brown. Nope, it's that average color that isn't quite blonde and isn't quite brown. Not sassily curly or silky straight, but something messily in-between. My eyes are no great shakes either. Not rich chocolate brown like my mother or smoky grey like my father. Nope, mine are just averagely hazel.

I would wager that my personality is probably woefully average too.

Yeah, never really had the problem with boys breaking down my door asking for dates. It's gotta either be someone selling something or someone trying to get me to join their church. Hmmm... or maybe word got around that I've become a dark and brooding mistress of the night and now they all want to become my blood slaves. Not sure what I'd do with a blood slave, though. Maybe they'd do my chores. Unfortunately, being one of the undead has not kept me from washing dishes or pulling weeds.