Are vampires just misunderstood?


Last night I met a vampire. He didn’t want to suck my blood, he didn’t want to scare me, he just wanted to talk.

His name is Vladimir Jr the Third. He lives just down the street from me. He wears a cape and has dark black hair. But he’s lonely.

He lives in a single bedroom apartment by himself, his family were all killed in tragic circumstances 90 years ago. He wakes at dusk and goes to bed at dawn, which means he rarely sees other people. And he misses that.

He told me about when he lived in Scandinavia during winter when the sun hardly ever comes out. He loved it, he would chat to the baker in the morning, help the florist at lunchtime, and liaise with the town council in the afternoon.

These days he is just wasting away in the middle of the night, but he shouldn’t. He’s over 200 years old, has this amazing knowledge and wisdom, plus he’s read almost every book under the moon.

We’re going to meet up again tonight, I can’t wait!

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