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Twiddle
"Matches"
Vampires aren't what you think.
Not really.
In exchange for immortality, they give up their warmth...the body's process of consuming itself like a tiny flesh and bone sun until, shrunken and withered, there is nothing left to burn. It is then that Death embraces what remains.
So the undead freeze themselves, and we mistake their bloodlust for carnage.
It's not.
It's a lingering desire for heat.
At first, I didn't notice I had a silent entourage. In the dark, my concerns were for sales, customers, and criminals, and not the shivering monsters that followed the light of my fires.
And then I cut myself while opening a box of matches.
They moaned, like winds sighing over leaves. They raised their hands to catch the drops and to lightning-fast share them before the liquid lost its heat.
It was pathetic.
It was..addictive.
How many of us know what it is to be worshipped, to be adored and needed? I provided light against the darkness, but my customers certainly didn't acknowledge a need of me! No, that only came from the monsters, who only wanted such a small bit of me.
Each night, I released fire.
Each night, I scattered blood.
Each night, the vampires gathered in ever growing numbers, whispering my name, whispering their thanks, flicking what I offered as far and as fast as they could.
There will come a day when my body will not warm them all. I look at this life, my life, and I'm almost ready to stop burning. Almost. How many suns are aware of the creatures they are warming? How many look out into the surrounding darkness and say now, I choose to stop now and give everything to the silent, the distant, the desperately freezing?
I will choose the moment.
I will, for a blazing handful of moments, be their star.
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