Here’s the task for next week, Saturday 15th September: write a piece of flash fiction of no more than 200 words which includes the following last line, Now how about another drink, I’m thirsty as hell.

Thirst drives us on, pushes us further and further from where we belong.
It gets harder and harder to feast, to drink , to slake our thirst.

We are too well known, our habits too well described, our faces on every teenage book worms shelf.

Darkness, our natural habitat is vanishing, I blame 24 hr culture, shopping malls, street lights. When did you last see a darkening alleyway, damp with moss, the very walls redolent with fear.

And even when there is some semblance of gloom, a hint of menace, an alcove just right for a cloaked figure to make an entrance, the streets are empty.

I see them, white necks illuminated by the lights from a 1000 screens, safely indoors, whilst I and my kind hungrily prowl the streets.

So, another tack, an approach for the 21st century. I am saddened to say goodbye to virginal necks, to soft pale flesh but at least I will avoid that crushing shame when they look at me, not with heaving bosom terror but a quiet disappointment that I am simply not quite Edward enough.

So, this pub, dark enough to meet my needs, no cable TV, no shelf of books, no WIFI signs. No danger of vampire savvy ness here.

I’ve already bought him 2 beers, tried not to stare as his Adams apple convulses as the drink slips down.
He stands, ready to leave, I put out my hand, skin translucent, cold to the touch.

“now how about another drink, I’ m as thirsty as hell”.


About cathi rae

50ish teacher & aspiring writer and parent of a stroppy teenager and carer for a confused bedlington terrier and a small selection of horses who fail to shar emy dressage ambitions. Interested in contemporary fiction but find myself returning to PG Wodehouse when the chips are down View all posts by cathi rae

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