It was a nasty habit, a vice that ran deep in his blood, impossible to shake off through the years. The seconds of anxiety preceding his sin were precious. His breathing raced, his blood quickened, and the thrill that followed was worth it every single time.
How can it be so wrong when it feels so damn right? A question for the ages.
Phillip took one more drag off his cigarette. The smoke swirled in the evening air and drifted towards the Bay where a multicolored sea of lights flickered. In the distance, waves broke on the beach and ebbed away in a cycle that numbed his senses.
Another drag off his cigarette and then he would put it out for good. Phillip’s every muscle relaxed as he exhaled the poisonous vapors that filled his lungs and released them to the cool September wind. He dropped the cigarette and crushed it, stepping over it before he opened the balcony’s sliding doors.
A rock ballad welcomed him into the room. The music blasted off the speakers as the video played on the television mounted on the wall. The sudden fragrance of roses filled his lungs. A trail of red petals lay scattered on the carpeted floor, the bouquet rested on the dressing table. A swell idea, all in all—the perfume of roses was far more desirable than the stench of death and decay.
Beneath white satin sheets was his prey, a red-haired woman in her mid-thirties with a taste for danger that ultimately led to her end. And though she seemed to sleep, her unnatural stillness and the paleness of her skin told a different story—one Phillip had written a few minutes ago.
Night after night, Phillip killed and drank human blood. It was a nasty habit, a vice that ran deep in his blood, impossible to shake off through the years—after all, he was a vampire.
© 2018 Silvana G. Sánchez