So I'm Not a Vampire?

Hey Everyone,

So this is the completely edited version of

So, I'm Not a Vampire?

I decided to post it on lit because I realized not posting my stories really solves nothing. Having them remove one of my stories was the first and only bad thing that's happened to me on lit. Am I angry? Yeah, but life goes on. And plus lit fans are way too awesome to leave.

As a side note, all future stories I post on Lit are stories that will not be published. Any stories I plan to publish will be on my wattpad. If you have questions, concerns, or just want to say hi, feel free to message me.

Alright, here we go!

-Rosi

***

Prologue: I'm Thinking ... I'm Thinking ... I'm Thinking ...

So, I'm pretty sure I'm a vampire. I'm not going to jump the gun and declare myself a vamp just yet, but I'd bet my last bar of chocolate I'm right.

At the moment, I'm lying on this super tacky metal slab freezing my—if I were a man—balls off, with this scratchy sheet over top of me. Oh, and I'm butt naked. Now, I've seen about a ba-gillion crime shows and I'm almost positive that I'm in a morgue: just one more thing that proves my whole vampire theory.

Of course, the main question here is: "Why was your first thought, vamp'?" The main reason: I died. I'm one hundred percent sure about this one. It all began at my now-ex-boyfriend's house. Me, being the cute and sincere girlfriend I am, decided to bake a batch of brownies and take it over to his place. Did we (mainly I, since we both knew I always end up eating two-thirds of the little delicacies) really need brownies? Hell, no! I was, well—

am

, pushing a size sixteen, and my long, bottle-red hair just ain't covering up that double chin anymore.

Rob and I had been dating for about two years, give or take a month—which in my mind is six months too long without a commitment of either shared living quarters or a ring. But I'm a patient girl, and I thought Rob was worth it. He had this whole cute boy-next-door thing going on, except just a little wilder 'cause he had a motorcycle. Did he ride it? No, but he had it, and that was all that counted.

But back to the reason I'm pretty sure I'm a vampire and one hundred percent sure I'm dead. I went to see my boyfriend, yada, yada. Brought brownies, yada, yada. Caught him fucking the Chinese take-out man...

Oh, wait! I hadn't gotten to that part. Yup, I found my boyfriend ass up, taking it from behind, while our Chinese take-out guy rammed a pretty impressive piece of equipment in his ass. To say I was shocked would be an understatement. I hate to be one of

those

people, but I really would have preferred to see my boyfriend with his dick in a size zero chick instead of the way I caught him. It wasn't just a blow to my self-esteem, but also a blow to my womanhood. There's nothing like seeing your boyfriend getting the business from another dude to remind you of that extra muffin you ate and the few extra pounds you'd put on lately.

I just stood there and screamed my head off like a banshee. Of course, Rob heard, but instead of getting limp and having his dick fall off as it should have, he came. That about sealed the deal for me. I whirled and marched out the front door. At the front steps, I realized I still had the brownies in my hands, and instead of just taking them with me, I decided to chuck them while I took a step. Clumsy me stepped wrong, turned awkwardly on my ankle, fell, and cracked my head on the pavement in front of his house.

All I remember is a hazy feeling of pain, my ears ringing, and then darkness. I also think I remember seeing blood, but it just could have been a distorted image of my pink dress, because I'm pretty sure the thing had flown up and I was flashing God and everyone.

So, here I am, lying in what I assume is a morgue with a very fresh memory of my death: my very humiliating, very embarrassing death. I just hope Rob lied to my parents and whoever came to collect my body, and made up some believable story about how we were having passionate sex in front of his house, and he was just

soooo

good that I came and died. Now that is a death I could get behind.

Got sidetracked again. Silly little Peaches. That's my name, by the way. Well, my nickname is Peaches, but my real name is Georgia Kent. When my grandma used to come and visit me in grade school, she'd pinch my cheeks and say: "Chubby little cheeks, just like a peach, and good enough to eat." From that moment on my nickname was Peaches.

Now I'm Peaches the Vampire. Wow, does that sound stupid and wrong. But, I mean, what other explanation is there for my sudden rebirth in a morgue? Scenario one is that the brownies I may have "sampled" on my way to Rob's house were contaminated, and I am now a zombie. Only thing wrong with that scenario is that I don't smell myself decomposing, I can form complete thoughts, and I am craving chocolate, not brains.

Scenario two would be that I'm in a coma. This one I could maybe get, if I didn't feel freaking, freezing cold, and wasn't thinking about being in a coma. Why would I imagine myself in a morgue if I were in a coma? That doesn't make any sense. Plus, I read somewhere that people in a coma don't dream; and it doesn't really feel like a dream but cold, harsh reality.

Option three—which is the one I'm sticking with until someone, or something, proves me wrong—is that I'm a vampire. Fact: I got a mosquito bite two weeks ago that hasn't gone away. Maybe it wasn't a mosquito bite but, like, a vampire bite. And, aside from the whole zombie thing, I don't know of any other creature that can come back to life, Frankenstein excluded.

Then there's the possibility that I could still be alive, but the paramedics must have been really stupid if that's the case. With all the technology we have, I find it un-be-lievable that they would have made that big of a mistake.

You know, Peaches the Vampire is starting to grow on me. It has that sort of epic quality like Dracula, or other vampires I can't think of right now. Vampire Peaches. Yeah, I can get behind that.