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As a side note, all future stories I post on Lit are stories that will not be published. If you have questions, concerns, or just want to say hi, feel free to message me.
Alright, here we go!
-Rosi
***
Chapter 2: Pot Calling the Kettle Black
It didn't take me long to find a way out of the morgue, or should I say my University Hospital. That's right; I was undead in my old alma mater, the University of Vermont. A few feet to my left was Chittenden Hall, and right behind that were a bunch of other halls. It was both comforting and creepy to be back at my old school, especially considering it was summer and there was no one around. It didn't exactly give me a warm, fuzzy feeling to be a vampire on campus.
Oh! That could totally be the next title of a movie!
Then reality set in and reminded me that while the bright, full moon and empty university did paint a great vamp horror flick, it didn't really work for me considering I was the ideal candidate to be killed first. I was white with bright hair, though it was red instead of blonde, and big. Don't get me wrong, the quaint charm of the place was still there, but it was all starting to give off the vibe of every horror flick ever made.
"Fuck." It was the only thing I could think to say as all my bravado and most of my naive hope fled the building. For one, the closest I'd ever come to "roughing it" was setting up a cozy little pink tent and a portable DVD player on the deck of my house. My mom brought out cookies and classic funny camping movies. When I had to go to the bathroom, I just opened the door to my house and moseyed on up to my bathroom. Yeah, I'm a regular outdoorswoman.
I could always break into one of the buildings or hope that a door was open somewhere, but there were two problems with that. The closest thing I'd come to breaking in was watching it done on TV, and I was hungry. I didn't trust myself not to go H.A.M—Hard As a Motherfucker—on some poor unsuspecting cop and suck all his blood out. I mean, maybe I could live off of strawberries and red wine for the rest of my life, but that was a discovery for another day.
"Why am I not surprised to see a white woman alone at night on this campus? There must be an epidemic of stupid, willful endangerment going around,"
a deep male voice snickered.
I'm surprised I didn't get whiplash with how fast my head turned. There was no one on the sidewalk with me, just a flickering streetlamp. The place practically screamed that a serial killer was going to step into the sporadic spotlight and smile at me. I tried to peer into the darkness, hoping that some of those stupid—I mean,
awesome
vampire powers would finally manifest.
"Who's there?"
"Oh? Can she mean me?"
"No shit I mean you," I bit off, cranking my neck this way and that to see into the shadows. I didn't know what I would do if the voice really did belong to some kind of slasher bad guy, but screaming and begging for my life were at the top of my list.
The irony of my thoughts set in a second later. Here I was, the freaking walking dead worrying about a serial killer. What was the worst he could do? Kill me? Been there, done that. And, I mean, I watch a lot of karate movies, so I was about 99.9 percent sure I could take the guy on.
But instead of a dude, a fat black cat strolled out. The thing twitched its tail, and—if cats could look aggravated—gave me an aggravated look.
"Well, aren't you the pot calling the kettle black?"
I looked hard at that cat, because I was pretty sure it had just spoken to me without opening its mouth. Oh God! Was I becoming crazy from hunger? Was the next step me breaking into the drugstore and stealing all their dried cranberries and strawberry soda?
"And she calls me fat,"
the voice snickered.
"Mind saying that again?" I had no problem picking a fight with a cat if the thing really was talking to me. When I was nine, I almost punched a parrot because it kept saying my breath smelled like butt. Am I proud of that? Well, maybe not, but that stupid bird was a total dick.
"Ah, so you can hear my thoughts. That's quite interesting."
The cat moved toward me and circled me like I was prey. It was weird considering the thing came to about my calf. A sort of weird fear came over me, one I couldn't explain.
It was like that time I was watching Craig Kosicek, this nerdy fifth grader, getting picked on by these douche-y seventh graders. One minute they were pushing him around, and he was saying quit it, and the next he had one of the guy's ears in his mouth and was biting it off while he punched another dude in the face. The kid went from sweet and nerdy to vicious animal in a second.
That's how I felt about the cat.
"A more apt word would have been frightened,"
he said as he came to a stop in front of me and sat back on his haunches.
"The story was unnecessary."
"Maybe I'm missing something here, but cats aren't supposed to talk, right?" Aren't I clever? No shit cats don't talk! It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure that one out, but the whole dead girl and talking cat thing had me using half my normal brain cells.
It only occurred to me a second later that the cat could be a shapeshifter or fellow vamp. Maybe now that I was a vamp, I was giving off a supernatural vibe that welcomed all the boogie men and paranormal romance stars.
Hmm ... Maybe I would meet a single, alpha werewolf with a dark past and a giant schlong. That would be perfect.
"The better question would be: how are you hearing me?"
His tail twitched as he got up and turned back into the darkness.
