Lit from withen.

June 16, 2008
By CarlaMary McNamara, Washingtonville, NY

“A vampire that’s afraid of the dark? Now that’s amusing.”
“No. It’s really not. I’m not like other vampires. I can’t see the black.” I stared at him; his face was so pale and restless looking in the moon’s glow. The warped light pasted a poisonous fluorescence on him. Not death, more like an unwanted life. That was the vampire’s curse, not to be dead, but to be alive. They lived, but in a tree like way. They could stand next to each other, tall and beautiful, but could only whisper to each other in the breeze, never again touch the things that would make them warm. The most perfect isolation, they were cold and preserved, forever young, and beautiful, but also somewhat miserable.


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