Joie de vivre

Light, ceiling, light, ceiling, light, ceiling, light…

The lights of the hospital appeared and disappeared above me as I was wheeled along the corridor on the stretcher. Blinded by the overhead lithium lighting, I couldn’t see shit. My retinas felt scorched, although it was just the effect of being exposed to extremely bright light from having been outside in the dark. As if this place couldn’t get any worse.

There was pain.

Someone called for medics, and a needle jabbed into my arm. They wanted my bloodtype.

How the fuck should I know?

I had lost my tags during the war. It didn’t matter, anyhow. I was turned back then. Human transfusion wouldn’t save me. These mortals didn’t really have the mechanisms in place to cope with the pains and ailments of us preternaturals. At least, not the last time – back when mademoiselle Florence was doing the night rounds.

I growled and flashed my teeth at them.

Besides, I was still alive. Valerie had made sure of that.  She wanted me to feel every single ounce of pain she induced. I could sense her watching, waiting, lingering above me, as I lay there, blood oozing out of me in a hospital bed.

Valerie herself was a petite woman,  almost delicate in form, but extremely astute and powerful in action. In spite of her smile, there was no joie de vivre about her. Of course, that’s not particularly surprising since Valerie is a vampire. Joie de vivre would be quite a paradoxical achievement for one of them.

I closed my eyes and heard them rushing about frantically. Amid all the clicking, clanging and banging, there was talk of surgery.

I opened one bleary eye to look around, and before I knew it, they had a mask on my face, pumping anaesthetic into me. I was told to count backwards from five.


I fucking hate hospitals.


I hate vampires too.


I hate vampires and hospitals.

Not sure which I hate more.






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