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Vampiric Impulses
by Chris Behrsin

I like blood.

It draws me in like a starved man to a juicy steak. I direly thirst for it when it seeps out of an open wound. Its sweet aroma nullifies the pungency of the detergents, antiseptics and cleaning solutions. It compels me to feed.

So I watch from the corner of my ventilation shaft, ready to strike at the most opportune moment.


They will soon prepare my meal.

The surgeons and the anaesthetist enter the room. They are so naive. When they administer the sedative, they will send my prey to sleep. She won't then feel the pain as I bite into her soft flesh. Of course, the anaesthetic isn't good for me — it makes me sluggish. But I've learnt how much I can take. I am not some novice who would make the mistake of dozing off at the scene of the crime. I am a professional. I will not be caught.


The scalpel traces a narrow seam along my victim’s flesh.

The lines around the doctors' eyes are tightened with concentration. They are so proud of the work they do: the majesty of their art and the precision of their hands. Yet, these things do not interest me. I hold amour only for those crimson streams that seep down the valleys of her body.


I am thirsty.

The doctors have not left but this does not perturb me; I am too fast for them. I can duck and dive without them noticing. I can strike where their foolish eyes can't see me. They focus on the incisions they make along her body. I only watch her ankle — they won't see me there.

I strike without hesitation, bite just above my victim's anklebone, and suck her blood. I must not be too greedy. I need to stay light and agile. I need to escape.


The anaesthetist turns his head.

I don't know how but he knows I'm here. It does not matter. I am satisfied and ready to retreat. 

I become heavy. I've ingested too much in blood and sedatives. My wings beat hard. My body lifts off then sinks towards the ground. I must focus. I beat even harder. It's working. I'm flying, but making too much noise.


A surgeon claps his hands in front of him.

"Damn it!" he says. "They should really do something about these wretched mosquitoes."