If I had care to live, I would have died. I was wallowing in self-pity when Death arrived.
I was already drunk, of course. But this liquor wouldn’t bring her back. Nothing would.
There was a gurgle, and the sound of a smashing bottle. I blearily wondered whose hand that could be, lying in the broken glass and pool of spreading liquor.
Death lifted my head sharply from the bar, fingers twining in my hair.
“You are pitiful,” she hissed. Licking the bartender’s blood from her fingertips, she dropped my head on the bar and stalked into the night.
Take the first sentence from your favorite book and make it the first sentence of your post.
Drat, and I’d completely avoided writing anything with vamps up to this point. Emo+Vamps. uggggh. Just shoot me.