story by Carol MacAllister

art by Mo Paul


Pale from lack of nourishment, Victor further weakened with each thwarted attempt to feed.  Stealthily, he stalked potential maidens only to have each lurch from his hold at the very last second.  Staving off his throbbing passion, they escaped his readied fangs aching to pierce the graceful arch of their blood-engorged necks.

Unfulfilled, Victor woefully vanished into the shadows and sulked at the nagging hunger besieging his dwindling  physique and his need for intimate consummation. Is it possible to lose out to immortality by starvation? Am I doomed to a companionless eternity aching with hunger?

His wavering vision scoured the smothering isolation of the dark, cavernous alleyway.

What is the reason for this plague of quenchless feedings?

He retraced the process in his mind.  I've followed the rules, executed the steps precisely.  I've done my best.

Alone, he down-heartedly retreated into the solitude of darkness aching for nourishment, bemoaning his starvation of body and lust.

Each lovely captive fell to his sexual prowess, surrendered to his power.  Mesmerizing gaze and passionate panting drew them to embrace.  His intimate breathing caressed their graceful necks with promises of rapture, but as his breath touched their senses, his captives snapped from his controlling spell and shoved him away.  Pulled back to reality, they bolted into the night.

Dragging in misery through the lonely alleyway, happenstance captured his downward gaze.  He glanced up to a handsome couple heatedly entangled, artfully illustrated across a torn, faded poster.  Words of this brief philosophical advertisement struck a cord of familiarity, flashed a glimmer of hope, inspired a resolve.

Wisdom unfolded as Victor lingered on the line: "Clear the air with breath mints."

Contributor bios

Return to Handses

Table of Contents