Friday Fictioneer: Who are the real vampires?

Every Friday, authors from around the world gather here to share their 100-words and offer constructive criticism and encouragement to each other. This creates a wonderful opportunity for free reading of very fresh fiction! Readers are encouraged to comment as well.  The prompt is from Janet Webb. (If you squint you can see her name in the frame of the mirror.  Cool that.)  If you care to join us, check out Rochelle Wisoff-Fields


Ever since the change, I’ve avoided mirrors and windows.  Any reflective surface, really. My eyes skitter past any accidental glances.  I don’t like what I see.  When I was young, they promised miracles.  “Modern medicine will see people living well into their hundreds.” The doctors said. Then they came for me.  “It’s just one, quick procedure. This won’t hurt.” They assured me.  They lied.  And now, instead of the youthful vitality they promised, I face centuries of desiccated wandering.  Always thirsting for what was lost and never satisfied with what I find. 

24 thoughts on “Friday Fictioneer: Who are the real vampires?

    1. As for the idea that the story is about “The Change” or that time in every woman’s life when she both rejoices and mourns the end of an era, I’m afraid that wasn’t exactly what I had in mind. But, as I know I am approaching that age, it is possible I will discover exactly how apt an analogy it is.


  1. I can’t decide whether I think this story is about someone being turned into a vampire or someone who thought s/he had found the fountain of youth, whatever it was, and although life is longer, it’s not youthful or what was promised. Or maybe both. The feeling of loss and hopelessness come through, though, despite my being obtuse. 🙂


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    1. I’m all about the ambiguity. When I was writing it, I was thinking of a medical ‘miracle’ that ends up stripping a person of their mortality and their youth all in the same go. Whether it is an intentional flaw on the part of the doctors isn’t clearly defined. Mostly, I wanted it to be about the feeling of betrayal and anger. Everything else is just details! Hah.

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  2. WRITERS PLEASE ADVISE: I debated whether or not to include two sentences in the above paragraph. The first “I don’t like what I see.” was part of the original writing. But, I don’t know if, after including the ‘eyes skittering’ remark, was it really necessary any longer? The second, I added to clarify that the doctors caused the problem: “It’s just one, quick procedure.” Originally, the only line was “This won’t hurt.” They said. Because of the ambiguity of the writing, I didn’t think what had happened was clear enough from context. Feel free to weigh in on whether the two sentences were actually necessary to what little comprehension you gained.


    1. Thank you. I wasn’t sure if the layers were helpful or too vague. Sometimes I think when writing such short fiction that, trying to be cryptic, you just end up being confusing.


  3. Kirizar, I’m going to go with the botched surgery. There must be a lot of that around, especially plastic surgery. I don’t intend to die under the anesthesia unless it’s extremely necessary. I can put up with the way I look for my remaining years. I don’t intend to try entering any beauty contests. 😀 Poor woman. Well written. 🙂 —Susan


  4. There’s certainly a lot of room for interpretation here. I would leave the two sentence in. They do help clarify things in my opinion. Doctors always say “it doesn’t hurt” because they never feel the pain. 🙂


      1. Sorry not to have replied sooner. It’s simple really. My name is Margaret Irene, and most people call me Marg. My blog name was rather hastily devised, and seemed ok at the time, but I do realize it’s a very strange sort of name. Way too buttery.

        Liked by 1 person

      2. An alternate explanation you can baffle people with is, ‘My parents loved Oleo sooo much that they wanted to call me Margarine. They just spelled it wrong.’ Or, you could start rumors of being the heiress to the I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter family fortune.


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