And the ghost descended in a bodily shape like a dove upon him
Hmm, never written a drabble before. Oh well. - DG
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He calls himself a vampire. But that is too simple, too inelegant, insufficiently monstrous. For he drinks not blood, but life.
He is a vessel filled with a thousand lives, not whole, but in slivers and fragments. The world is set before him like a cup of scarlet shards. He drinks and adds another ghost to the angry mass that follows him everywhere, mute and mutilated, achingly incomplete. They are so thickly gathered about him, he can no longer feel the sun.
He calls them ghosts, for what is a ghost but the little piece of life that's left behind?
---
He calls himself a vampire. But that is too simple, too inelegant, insufficiently monstrous. For he drinks not blood, but life.
He is a vessel filled with a thousand lives, not whole, but in slivers and fragments. The world is set before him like a cup of scarlet shards. He drinks and adds another ghost to the angry mass that follows him everywhere, mute and mutilated, achingly incomplete. They are so thickly gathered about him, he can no longer feel the sun.
He calls them ghosts, for what is a ghost but the little piece of life that's left behind?