When I was sired, I knew I’d become a pariah. Figured drinking blood did that.
Over time, they hated my beef habit more. Abhorred my accumulated air miles. They joked I’d die with a steak in my heart.
These days everyone avoids the sun, and no one invites me in.
Joe Pearson is a British fiction writer living in Paris. As far as he knows, he is not immortal. You can find more of his writing at joepearsonwriter.com.
