AN: Since no one voted in an hour, I'm just gonna do what I want.

Start a new fiction for no reason at all!

LOLOLOLOLOLOTROLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOL

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I woke up, as most protagonists do, and opened my eyes.

Huh, complete darkness. Looks normal.

I'll just go back to sleep now...

..Zzzzzzzz...

zzzzzz...

zzzzzz...

Huh? Wha? What's that you say? I'm supposed to be doing something?

..Zzzzz...zzz...zz...z..

Whatever...I'm getting bored of sleep anyway...may as well get up.

I put my hands up against the stone lid of my coffin, and shoved it off. I sat up, and whistled. All around, looted corpses lay sprawled. I chuckled a little.

"My, my, my, my friends, you don't look too good. Adventurer got your purse? Pft, hahaha!"

I make such good jokes. I lift myself up, out of the stone slab, and walk down the long, creepy corridor. I meet a couple zombies as I walk, but they ignore me. Well, here in the tomb, we're all dead. Having something in common helps people get along, as they say. Or as I say. Can't really remember which.

I pause to pick up a long, black coat, and whirl it around my shoulders and put the hood up. That nasty sun makes getting a tan very painful, very hard, and also fatal. How I know that?

...I shouldn't ask myself tough questions. I'll tire my poor head, and that would suck.

Suck...suck...suck...right! Like a vampire! Or a prostitute! But I really hope I'm the former! Being born a prostitute is like being born at ninety years of age, and then having a heart attack five minutes later and dying, despite all of the very capable doctors around you, who were too shocked at having a ninety-year-old coming from a fetus to actually help resuscitate you, resulting in your tragic and avoidable death, but which is agreed by all as fortunate as it would have been very strange to raise a ninety-year-old.

I step out of the tomb, and start walking through the graveyard. I pass skeletals, zombies, a couple undead rats. I really hope I'm a vampire. I check my reflection in a marble tombstone, and although it's a little disheartening that I can see myself, I at least have red eyes. I check my fangs, but they don't look any bigger than the usual human canines.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

It's okay, living means believing!

I do believe in vampires, I do, I do! I do believe in vampires, I do, I do!! I DO BELIEVE IN VAMPIRES, I DO, I DO!

I open the gate, walk out, then close it, and keep walking farther from the graveyard, while quietly praying to god, or the devil, or a cactus, or a tree, honestly I'll take an insomniac at this point, I just really hope I'm a vampire.

I see a person. I rush forward, open my mouth wide, dive towards his throat-!!!

*nom*

"..."

"..."

I hold on desperately, hoping that I'll be able to drink his blood. Hoping, believing, begging...

"Uh, excuse me, but...could you stop chewing on me? I'm not into men, and I don't even know you..."

I stop trying to bite him, let go, and go into orz position. "I'm a failure of a vampire..."

He blinked at me, then asked, "You're a vampire? But you don't have any fangs..."

I sobbed, "I don't know! I really want to be, but I can see my own reflection, and I don't have fangs, I just wanna know what I am..."

He pokes me and says, "Then, why not just look at your status?"

I blink at him. "I can do that? Teach me, oh great lord!"

"Okay! Just think 'Status' and concentrate. K'?"

I nod, and think Status with all my will.

"..."

"..."

"...so, what are you? Are you a vampire?"

I don't want to say. I don't want to see. All I want is to die. What I see, displayed in bright blue letters, next to the "Race" classification is,

"Lesser Weak, Feeble, Decrepit Zombie."

"...I'm very sorry."

...

I'd rather have been born a prostitute.