I’m probably the most messed up vampire in history. I don’t want to kill people, but I simply can’t live without their blood, just like Cordelia couldn’t live without the right pair of shoes back in highschool.

I need a psychiatrist. Unfortunately, to prove to them that I’m a vampire, I’d probably have to do stuff that would render them either insane or dead. And then, they couldn’t help me much, could they?

I’d go to Angel, but he’s all holed up with Wesley and Cordelia and Gunn, and I don’t want a stake through my heart today. It’d put a totally unacceptable hole in this new dress.

See! That! I really do care more than that about my own life and death, it’s just that... well, maybe I don’t. But I was scared when Cordelia was about to send one of those arrows into my heart...

I really need help.

 

 

I just did it again. There was a pair of shoes in this shop window that I just had to have, but when I went inside and asked nicely, the shopkeeper said I’d have to pay! Imagine that! I haven’t paid for anything in years! And you’ll be happy to know that I didn’t break that record. I just killed him instead.

But now, I killed somebody else. And I really didn’t want to do that. I just want to party, and dress the way I want, and play around, and be free. I didn’t want to be a monster. But now... most of the time, I don’t care about what I’m doing.

Maybe I should seek other help than psychiatric. I know! There’s a couple of really old vampires that Angel used to talk about, Darsilla and Drula, or something like that. I bet they could help me enjoy being a vampire more than any stick-in-the-mud-souled-vampire-crap-obsessed-madman could. Or is that mad-vampire? I should look it up in the dictionary.

Oh! I just remembered. I don’t have a dictionary. Never needed it before! I guess I just assumed I wouldn’t in the afterlife, either. Though, I must say that this is a little different from what most people seem to picture when they think about life after death.

All right, enough soul-searching crap. I’m going to find that insane vamp-girl. I bet she knows how to have fun.

 

 

I met Drusilla, that’s her name, today, and let me tell you, BIG disappointment. She’s all talking about the moon speaking to her, and stuff. And when she’s not doing that, she’s all about blood. Blood this, blood that. I mean, I like the way the stuff tastes, but I like the way honey tastes, and I wouldn’t want that to rule my life.

Frankly, the stuff’s kind of disgusting. I want to drink it, not make my life about it. Don’t these vampires understand that obsessions that deeply ingrained simply cannot be healthy for ones’ psyche?

Oh. Oops, I forgot. She’s already psychotic.

And her pal, Darla-girl, is all haughty. She’s always all, ‘I’m better than you are’, just because she’s four hundred years old! I mean, I’m almost three! That’s a long time for a vampire to live in the same town with the Slayer. Unless you’re like Spike, and you get special exemptions for not being able to kill anyone.

Poor boy. I should really take him a nice, fresh, warm carcass. That way, he can drink all he wants, and he won’t have to hurt anybody. After all, they’d already be dead, anyway, right?

Maybe I’ll do that. If I have time, between my hair appointment, and another visit with loco-vamp. She thinks I have ‘potential’. Potential for what, is what I want to know. I don’t want to find out that I have potential to be this year’s worst dresser, or something horrible like that.

Maybe I shouldn’t go. That would be too awful, I’m not sure I could handle it.

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