Sally: vampirism, distilled

[Sally's POV, many years later]

She watches the young women walk by from they alley, cloaked in shadows. 'She' long ago forgot her name. She is only Vampire. She's forgotten a lot of things. And she's hungry. But three are too many to take at once. She has the strength, but it would draw too much attention. She waits for a loner.

Finally, a lone man passes in front of the alley. She prefers eating women, but she's starving. With a burst of speed, she captures the man. She drags him into the alley, and before he knows what's happening, she has him pinned against the cold wall, her hand pressed firmly over his mouth.

This is her favorite moment. The look on her victims' faces before she devours them. His eyes show a mix of confusion and panic. She can smell his fear. Parting her lips, she lets him see her sharp fangs. She never bothers retracting them anymore.

The man screams into her palm, and she swiftly bites into his throat. His blood pours into her open mouth. She growls into his neck. This is what she lives for. It's all she thinks about, really. If you can call it "thinking".
As the man's life drains down her throat, she closes her eyes, savoring another kill. The man's eyelids droop, and then close. After another thirsty seconds, he's exsanguinated. Before his body even hits the ground, she is thinking about her next meal.

There is a blinding light. She raises her hand to shield her eyes, and sees the outline of two uniformed figures at the alley entrance.

"Hey. You. Stop right there!" one of the men commands.

"Oh shit. Look at her mouth!" the other stammers.

"Yeah. Animal attacks my ass" the first says, drawings a pistol from his belt. He points it at her. She hisses in rage, and lunges at them.

Bang, bang, bang and then screams, and then silence.

She quickly tears both of their throats or with her claws. Her food is never prepared for her speed. But not before two rounds of lead penetrate her. One in the leg, the other in her stomach. She shrieks in agony and anger. The wounds are not mortal, but hurt just the same.

She limps out of the alley, needing to find a nesting place to recuperate. The sewers are a frequent choice.

She passes in front of a glass storefront, and catches her reflection. She doesn't like looking at herself anymore. Her face is covered in blood and grime. Her hair tangled and matted. Her clothes are ratty and torn. She quickly turns away and continues walking briskly down the street.

She sees a young woman on the opposite side of the quiet street. Limping up to the woman, she is hurt when the woman's face reads revulsion and disgust more than fear. Swiftly, she slams the woman's head against the wall, knocking her out. There is a storm drain in the street in front of them, wide enough to crawl through. She drags the woman down the drain, she'll need her blood heal her wounds. This is her favorite: slow feeding in private. Sometimes, she can stretch a victim for days, biting them hundreds of times.

She disappears down the drain, to recuperate alone in the muck.