Vampire? Such a provocative word, wrapped in too many clichés and girly novels.
There is only one genre in fiction, the genre is called book.
Knowledge is finite. Wonder is infinite.
You reach a certain age -- sometimes it's fifteen, sometimes it's forty-six -- and you realize the cliche you have adopted for yourself isn't working.
Kissing is what humans do when words have reached a place they can't escape from.
This was, I would later realise, a planet of things wrapped inside things. Food inside wrappers. Bodies inside clothes. Contempt inside smiles. Everything was hidden away.