Twilit Love

I always thought the Twilight series was for suckers (pun intended). I get my fantastical jollies from Harry Potter and don’t really need to live vicariously through the sexual development of a high school girl who wants to get married and dedicate her whole life to some guy at age 18. If a sexy immortal vampire had come to my high school, he probably would have been my gay best friend. We could have been so sassy together. I wish someone would write that vampire book for teenagers. But I digress…

So to me, Twilight has always been a bunch of Mormon propaganda, thinly veiled by simple syntax and seventh-grade vocabulary. But for the past two nights, something incredible has been happening.

A dark mysterious stranger has found his way into my room. I wake up in the morning with bite marks, feeling strangely drained of blood. I can still hear his whispering voice in my ear; weaving in and out of my dreams.

He is, of course, a mosquito, but I’m pretty sure that if I made him glittery, I would have  best-selling novel on my hands.

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