A Fresh Start; A New Nightmare

It was three years ago when the red-headed vampire had told her to run. And so she had, from city to city, driven by fear and an unshakable sense of foreboding. Would the vampire come after her? Had she been saved only to become the prey? It seemed unlikely but there were nightmares that whispered otherwise. It was one thing to hide in small crevices when you were eight. It was altogether more trouble at eleven because you started becoming something other than a child.

They noticed.

Perhaps that was why the fire arrested her attention. She stared from across the street as the remnants of a building disappeared in billowing, black, smoke and acrid orange, crimson, and white fire. What could burn, had; what should have burned, wouldn't. Her mouth quirked oddly with the irony of how that worked.

Too bad the fire-swell couldn't mask the stench of the gutter-gawkies or the whispering, snake-oil peddlers with coats made out of pills promising sweet candy like ecstasy and desire.

The only thing she desired she couldn't find and she worried she might be out of time. What pill could she take then?