A red delicious sits on its stubby dot-like legs on the coffee table. The table is brown and glossy like the red delicious is waxy. Fangs drip the blood of a life lost but a bite ago. Gouged out in a crimson pool lies the woman, throatless.

The vampire glances about the room—totally satisfied, livid, and naturally high. Feeding always gives him strength like a pure snort of cocaine or the first rush of nicotine inhaled by the beginning smoker. Thoughts flood him and his senses become hieghtened.

The apple catches his eye and overcomes him with a depraved wish. He dreams that the apple is a human heart carmalized in innocent blood. Saliva spills from his mouth as he advances upon the apple.

The hard and still girth in his hand feels nothing like the supple, warm pulses of a fresh heart. he snaps back to reality realizing his opportunity for a real pulsing heart passed moments ago. He crushes the apple in anger—white pulp explodes from the skin and seeds scatter and click on the hardwood floor.