Sparkly Vampires are Douche Bags

This is a strictly satirical piece (and my first time writing one). I harbor absolutely no ill will toward Stephanie Meyer. Well, besides that one time she wrote a bestselling saga that spawned five movies resulting in hours of my life that I now can’t get back.

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“What’s your name?”

“I-it’s Ella,” I stutter, though despite my hiccup in breath, my voice is melodious and dazzling. And seductive, too. But also, virtuous.

My fellow peers at the cafeteria table look up at the exact same instant. They blink simultaneously. They all lean forward to cup their chins in their hands. And then they lock their eyes with mine, enraptured by my husky but smooth, alluring but righteous, enticing but noble voice.

There’s Ike and Skylar, who both stare at me unblinkingly. The young men have eyes only for me, drool dribbling from the corners of their mouths. Their saliva pools upon the cafeteria table, dripping off the edge and onto the floor, until their shoes rest in puddles of spittle.

There’s Jessie, too, who gazes at Ike. The knife she’d been using to smear cream cheese over her bagel sits clenched in her hand. Slowly, she swivels her head toward me while keeping her body turned to Ike, until her narrowed eyes burn into mine. When I look in them, I see orange flames instead of pupils. She draws her index finger across her throat as she stares at me, jerking her head toward Ike, who continues to look at me, the saliva still accumulating on the floor.

So, because Jessie indicates that my death is imminent the longer I look to Ike, I shift my eyes to Skylar. But Angelique looks at him shyly, eyes fluttering between the table and Skylar over two thousand times in less than thirty seconds. So, I look at the ground, which seems to be the only safe site for my eyes to rest.

They all look at each other for two minutes and thirty-six seconds, shifting eyes and looking up through their eyelashes and glancing away and not speaking at all, because teenage conversations often involve inscrutable and obscure scrutiny rather than actual human discourse.

Eventually, they stop, and all turn toward the cafeteria doors, again at the exact same time. I look up. The lights in the cafeteria suddenly dim. A spotlight shines on the doors. An orchestra appears out of nowhere on the right side of the room and begins to play a slow-building, luxurious piece.

“Don’t look,” Angelique whispers. She looks wide-eyed at the doors, unblinking, mouth open in a perfect “o”. 

Five people walk through the doors. They are…remarkably beautiful. Unnaturally so, in fact.

Actually, they’re just downright disturbing.

Seriously. Like, what is wrong with them? Who looks like that? And how is nobody else in this cafeteria besides my table perturbed by their sudden entrance and sickeningly white skin and black eyes and ridiculous hair styles?

As they walk in, everything slows down.

Dammit. I scowl sexily but virtuously as I try to wrap my fingers around my drink to take a sip of water, but they only move at a rate of one inch per second, so it is rather slow going. My scowl is elongated well into the next scene, in which I slowly lift my head once more to stare at the five individuals. But my eyes latch onto only one.

He is the last of the five to enter the school cafeteria.

I stare at him in wonder. Slowly, so slowly, his head turns, and despite the spotlight shining directly into his eyes, he stares into mine.

My heart thuds in slow motion as we lock gazes. His eyes are pitch black, which should be frightening, if it weren’t for his wonderfully chiseled body. Really, that’s all I can look at, so it’s no matter that blood drips from the corner of his lip and onto the floor, leaving a trail behind him.

His biceps are sturdy and brawny. I have eyes only for the muscles underneath that sickeningly white skin (the color of which I ignore). And though his irises are black and he’s dripping blood and his skin is disgustingly pale and he has the darkest bags under his eyes that I’ve ever seen and when he smiles I see actual fangs, it does not matter, because his body is just simply godly.

The moment our eyes meet lasts forever. I never want it to end. And for seven beautiful hours, the moment goes on. We stare…and stare…and stare…

Finally, the orchestra packs up their instruments and the lights turn on once again. The five individuals sit down at a table. They sit with straight backs, not looking at one another, simply staring into space. And though they avoid gazes, I can see their hands rubbing each other's thighs beneath the table, which is perfectly normal, so I look back to their faces.

The one that stared at me grips his hand––the one that is not stroking the leg of one of the other men beneath the table––so tightly that I can see it shaking and trembling. His eyes keep swiveling toward me before he glances away just before making eye contact. It’s not strange or creepy at all.

“Who are they?” I whisper sexily but virtuously.

“The Sullens, of course,” Jessie snaps at me, rolling her eyes so hard in her head that I see the whites of her eyes before the flames return. “Can you die now, please?”

The Sullens. So that is their name.

The bell rings, and I stand up to walk to my class, finally ripping my eyes away from the godly man. And, as I step forward, I suddenly trip over nothing at all, falling dramatically, the floor inching ever closer to my head––

Suddenly, he is there. The godly man. He picks me up before I can hit the floor, swinging me into the air for a moment. He sets me on my feet.

“How did you do that so fast?” I ask sexily but virtuously, breathless as I stare into his black eyes.

“Because I’m definitely not a vampire or anything. Just a regular guy, obviously,” he says smoothly.

“Oh. Of course."

“Can I suck almost all the blood out of your body until you're seconds away from death before I realize what I'm doing and somehow overcome my raw biological instinct?”

“What?”

“Can I walk you to class?”

“Yes.” I stare into his beautiful demonic eyes, ignoring how his lips curl, displaying sharp, pointy fangs. He leans down, inches away from my nose, staring down at my neck. I’m sure it’s because he wants to kiss it.

“Okay,” he hisses. He doesn’t move. He simply continues to stare at my neck.

And then he leans down and sinks his fangs into it.

But it doesn’t matter. He’s just too gorgeous for me to care about such a trivial issue as my death.