THE WORLD

THE WORLD
"You know the saddest

thing?"

she said.

"The saddest thing is

that we're you."

I said nothing.

"In your fantasies,"

she said,

"my people are just like

you,

only better. We don't die,

or age, or suffer

from pain or cold or thirst.

We're snappier dressers.

We possess

the wisdom of ages.

And if we crave blood,

well, it is no more than

the way you people crave

food,

or affection, or sunlight --

and besides,

it gets us out

of the house,

crypt,

coffin.

Whatever."

"And the truth is?" I asked

her...