The Vampyre (they/them)

3 min readOct 31, 2019


Photo by Q.U.I on Unsplash

I am sure I am going to drown in her … his … aaargh, their eyes. Why is this so darn hard to remember? This conversation is not going the way I thought it would be. I did not even want to be here. I mean, vampyres… Huh … Who cares about them anyway? Sooo last season. Last century even, hah. But my editor said this would be different. She would be different. The editor was wrong about one part though.

“You see, I was born a woman in 1847. I was raised a woman. But I do not feel this category fits me anymore. I am not a man either. I stand outside the binary.”

It is so hard to concentrate, looking into those eyes. Those eyes, green eyes, perfectly offset by the dark red of their drink and the white, sparkly teeth… Teeth. Yes, teeth. There is something I have to do here. I try to shake off the fuzzyness and try to focus on the calm, soft-spoken voice.

“It took me a while to figure out who I really was. For a long time I thought I was the only one feeling this way. When I found others I was so intrigued, relieved. I hope we can make it normal at some point to say who we are. At the moment it too often still feels political, maybe even dangerous.”

I nod. I can feel that my ears turn red as I cannot shake off the thought what this body looks like under the delicate vintage clothes. I make a mental note to start off with a description of the simple, yet elegant silk shirt in the hue of a moonlit night … where is that image coming from? … The velvet blazer in the most elegant shade of cream I have ever seen, like the moon watching over us. Did I just hear a wolf howl? But my thoughts keep coming back to that one question. I wonder if everything … down there … stayed the same when they turned … Would that be a question for my readers? I vent it in my head for a while, but decide to keep it for later. It is rather a weird thing to ask a person you have just met. I ask about the clothes instead.

“Oh, yes, I get that a lot. People always expect us to look all the same. But you know this is not how it works. It’s not like a club where you join and then you get a uniform. The only thing that we have in common is how we feel about ourselves.”

Their eyes draw me in again. I wonder how they can sparkle that bright in this dimly lit room. I had wanted us to meet at “Coffee Coffee”, the new place. The coffee there is just divine. I have to admit the armchairs here in this craft beer bar are much more comfortable. Maybe a bit too much.

I can hear the voice going on in the background. Telling me story after story, each one more exciting as the one before. I have given up taking motes as I just feel too … tired. The red light of the audio recorder blinks happily though, so I know I can lay back and relax.

“You don’t mind if I have another one do you?”

The vampyre raises their empty glass. I shake my head to their question. At least I think so. I am not sure if my head actually moves. I see how they bend down and pick up the glass that stood below my arm rest. Below my wrist. The glass, now filled again with the thick red liquid. The liquid that goes so well with those wonderful green eyes. Set off only by the white of their teeth … teeth … wasn’t there something I was supposed to do? I don’t remember. I take one last look at those eyes, then I close mine and allow myself to let go into the darkness.




I make zines & stuff. Design. Research.Dementia & Mental Health, Craft & Activism