THE TACO VAMPIRE

 This is from a Fiction Writing Prompt from a writing workshop at The Bookmatters in Milford, OH: Think of an alternative vampire that survives on something other than blood.

The guy at the taco stand humphs when he sees me again. He knows what I'll ask for, those end-of-day bits, and all that greasy, juicy goodness. But that's the only way I'll feed. I hate blood. Can't stand the taste of human flesh. But a vampire must feed, no?

The taco guy's sweaty, highlighting that sweet spot all vampires aim to stick their fangs into. But I turn away, otherwise I'll throw up. Have you ever seen a vampire throw up? It's not pretty. Blood and gunk and... guts. Like they say, "You'll puke out your guts." That came from us vampires; you're welcome.

Now, as a true Mexican, I can't pass up the tortillas the taco guy hands me. And once I pay him, plus give him a generous tip for my nightly requests, I fly away, figuratively; I haven't made it that far in my vampiric evolution. Plus, he'll freak if I literally fly away. 

Soon, Sheldon the vampire meets me. What a dumb name for a vampire. Pssht. Still, he laughed when I told him mine: Ernesto. Ur-nes-tow, he said. Meh. Well, fuck you, Sheldon, and your stupid name.

I show him my bag. "Here," he says instead and throws me a bone, meat and blood still on it. And upon seeing and smelling it—the rot, the pus, the way it stains my shirt—my bloody saliva comes up. No guts in my throat, though.

So, I kick his offering, but Sheldon, who's mastered super-speed, zooms past me and grabs his meal before it touches the ground. Yeah, he's very particular about his food touching the floor.

"Shelly's joining us," he says. What's up with the "Sh" vampire names in my life? And how did I make the vampiric cut? I'll never know. What's true is that, one night some fifty years ago, as I enjoyed Taco Man's al pastor tacos, a pineapple piece fell out of the taco, and as I grabbed it quickly with my hand, Sheldon came out of nowhere and bit me. Taco Man, twenty years old then, had turned away for one second, and Sheldon got me, like a mosquito in a disgustingly humid night.

"What's your secret? To your staying so young," Taco Man once asked me.

"Your tacos," I told him. "What's your name again?"

"Chava."

Fuck, another "Ch" name.

Anyway, he's my saving grace. I'd have starved decades ago if it hadn't been for Chava. God, no... Shoot, I said the "G" name, and now I have heartburn. But I would've died if not for his tacos, and we vampires can't have that, death. You ever seen a dead vampire? Of course you haven't. Only in movies.

I offer Sheldon my food. He hisses but gives it a sniff after. He's giving in. And he's got one. Thank G... well, you know Who. After fifty years, Sheldon finally gets a taste of my Taco Man's food.