Bloodlust-UK.com

We arrived at the Cambodian border in the early hours of the morning, desperately in need of a shower after our tedious eight hour truck ride. The driver motioned for us to get off and pointed in the direction of some trucks across the border. Fortunately Hugo speaks fluent French so we were able to negotiate a lift. Before we knew it our luggage was already on the back of a rusty Cambodian truck that was shortly bound for Stung Treng.

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The Gothique Literary Society had completed a Dracula tour with a difference: a trip to Romania with all the right attitudes in place.

“We wouldn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea,” said Max, the society’s founder and dictator, as the members enjoyed a barbecue in the Borgo Pass with Milos the coach driver rushing around carrying ‘robber’ steaks on long skewers.

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I’m restless this evening. Bored. Not bored enough to go out though. It’s raining outside, cold and wet. Who needs it. I have the lights out and the drapes thrown wide to let in the night. I could smell the rain, feel the dampness in the air when I woke this evening. The sound of the gusting rain lashing against the windows. I was forced to slip out earlier to grab a bite to eat and that was enough of this weather for tonight. Satiated and changed into dry clothes, I find myself pacing back and forth, from room to room of my tiny little apartment.

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The rash all over my face explained my doubts about yesterday night’s pizza. Despite my express wish, stated clearly and repeated often, it had contained garlic. Although my breakthrough medication all but eliminated a need for total factor sun block and blood sausage, these blemishes cruelly exposed my one-eighth-vampire roots to the world. All because of a thoughtless ingredient.

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Palm Sunday

Mary, holy mother of our Saviour, be with me this night. The screams of the villagers slice through my prayers, and the howls of the demons grate at my sanity.

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