Dammit.” I whispered, looking at the digital clock on my wall, which read 6 a.m. I cursed the clock and got out of bed. Sleep’s one of the few joys I in my life, and I never had enough of it. I glanced up at my Sailor Moon Crystal calendar that hung from my bathroom door and groaned. Three more weeks remained before Thanksgiving break, plus today’s Monday which meant Vamp Day. I groaned again as I entered the bathroom and began to get ready for school.

Every Monday, our local ETF police-the Eidolon Task Force -made unannounced visits to the homes of eidolon residents. They take blood samples from us and our human relatives, hence why we prefer to call them vamps. The official reason quoted was to “watch and prevent further spread of infection,” but it’s a way to keep eidola in line. You either ‘volunteered’ or risked being taken away for weeks or months at time and that depended on who performed the checkup.

Many vamps were okay and treated us eidolon folks well enough, others… not so much. A lot of times, people in authority aren’t responsible with the power given to them… but such is life. My mother gave birth to me and I do everything like a living person, yet I’m still treated as a monster.

A lot of times I’m embarrassed of who I am, of what I am, and I know I shouldn’t be. Every time a human eye looks at my discolored brown skin, I’m reminded I’m what they fear the most. I’m a mistake, a look-alike-of the human form who wasn’t the real thing. According to society, we eidola are disposable. To them I Darcy Mary Elizabeth Munroe am the monster that they see on TV shows, books, and films brought to life.

Finally dressed, I gazed at the mirror and sighed. Today I wore my favorite tattered Warhol Lewis “Bites Back” shirt over my short black and silver puffy Lolita dress with my black platform boots. Only my thick curly black hair needed to styling so I ran my comb through it and rolled it up into a bun with a silver band. I gave one more glance into the mirror and sighed, thinking to myself:

But if I’m a monster, why don’t I terrorize them the same way that they terrorize me on a daily basis? Why don’t I make inhuman noises as I walk? Why don’t I rip their flesh apart and eat them?

“Darcy, breakfast is ready!”

My mother’s voice jolted me from my thoughts. “I’ll be right there!” As I headed downstairs I thought to myself: Just because they say you’re a monster doesn’t make it so.

When I entered the kitchen, my Step-Dad Eric greeted me. He took a mug from the top cabinet above him and said, “Morning Darcy, how are you?”

“Fine.” I pulled out a chair and took my seat to eat. “Where’s Mom?”

Please ignore the shirt.

“She’s at the bus stop with the twins.” Eric nonchalantly poured coffee into his mug, his back turned towards me. Trying to keep him from noticing my shirt, I gulped down my food. “Are you ready for school?”

“Yup.” I sped ate what remained on my plate.

Don’t look at the shirt.

I didn’t want to argue. Mondays weren’t a good occasion for that. But on weekends I can leave the house for a while and return right before curfew starts. But I knew one was coming as soon as I placed my dirty dishes in the sink. I made feeble try to exit the kitchen and avoided eye contact with Eric who zeroed in on me. But before I could even step into the living room, he stopped me.

“Hold up Darce.”

I froze in my tracks.

Epic fail.

-T.C. Harrison, I, Darcy