Vampire’s Daydreams

I sometimes think that I miss sleep the most. Lying in my coffin, waiting for the sun to fall, the interminable hours creep by like snails; like gooey snails running all over your face, and you can’t move. I come to life with a shiver most nights. Wonder if the others do. Hard to imagine Frank shivering. Me, once the fetters of day are broken and the last rays of light die over the moors, I shiver. There’s just something horrid about the day, about the wakeful rest we suffer. I sometimes wonder if there’s something unnatural about the sun.