There are only vampires now. I was the last human. The only reason they spared me from death was my pretty face. It makes me sick just thinking about it. After all that work, all our suffering and hardship trying to survive, and it all came to an ending that was inevitable: A Bleak Massacre.
I was born on the moon, but it was assured that they would come after us. They always do. We could have survived on the technology that we stole from them, perhaps even found an alternate escape from the cold grasp of the vampires. But they came much too swiftly. It always happens like that. You think you are finally safe, then you feel the peircing shock of teeth sinking into your neck, the claws digging into your soft flesh as every drop of your blood gets sucked out. Except for me. Because I have a pretty face.
But what I'm afraid of is that when I stretch this theme out into a book, I might make it boring or do it wrong and ruin the whole thing. I tried a story about dragons that control the weather last year, and it turned into a total wreck... ^^'