Unpopular

Another one word writing prompt (See: Short-Fuse, below). This time the word was 'Unpopular.' Here's my take:







Wood shavings collected at her feet. She had been carving for a while now and was growing impatient. Her superior strength made it easy to snap that short length off of the broom handle, but the point was going to take some time. Besides a small mound of gray dust, the stake would be all that remained. It had to be done soon.
Very few possessed the ability to discern the reality of her condition. Many would even label it a blessing, while she considered it a curse. Some might view it as a gift; her, an affliction. It had been glamorized and sugar-coated by literature and film. Nobody knew what it was like, she thought, to be stuck in your teen-aged years for what seemed like an eternity. For what was an eternity. She was expected to relate with her high school peers, kids she was innumerable times wiser than. Keeping it a secret was possibly the most wearying part.
The broken-off piece of broom handle was now beginning to resemble a mini spear. Not yet sharp enough, but she continued carving unwavered. The blade sliced downward into the blunt stake at an astonishing rate. She whittled away, channeling the perseverance of a retired carpenter with nothing to spare but time and passion. Her bed (which of course was solely for show) swayed with each stroke. She would never tire.
The zeal that was characteristic of her strain had long since faded. The horror had lost its allure. The challenge, a drag. The insatiable thirst had become a burden. To the others it was a driving force. She would call it a crutch. She was manufactured to live a strictly natural life. Tonight, she would revisit nature.
The tip of the stake was at last sharp. She tested it with her fingertip. The sight of the rich, crimson fluid teased her tenacity. She allowed her tongue to clean it up. Her canines extended slightly; they ached. No, she reasoned, no more. The bloodlust had to end. Failure, coupled with weakness, had vanquished many previous attempts. This time was different. This time lives would be saved.
With this prospect arousing her mind, she stood. It was time. Tears cascaded down her pale face. So human, she thought, as a slight smile materialized. She started to reminisce over the last hundred-plus years and stopped. Fuck that. Ironically, she had never felt as alive as in those final moments before her death. This time she would actually be terminated, not turned. She gripped the stake tightly with both fists and held it perpendicular to her body. The point just touching her chest. The floor directly in front of her was already cleared. The tears were gushing now, the smile ear to ear. Her head had never been as clear as it was in those last couple seconds. She felt so real. In her mind, she was no longer a murderous, blood-sucking vampire. She was just another delusional teenager, dying to live.