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Flash Bubbles
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No two sunsets are the same. Xavier had watched more than forty thousand of them, and although he had not appreciated each one as much as the next, he knew the value of at least looking upon the peach-tinted sky before nightfall. It offered a guaranteed moment of peace. This sunset was no different, in that it was entirely different from all those before it, except it wasn’t, but it was, and this infinite loop pleased Xavier to ponder. Roseate light reflected off of the skyscrapers’ windows, and Xavier felt a familiar pang of superiority to humans in his jaw.
Moments of peace seemed so terribly rare in the lives of humans. They flutter about from task to task, fearing that they may not get enough done before they take their last, unfulfilled breath. Xavier would briefly remember times when he felt this rush to accomplish, before he settled into semi-permanence (for nothing is permanent, except, perhaps, for the fact that nothing is permanent), and he felt grateful that he could focus his gaze on the alternating squiggles of the stratocumulus clouds and the floating steam rising from the industrial zone. He didn’t need to think about them, or what they meant, or if he could show anyone else. Those were human concerns.
He had a sunset “coffee,” which was a term that Xavier was not particularly fond of but used out of respect for vampire colloquialisms, and which consisted of several milliliters of blood plasma warmed over the stove in an iron pot. Xavier’s cup that evening was a donation, and had come to him through the BVA, Bureau of Vampaffairs. Another term that Xavier did not like was vampaffairs, which means exactly what it sounds like: the happenings of vampire society.
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