In the beginning there is night. The little light coming from our desk lamp is less than enough for me to make out her face. My flatmate's voice seems to come from some far-off place, warning me of the vampire who's coming in search of me. There is a knock on the door and I see a silhouette so flimsy and still for a moment there seems to be no need to fear such a harmless thing. Then the gloom thickens as he enters our room, running through wardrobes and drawers. The curtain flutters as I slip out by the window. I hear him rushing to it but not going any further. Leaning on the sill, he watches me stealthing across the flat roof. I am back at my uncle's place where I used to hang around when I was small. This roof is like a deserted little yard with nothing in it but mosses and garbage. But it seems infinite in the dark and at every turn, I'm expecting a horde of vampires to jump out at me and bite my neck. It's sickening. I fear not death but the idea of being sucked to the core of my own existence, the sight of the walking dead that never dies but forever feeds on all life-giving forces. Maybe I am jealous of their chance to get the best out of everything even though they might be expelled from the stream of life. They are like statues, monumental and cold. They watch our struggles out of laughing eyes. It makes no sense to them.