He’d tried before. Abstinence. Depriving himself for the good of others. A lofty ambition. Some would say, doomed.
The first year he managed two hours. The alcohol had caused his resolve to weaken. That was his excuse, anyway. It was the same the second year. And the third. Repeat ad infinitum?
Moral decisions were always difficult to carry out.
He left the party. One hour past midnight. A young couple walked along the other side of the street. Innocent. Unsuspecting.
His fangs sprang forth.
He leaned in. Bit. Sated, he left.
“Maybe next year,” he said.