Backward Day was here and Marcus hated it.  He glanced at the clock, grimacing as he noticed it flashing 6:00 pm.  “Sundown,” he muttered, opening the shade, and covering his eyes at the explosion of camera flashes that greeted their parting.

The sick and dying, surrounded by the media, sat, stood, or lay collapsed on the ground, all looking at him with a look of hope that twisted his stomach and nauseated him.  This day, he would give them his blood, fulfilling the law and guaranteeing freedom for another year. 

He thought of the past, as they hooked him to tubes to pass his blood to those who needed it.  In those long ago years, he had been the drainer, his long fangs sinking deliciously into their necks, draining their life’s blood, but that was before they had discovered that his blood cured their cancers. 

Now, it was backward day, and the blood he was allowed to drain from cattle and pigs, blood that kept him weak but made them whole, was pulled from his veins into their putrid frames.  Backward Day was here, and Marcus, the last vampire, prayed for a death that would never come.