A vampire bit me while I was listening to Sabrina Carpenter’s “Espresso”. I was so wrapped up in the song that I didn’t notice until a few seconds later.
“Ow,” I said.
The vampire had messy curly hair and wore a scuffed leather jacket.
“Why’d you bite me?”
“You looked lonely, and I needed a companion,” he said. “Figured I wasn’t messing your life up by inviting you to centuries of vampirism with me.”
“I’m a vampire now?”
“Yes.”
I tried narrowing my eyes in disgust, even though vampirism wouldn’t hassle my life much. But I closed my eyes instead, so it must have looked like I’d fallen asleep. “You’re lucky most Sabrina Carpenter concerts are in the evening. Otherwise, I’d be fucked!” I shouted.
The vampire took a step back, surveying the alleyway, probably making sure my raised voice wasn’t attracting attention and embarrassing him.
He composed himself, smiling, and not in a predatory way. “Maybe we can go to a concert together?”
“Maybe.” I lowered my tone. “I’m Celeste, by the way. Who’s your favorite singer?”
“Bruce Springsteen. He’s-”
I ran off, weaving through the most crowded streets so the vampire would struggle to follow.
I entered my crack house. I called it that because the walls were cracked. I had no desire to get them fixed. The only thing I’d call to get fixed was my computer. There lies my purpose: my YouTube channel, SabrinaCarpenterista210.
I closed my blinds, anticipating the sunlight. Sabrina Carpenter would find me unseemly if she saw me at one of her concerts with my vampiric skin burned, blisters covering my face.
I’d yet to make a lyric video with Century Gothic font, so I made one for the song “Juno”. I’d played with transitions in the last few videos–it was time to change things up. The lyrics appeared on the screen without pomp. Sabrina’s voice playing over this style was a perfect match.
I’d hoped to find a Carpenter fan as enthusiastic as I. One that would check all my videos, eager to see the different transitions, backgrounds, and font changes I made every day. But I seemed to mostly attract fans who stopped by for a video and left, like I was a pit stop in their online travels. I believed there were exceptions. That belief was the meaning of my life.
I worked part time as a gas station attendant, then uploaded 50-75 Sabrina Carpenter lyric videos a day. I fantasized of fans tall and short, rich and poor, checking out my videos, wondering if they misheard a lyric, only to be edified by the correct words about love and self-empowerment, transported by my video editing and Sabrina’s voice.
As a thirtysomething, I thought I’d only have a handful of decades left to make lyric videos. That vampire might not have gained a companion, but he provided something much more altruistic. He immortalized the life of consistent Sabrina Carpenter lyric videos.
#
Decades passed. I worked the night shift, jumping to different gas stations throughout the years. The station owners would be suspicious if they compared my ageless face to their deepening wrinkles. Every so often, a customer would walk in with their music on without headphones. None ever listened to Sabrina Carpenter.
Her stardom was already waning when I became a vampire, but she’d faded to obscurity in old age. Washed up was the Internet’s favorite term to describe her. I now compared myself to the most respected academics, since creating tens of thousands of lyric videos was like being an archivist.
I killed people every few nights, sucking their blood for sustenance in areas that didn’t appreciate older music.
#
More decades passed. Sabrina Carpenter died. I was bedridden for two days after that happened, sobbing constantly. If I had my way, there’d be a worldwide vigil for her, with people waving their luminous phones in the air, just like Sabrina liked at her concerts. Instead, entertainment websites posted obituaries, with elderly commenters mentioning they liked her when they were younger.
I wondered if she had known about me. Perhaps the algorithm had recommended my channel to her, while she ogled in astonishment at my dedication.
#
One-hundred more years passed. I’d moved apartments constantly, avoiding suspicion. I continued posting lyric videos, probably holding the world record for the most video uploads.
Somebody knocked on my door with a gentle but purposeful tap. I opened it.
Standing before me was a scrawny man in a t-shirt with Sabrina Carpenter’s face plastered on it. He looked familiar. “Celeste?” he asked. “It is you!”
“Do I know you?”
“I turned you into a vampire 180 years ago.”
“Ah, right.”
“You mentioned Sabrina Carpenter that night. I hadn’t heard of her back then. After you ran from me, I googled her and loved her songs immediately.”
I beamed. “Someone with taste!”
“I listened to her constantly throughout the years. Then I saw you working at the gas station tonight. I hadn’t forgotten your face. You’re such a formative part of my life.”
“So you followed me here?”
“Is that okay?”
He liked Sabrina Carpenter, so the answer was, “Yes.”
“Thanks. I have a question.”
“Continue.”
“You’re SabrinaCarpenterista210, right? The account’s been active for over 180 years.”
“That is me!”
“I haven’t watched all your lyric videos, but I’ve seen about ten thousand of them. They somehow improve upon Carpenter’s perfection.”
Finally, I discovered somebody who viewed my videos properly. “It’s a necessary job. The most necessary.” I beamed. “Why don’t you come in?”
“I’d love to.”
“We can talk about Sabrina’s later music. It’s especially underrated. No sex, though.” Sex wasn’t for me.
“Of course.”
The vampire and I chatted frequently for countless centuries about Sabrina. We perused her lyricism’s texture. I enjoyed the vampire’s company. I discovered what laughing felt like. Adorning and immortalizing Sabrina’s sacred words was of utmost importance. Cherishing someone’s company was a great bonus, harmonizing with the meaning of life.