The battle was over almost before it began. The Armies of Darkness knew they had no chance against the legendary warrior. And now he stared down at them from his powerful horse, his hair blowing majestically in the wind (the warriors hair, not the horses). As he surveyed the vanquished field below, the great warrior sheathed his sword for the final time. "I will fight no more," he thought to himself as he took a moist towellete from his utility belt and wiped the dust of battle from his bifocals.
And then I woke up.
It must have been the voices murmuring from the other side of the room.
"Is he dead?"
"Nah. Hes just sleeping."
"But its the middle of the afternoon!"
"Yeah, well, hes kinda old."
They were interns, interrupting my afternoon power nap, a nap I find increasingly necessary these days as my biological clock requires frequent rewinding. But what do interns know, these people of perpetual youth who leave after a year for some dark and secret place where their life forces are restored and their bodies given new forms for their return. They are ageless and forever young. They are the undead. Vampires.
OKAY, SO MAYBE theyre not vampires. It just seems that way because I think Im the only one getting old around here. And having crossed the middle-age threshold, Im not sure Im quite ready to move on to the next exciting phase of life: Fearing Death.