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He posted his latest tweet as he heard the villagers pounding outside the gate to his crypt. Thankfully he could read the Twitter application well enough since his cell phone was backlit. The darkness of his coffin was comforting, but he wasn't fooled. Soon the mob would break inside, discover his hiding place, and he would be doomed.
He blamed his predicament on renewed interest in vampire lore from those highly inaccurate novels, movies, and television series that had popped up recently. He'd never met a single vampire that looked like the teen idols they portrayed, lucky enough to have died at the peak of their sexuality. Personally, he'd always strived to be overlooked, for precisely the reason he was now cowering in his coffin.
He dreaded what would come when they finally discovered him.
I'm doomed.
He hit send. One of his followers answered back.
@johnsmithalot What's going on?
He didn't reply. Really, he was a novice - like a kid with a new toy - tweeting every little thing that came into his head, failing to see the value of the technology because he was so entranced with its novelty. He still tweeted things like:
I am laying in my coffin. Nothing interesting is happening.
Seriously, why did he feel compelled to share that? He had assumed that no one would take him seriously, but he'd shouted it to the world just the same. He cursed his indiscretion.
Of course something interesting was happening now. He could hear the villagers attacking the lock to his crypt. Soon they'd break it down. He cringed from the sound of the mob and sought refuge in streaming microblogs.
He read:
Imafantastic: Something's happening over @Smithfield cemetery, wanna check it out? #vampiresamongus
davesarobot: What? Really? #vampiresamongus
magnifiedaura: Yeah, heard the same thing. Working on door now- Should give soon. BRB #vampiresamongus
In the sealed coffin, the sound of breaking wood and metal was clearly audible. He heard chains falling to the floor, shouts and screams. "Hey, check this out!"
He wondered wryly if he should tweet something profound before he was discovered. He hesitated, fingers poised over the keyboard, before the coffin lid was wrenched open.
"He's here! He's in here!" someone shouted. He instinctively raised his arm to shield his eyes from the glare of electric torches. Sharp objects were shoved inches from his face.
He sighed and grabbed the nearest pen. "What do you want me to sign?"
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