Lyn sighed, leaning back in her stiff wooden chair. Her fingers rested idly on her keyboard. The monitor casting a slight glow on her pale face. Her eyes drifted to the white, stubble ceiling. She spotted a tiny spider crawl across the white mounds. As she tracked the spider's movements, she imagined the white stubble as great snow-capped mountains. She saw the great mountain climber struggle through the great mountain range. Then suddenly, his foot slipped. He lost his footing and fell toward the heavens.

Lyn laughed as she refocused on the spider gliding slowly down on his silky string. She got up grabbing a piece of paper and the empty cup beside her. Gently catching the spider in the cup and covering it with the paper to prevent it from escaping, she moved to the window and released the spider onto the window sill of her residence room.

Returning to her seat, Lyn glanced back at the monitor and the document displayed there. It was an e-mail from one of her professors, William. It was strange, but she hadn't been able to find out his last name. With her other professors, she had always found out their last name first, then their first name. Last names were displayed on her time table, all of them, except William. She hadn't even met him yet. He taught the course through e-mails.

I suppose you don't need to hold class for a course like this, Lyn thought. It was a creative writing course. William was a guest professor. He was a famous author of dark, romantic novels that swept you into another world, at least so Lyn was told. She had never read any of his books, but in the course of his lessons, Lyn had come to respect him and his incite. Lyn felt as through sometimes William could read her mind. It was strange, but intriguing.

Lyn glanced at this week's question: Do writer's see the world in a different way? Lyn glanced up at the ceiling and laughed.

Lyn woke up to a loud banging on her door. Cursing, she rolled out of bed and wrapped her house coat around her. She opened the room and was faced with her roommate, carrying a man.

"Where've you been? What's with him?" Lyn asked groggily.

"Sorry for waking you up. Lost my key," her roommate, Sarah, said cheerfully. She dragged the man into the small room and dropped him on Lyn's bed.

"Excuse me. My bed?" Lyn said.

"He got drunk and passed out. Do you expect me to leave him alone, out cold, in a downtown bar?" Sarah laughed. "Thanks, Lyn. See you later."

Sarah walked out of the still open door.

"Sarah! Where are you going?" Lyn called down the hallway, but Sarah just waved and kept walking. Lyn groaned and closed the door. She sat on Sarah's bed, staring at the man lying on her bed.

Two hours later, Lyn still sat on Sarah's bed, leaning against the wall, staring at the strange man. Lyn had had plenty of time to study the man and decided he was exactly Sarah's type: tall, lean, pale skinned, dark haired, elegant, and definitely self-absorbed. Lyn could tell, from his high fashion suit that was the style of the moment, his closely shaven face and his styled hair that was styled yet still looked slightly messy, that he thought highly of himself.

Probably a chauvinist pig too, Lyn thought to herself. As Lyn continued to imagine what the man would be like she closed her eyes picturing him parading around a rich, snobby club.

Lyn almost had a heart attack as she felt cold, smooth skin brush across her face and relax over her mouth, covering it. Her eyes flew open and were faced with dark, deep brown eyes. She panicked and began to struggle. The strange man quickly positioned himself over her, using his body to prevent her movement.

He lowered his mouth to her ear and whispered, "Quiet, I just need a little blood."