Vampires do change, and it probably involves inner psychological identity, so probably one of the vampire stories here.



  • "If any one plot is truly magical, metamorphosis is it. Most of the master plots are grounded in reality: They deal with situations and people whom we readily recognize because they're based in our experience. Even good science fiction and fantasy stories are ultimately as real in their portrayal of people and events as anything by Henry James or Jane Austen. Science Fiction author Theodore Sturgeon pointed out that a good science fiction story deals with a _human_ problem and a _human_ solution. Fiction, whether it happens in Middle Earth or in a galaxy far, far away, is always about _us._ Fiction reveals truths that reality obscures." "...In the metamorphosis plot, the physical characteristics of the protagonist actually change from one form to another. ..." animal to human, human to beast, etc. with change that is physical and emotional. metaphor, allegory, and mixes...wolfman, vampire, beauty and the beast, etc.
  • In this fantastic plot, the protagonist is physically transformed, perhaps into beast or perhaps into some spiritual or alien form. The story may then continue with the changed person struggling to be released or to use their new form for some particular purpose. Eventually, the hero is released, perhaps through some great act of love.
  • this plot involves the physical characteristics of the Protagonist actually changing from one form to another (reflecting their inner psychological identity).


from Westallipacolypse

Miss Joanne was the first person to notice something was wrong.  No sooner had the lead horse crossed 76th and Greenfield did the dark cover move overhead like obedient nimbus clouds keeping pace with the West Allis Central marching band.  She thought long and hard about the weather forecast.  No rain was predicted.  However, it didn’t stop at one cloud.  Darkness quickly fell over West Allis.  As Miss Joanne’s conscience told her she did something very bad, Rob K. Mastrowski showed up at her side.  He never came out in the daylight.  Miss Joanne disappeared faster than a Pabst Blue Ribbon at a NASCAR race, as she became part of the first wave of the slaughter of innocents, her pepper spray still in her pocket. 


West Allis Western Days ended with savage butchery.  The internet reported the event, not because of its violent singularity, but because of the phenomenon that repeated across the globe.  Millions succumbed to the vile creatures that had lived among us, biding their time.  The age of the vampire had dawned, ironically, to a world bathed with continuous twilight. 


God scolded the world and his creation.  For years, the people ignored the reality of their impending fate.  Individualism and hedonism led to ignorance.  God turned his back.  Now, in their days of unbelief, they had to show this eternal being that Man’s resolve transcends the mistakes they’ve made.  They needed hope.  In times like this, God sends a voice in the wilderness. 


This voice, this prophet from days of old, came from the voice of an innocent.  Steven Greenblatt looked at his only son, Hunter.  Only seven-years old.  Hunter’s older sister Molly, one arm draped across his shoulders, continued to be the babysitter.  No longer the four-year-old who survived a drugged-out car thief, she was an eleven-year-old going on 30.  She had watched as her older sister and mother were overwhelmed by an early assault of the undead.  Sent off to either a feeding or breeding camps of which only one had returned, Big Red.  Molly joined with her father and other members of the crowd to keep from joining her mother and sister’s fate.  She fought to protect Hunter as the creatures clawed at such a tasty morsel.  Now, Steven’s two youngest became more than passive-victims.  Molly was a life-giver: healing resistance fighters on their return from their skirmishes with the undead, running water and ammo to the frontlines, and cooking meager meals to everyone still counted among the living.  A full-year removed from those first dark days, Steven beamed with pride at how well adjusted his children were to their new reality which consisted of humble living quarters of a hollowed out Sam’s Club.

“Wolverines!”  An obnoxious voice boomed from the entrance of the rebels’ hideaway, jarring Steven from reminiscing about the days of old.  Those days when his biggest problems were an unfaithful wife and the inability to make ends meet.  How times have changed.  That obnoxious voice, however, was music to his ears.  It meant that Weldon Bell and his “Wolverines” were victorious on the battlefield.  Steven smiled.  Weldon may be, as a few said, “a little touched," but Steven saw a man who grew up because he had to, not because he wanted to.  He saw a man trying to fit the definition of a “hero” he read about in a comic book, not necessarily what their current reality dictated.  And, of course, clearly he watched too much Red Dawn.  Minimally, it warmed Steven’s heart that he watched the 1984 classic, not that crappy remake.  Long live Charlie Sheen.  God rest his undead soul.  Steven watched as Weldon was met by the Resistance’s royalty, Chigger and Big Red....

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