Empty

Empty

By: James Heaton

Isak pushed his mug to the end of the table hoping his waitress would notice that it was empty. He tried to focus on the packet in front of him as caffeine combatted exhaustion. A red sign flashed “Open 24 Hours”, intermittently illuminating the dark street outside his window.

“Wanted… Age 30-39… Blood Type AB+… Wanted… Age 24-29… Blood Type O-… Wanted…”

All capture and serve requests. It seemed like the only type of job these days. Isak hated them, but he needed the money and bloodsuckers paid well for a discrete supply.

He checked his mug. Still empty.

He looked around the diner. Also empty, other than the middle aged waitress leaning on the beverage bar, swiping her phone while a carafe of hot coffee slowly cooled next to her.


The next day police found a body washed-up on the banks of a nearby bayou, veins almost perfectly empty.