January 23, 2012
By Bradymb94 SILVER, Walker, Iowa
Bradymb94 SILVER, Walker, Iowa
5 articles 0 photos 6 comments

Favorite Quote:
2) "I am not, nor will I ever be, a sheep." 2) "Time will pass ever so slowly. But pass it does, Even for me." -Stephen King

Staring out at the moon brought a sense of peace flooding over me like an abnormally warm waterfall. Sometimes I wonder why I lead this life, it gets a little lonely and can be a bit boring at times. So much time has passed. It seems incomprehensible that I have lived this long and yet witnessed the amount of death I have. People’s faces swim before my languid, black eyes. Every night I take the opportunity to go over my “death speech.”

My name is William. My brethren are not the humans. My brethren are not the wolves, nor are they the cats or the hounds. Yes, I am immortal but not invincibly so. I am not a mutant of my past species or any other species ever to exist. I am a hunter, and a cocky one at that. I do not hunt humans for they, contrary to popular belief, taste gross. (Think liver, onions, and curdled milk mixed together). I prefer to eat the finer animals of this earth like the Gazelle. The blood in their veins tastes exquisite, like the finest wine you could ever drink, aged for hundreds of years in the basement cellar of a mansion in England.

Just because you are thinking it; I am not a vampire. Idiot. Never make assumptions because a false sense of knowledge means a lack of knowledge. Yeah, I just called you an idiot. Get over it. I am a Creediere. You may never have heard of me because you have some stupid fascination with Vampires and Werewolves. Unlike me, they don’t exist. The Creedy race was once one of prowess and wisdom. We predate everything currently on earth, the mountains even whither to our, or rather, my existence. In my most natural form I am large and extremely muscular. I have a set of wings, though I don‘t use them often anymore. I have no hair anywhere on my body except a long mop of black hair extending down from my head to my waist. Hair in our race is one way of gauging how old we are. It takes one thousand three hundred fifty seven years to grow a single inch of hair.

I’m nearly 132 inches tall, (11 feet)…idiot. I only have one set of two legs and one set of two arms though they are much longer in proportion to humans, and vastly stronger. Our race is one of the best races of killers to ever walk the earth, second only to the dragons. Yes I said that, dragons lived many years ago but are now extinct. Don’t gawk with your mouth open; it makes you look dumber than normal. Idiot. Since they are known to be extinct to all other species on earth, I took my rightful status of “Greatest warrior” by default. Mankind has hunted us ever since its formation on my grand planet, and so I believe to be the very last of my race. Though I hope to God that I am not. We tried to make peace with you, but your so-called “brave warriors” wanted to hunt us. Waves and waves of your hunters were slaughtered in spite of our usually kind nature. And so the war started.

Hundreds of humans were slaughtered by our, much smaller by comparison, race. Each one was given a proper burial but the kindness shown only made you angrier. Thousands of you were thrown at us. Thousands of years of hostility forced us into hiding. Technically you won the war, though only by shear force of numbers. Your weak little race couldn’t be content with it though. We were searched out over thousands of years and eventually killed, or “eradicated,” in the words of your hunters.

I am hunted to this day. You know better than any else. The years have made me hostile and ruthless toward the humans. You have made me fight for my life for so long. I know not peace any longer, only war and death. You never will stop hunting me. The only hope for my survival is that there is one other like me out there. A sense of hope for my race lives in me and will never die so long as my life force is not extinguished. You did this to me. You will reap any and all consequences resulting from your judgment, or lack thereof.

Just as I finished the nightly run-through of my death speech my attention was ripped from the moon. Nearly a mile behind me some sort of creatures were traipsing through the woods in my general direction. It’s a long ways away to hear for a human but for us it hardly even takes effort. I have been known to hear animals fighting from eleven miles away. I’ve had a long time to hone my skills. The beings were moving precisely and with evident purpose, none spoke. Hunters.

I could never understand how they manage to find me. Even here, deep in one of the most remote forests of Canada they managed to find me. Though it won’t matter much, I’ve killed many. The lives of Hunters barely make a difference to me anymore. The lives that haunt me are the ones of innocent people who caught in the crossfire. Innocent children killed by stray bullets from the Hunter weapons. I have long since stopped trying to blend in to society. Sure I can shape shift, making it easy to blend in with the humans. They always find me. It’s inevitable. People die because of me everyday and it is their faces that haunt my waking dreams.

* * *

The Hunters bore down on her with stride in the dingy apartment building. How can this be? she thought even as the hunters moved slowly down the hall way toward her. She had taken every precaution she knew and used all of her knowledge--vast as that amount was--to keep her from being captured. Though it was all for naught.

Thoughts swirled in and out of her head; I could fight!…no, no that would prove fatal. Maybe I could…Aha! She spotted a window at the far end of the smelly old apartment complex hallway. In order to escape though, she would have to jump completely over her assailants. I have to try.

She waited till the time was right, in all of her impatience she knew one thing. She must wait until they neared. Four tall, lanky figures strode toward her. Black cloaks hid their faces and the rest of their human bodies from a far. As they neared, however, she could make out subtleties in their figure. She could only se two of their faces as the hall was only wide enough to fit two men side by side (and barely able to fit her). The left one was the shortest of the four and had a protruding hook shaped nose. Rather ugly, she thought. The one to the right however looked more handsome, yet in a menacing way.

They walked slowly toward her, for effect. Though no matter how scary took themselves for none of them could possibly think to strike fear into her, the last of the most powerful race in history.

The men were within ten feet of her now, and without warning, she jumped headlong over their heads. I’m going to make it, I’m going to best them and then, later, I will kill them. She believed what she said until the very second that they captured her. One of the men, the tall one she presumed, had just barely caught her around the ankle. Barely or not, either way he had managed to catch her when she was most vulnerable.

She thrashed, kicked, and eventually wrenched herself free. She turned on her heel after kicking the short, ugly one in the face. He died. To her dismay it had all meant nothing. During her skirmish multiple more men had filed in the hall, blocking her from both ways. There was nothing to do but wait for the inevitable.

The dreadful click clack of their shoes was all she could recollect as the group dragged her down the hall and into the darkness of night…
* * *

“Fine. If they want me, they can have me,” I whispered in my grave voice to no one in particular. It took me no more than twenty seconds to cover the distance to where the hunters walked. They think they’re being stealthy. Like maybe if they step quicker my trained ears won’t hear them coming. They were wrong. Sad and somewhat distraught I decided to play with them a bit. Their formation is sound if attacked as a whole so I decided to break them up a bit.

At first I didn’t notice the irregularity as I was blinded by my rage. It took me nearly a minute of circling the triangle before I noticed it. In the very center of the triangle was a long figure. It was unmistakably a female. Her hands and feet were shackled so as to limit her movement to only a few feet. The thing that struck him as odd was that the woman looked to be very tall for one of the human race. Closer.

He moved silently with all the fluidity of a snake. He was only fifty yards away now and he could easily see the lone figure. She was thin, extremely tall and powerful. Strips of brutal chorded muscle lined her bones underneath gray skin. She wore nothing but a tattered shirt and a black loincloth, both of which looked to be made for someone else. She was a Creediere.

Elation and disbelief flooded me all at once for, at this very moment I had found another of his race. A savage sense of hope raged inside me, threatening to tear apart my very being with its intensity.

I can smell their putrid blood; it courses through their veins ever so quickly. The smell is impossible to miss. I got behind their “battle triangle,” as they so stupidly call it. The triangle is their main formation when fighting in the open for it keeps people looking at all sides. A good idea in theory but when put to practice it contains many flaws, flaws that I will now exploit. 1. The triangle leaves a long line of ten people open at all three sides. The lines are very easy to break through. 2. The triangle contains no men inside it. It is just the outline of a triangle, each line only one man thick.

I broke into a sprint, my long legs covering six feet in a single stride. It took me three seconds to reach the triangle. Before any of them knew what’s happened I am inside of the triangle making quick dashes across the gap. I painfully knocked people over with every flick of my strong wrists. I exited just as quickly as I had entered. From one hundred yards away I watched the panic set in. Hunters got up quickly as adrenaline coursed through their veins, which I might add, makes the blood smell even worse. Their leader yelled commands to his companions. So bravely they all raised their weapons, ready to fire at a moments notice. Apparently they think that by rotating the triangle slowly around as if on some invisible axis will make it more tactical. Idiots.

I make three more passes like the first one, each one knocks down more men. Another funny up side of my taunting is that some men actually began firing at me across the triangle. Three out of the original thirty men were killed by friendly fire. Idiots. After the third pass I stopped playing. Men split up in all directions, some sprinted away in panic and some jogged with weapons raised as if they would help. Twenty-seven men remain. I challenged myself to finish them off in the least possible amount of time.

The first man I locked on to was running directly at me, though unknowingly. I sprang at him, letting my right arm extend away from my body. My six-inch claws raked through his body before he even had time to fire a shot. A six inch long by four inch deep chunk of flesh and organs follow my five claws out the back of his frail body. I barely heard his cry of pain as I ran to the next Hunter. I kill him as well. Two down, twenty-five to go…twenty-four, twenty-three, twenty-two…

After five minutes of pure slaughter, no more cries are left in the dark. I can already hear the wolves circling the dead bodies, and so they should. The last of the men lay huddled on the ground against a large oak tree crying, I suppose trying to come to grips with his immanent death. I gave him some time. After a few minutes I decided to show myself. His whimpers grow louder as I neared. The look of dread grew in his eyes till they looked bright and glossy in the moonlight. He looked up and the only word he said was; “why.”

“Because you hunted hunt me.”

He startles as if not expecting me to know English. I suppose my throaty voice may have scared him a bit as well. As well it should.

“What…what…what are…yayou? He asks through whimpers.

And so my death speech starts over again. I tell of my race, and of his race. The whole story of us all and I can see the regret begin to form in his eye. He knows what he did, and what all of them did was wrong. After pacing back and forth for a few minutes of explanation I stopped.

“…Will reap any and all consequences resulting from your judgment, or lack thereof.” I finish.

With that his whimpers resume, louder and more intense as I inch closer. I almost didn’t want to kill him because it seemed he knew he was wrong. What if this one is different? What if he would fight on my behalf? Maybe he is a friend?

I tried to push the thoughts aside with effort. No, they will never change. Once a Hunter, always a Hunter. What of his family?. I would be taking his life on the basis of ignorance. I would be no better than them…

With a flick of my wrist I made five horizontal scratches in the wood directly above his head. The hunter feebly looked up a few seconds later but I was already some hundreds of yards away.

A look of immense gratitude was written on his face. A thought came to mind as I gazed toward him. It is so easy to kill, so simple to take a human life. One of the brightest of flames, and yet the easiest to extinguish

…Six months later…

I found another rock somewhere deep in the heart of Russia. Another position to gaze up at the moon. You are my only friend in this world.

A noise broke me out of my reverie. Men. They walked mere miles from my current position. The same purpose and drive defined their steps…

The author's comments:
The first version had no hope and my teacher said it was written like a serial killer manifesto... lol. This is the revised version.

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