The Dark

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The dark, what a welcome friend it’s been for me since I’ve found out what I am. With my stony cold skin and absolutely perfect features, breathtaking to humans. I just love the sound of them gasping, or the rhythm of their hearts speeding up when I pass.

The beginning was less enjoyable though. It was as if I was watching me through someone else’s eyes, and I truly saw what a monster I was. I’ll never forget that first time I was stuck out in the sun; I’d though I was going to die. That I was going to burn in the sun like all the Hollywood movies I’d seen when I was still human. It turns out that all we end up doing is sparkling, the light from the sun reflects off our skin sending little colorful rainbow spots dancing on the ground. The only way it would cause trouble would be if there were any witnesses to this and they went screaming like a lunatic. But even then it was only trouble on their end of the stick because no one would believe them and just label them as mentally unstable, after that they’d be thrown into the loony-bin with those oh so comfortable padded walls until they stopped believing what they’d seen.

That hadn’t happened to me though; I was just too slick to be caught like that. I was never off my guard. Ever since the beginning I was smooth though the only time I was messy was when I was hungry, I was always so hungry and no burger or drink would quench the thirst I was drawn to. When I hunted I went for the young, their blood was so much more satisfying than the others. Of course I didn’t go for the really young ones, they didn’t have enough blood and it wasn’t ripe enough. Most of my kill was either fifteen years or older. I always thought of it as a gift to the older and supposedly wiser humans because they’re constantly complaining about the teenagers and how they’re such nuisances.

That wasn’t the only reason. The youthful ones put up a better fight though in the end, as expected, they are still too weak and will always be that way. When I was a newborn vampire (bitten) the years that followed were blood baths because I had no control. As I said before, it was as though I were looking at me through someone else’s eyes. I was as addicted to blood as a druggie to crack. I was constantly thirsty and each time I quenched my thirst. Another body found and yet another funeral attended. Eventually, after some time, I rebelled against the urge until I was as ravenous ever. At those times I would hunt animals instead, and then I just continued hunting them over the years, forgetting about the humans and how good they had tasted. I will admit that I slipped up a few times (you can’t expect me to get it perfect, it was what I was born to do, after all.)

Years passed and eventually I did perfect it. I no longer had slip ups. But whenever someone got hurt, even the slightest show of blood outside the body, my attention was drawn to it like a deer frozen in headlights. I stayed in the same room for as long as I could, until I was almost completely overwhelmed by the smell, then I’d bolt from the room as if it were on fire. As even more time passed even the sight and smell of blood did not faze me. I mean I could still smell it but I had finally gotten such a strong hold of self control that I looked like any other normal human, just paler and silent and always avoided by the real humans.





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