Walter Finch's Troubled Life

April 19, 2009
It was Christmas Day, but I couldn’t help but feel strangely detached from myself. I would be 23 years old in January, and the year would be 2010. I’m actually glad that my parents divorced in November. My mother is a drug addict, and my father is a strong alcoholic. I have a very morbid sense of humor. When I was thirteen, I saw my brother commit suicide. That whole morning, before he killed himself, he seemed very depressed. He tried his best to stay away from me, and I was very confused as to why he would avoid me. I loved him more than my parents, you see. He was all that I had. But at exactly one p.m., I came out of my room just in time to see him run right past me and jump out of the window, about thirty feet above our swimming pool. Well, the funny thing was that it was still empty. The only things I heard were the cracking of several bones, and the splattering of his blood on the cement. I laughed at the sound of the splattering blood; it was hilarious. But when I saw his body twisted and bloodied in the empty pool, I cried with all my heart. One year ago, though, a new person came into my life. Her name was Rachel. She had striking features, a dazzling smile, and crimson red hair...the color of blood. Although, strangely, the color of her hair intrigued me deeply. I kept longing for her more and more...much more than I needed to. Then on Christmas, “the best day of the year”, I saw her car pull up in the driveway, and I went out to greet her. But as I stopped in front of her, I did something even I didn’t expect. I bit her. Not on her arms or hands, but on her neck. She struggled violently, and tears ran down my face, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. I needed to feed, and now my urge was finally fulfilled. As her struggles became weaker and weaker, I cried harder and harder. Then, before I knew it, Rachel dropped to the ground, lifeless. As I looked down at her dead body, I realized why my brother had committed suicide. He had been bitten, and was turning; he didn’t want to hurt me. As I walked back to my house, I looked into the rearview mirror of Rachel’s car, and I saw myself....or rather, what I had become.

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