Lonely

April 12, 2010
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Wind whistles forlornly through the rattling branches of a bare, skeletal oak tree that stands alone on a hilltop. Clouds hang limp and drab in their grey colors over the iridescent silver of the slivered moon overhead and bathe the night further in shadow. The brittle carcasses of fallen leaves carpet the earth of the ancient and crumbling cemetery, and bit by bit are falling to dust as the wind beats against them. A large shining raven is perched on one of the uppermost branches of the decrepit tree, and its black-marble eyes glint in the little moonlight shed from between the clouds.

My dark cloak trails behind me as I step through the rusting gates with mist trailing at my feet. The dead leaves should crunch and crumble as I step upon them, should turn to dust at the merest touch of my foot. The gate should have creaked in the wake of my passing, the cobblestones should have echoed with my footsteps.

The raven has noticed this, and its head is cocked with shining eyes watching me with the keen intelligence that only creatures with an extra sense—the sixth one—possess. Most creatures of the wild and of wild descent wield this gift along with the select few humans. It is a sense commonly passed off as blasphemy, a chance for fifteen minutes of fame, or a distortion and looseness of the mind.

My acute eyes move to peer at the moon, and I feel a mixture of cold loathing and awed respect. The moon is my Life, the creator of my Existence. The moon is what gave me this never-ending life, this unimaginable wish and this unbreakable curse.

My sharp canines ache and feel numb from the emptiness in my veins. My lips sting and tingle, and I run my tongue over them in an attempt to soothe them.

Alone… Why must I always be alone, with the coldly distant moon as my one and only companion? My heart—which beats with a deep thump only once a month at the rise of a full moon—feels dark, and I know that I am empty. This life has stripped me of my humanity, and my emotions. I am a creature of the dark, destined to lurk in the shadows and be feared by humans of every kind. I was born to feel only anger, lust, and the evil satisfaction that comes with the biting of a warm human neck.

I am destined to be alone.

A soft whistling and the clanking of a swinging, glowing lantern echo through my ears, and I pull back the hood of my cloak. My dark auburn hair trails down my back as I shake it out to catch the moonlight, readying myself for the hunt.

Alone…

My fangs sharpen and elongate, and I run my tongue delicately over the tips. I close my eyes and breathe in deeply, smelling the crispness of deep autumn and two beating hearts.

I know that I am a predator, a hunter. Then why—

A soft hiss escapes my throat, and I open my eyes and raise them. The raven, catching the sight of my shimmering silver eyes, flies away in a flurry of caws and a rain of feathers. I cast only a glance after it before crouching and slinking on silent feet to the path where the wanderer treads. The man is still young, and his whistling is cheery. Never once does he realize that he is being watched…followed…hunted.

The blood is warm and delicate on my tongue, and the aching of my fangs is at last relieved. My eyes have returned to their normal green luminescence, and my long hair dances in wild tendrils around my face. I raise my chin, looking to the moon, and stand, leaving my victim on the earth as I lick my fangs clean. My heart feels a slight pang, and I nearly wince at the wild fury that suddenly tears through me.

—do I feel so lost?





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