I will try to explain the rules of my being and the truth behind my
mentality. It is complicated and I doubt you will be able to identify with my
reasoning. But do try, only then will you be able to see the manner of my
existence. I will begin by telling you of my past, at least the parts I
remember. It is difficult to recall everything after you have lived so long and
so alone. And hollow.
*
Emptiness is just a state of mind – if one refused to feel its painful
grip over the mind then it would have no effect. At least that’s the belief I
tried to maintain. I never understood why I felt the way I did, or the way I
still do. I never knew why I was so different…maybe there was no answer.
I barely give myself the time for contemplation, the depths of my
thoughts will surely disturb me and I cannot afford that – not with my
lifestyle. Maybe you will never understand, it is complex to say the least. I
hold neither a curse nor a gift – and I value neither. Things that are
worthwhile are not given to us; we are not born with them or bewitched with
good fortune. Strengths are obtained through sacrifice, struggle and determination.
All qualities which are often learnt from pain. I know of pain; both physical
and mental. I try to avoid self-pity although sometimes it is hard when there
little else can occupy my mind – save from my dark obsession.
One of the earliest memories I can recall is when I was…I am not sure
of my exact age, but I know I was a young child; brimming with possibilities, a
spirit anew, still beautiful. I would say full of life but that would be an
inappropriate statement. I definitely had a spark within me. My father knew it,
and I would like to think that back then he saw my worth. He damned sure has no
use for me now – but that is unimportant – I digress – basically I was alive
with the wild insanity of vampirism, as pure as any demon child would be. We were
yet to be truly corrupted, innocent in the bloodshed, showing childlike clarity
in the violence. Back then it was sophisticated violence, if you understand, a complex charade in which my sister and
I would take part in role playing lost children – frightened little cherubs
looking for their parents. It was all a game – a game that would entice
unsuspecting victims.
My sister was the best at it – she was without a doubt the most
beautiful. And not just the most beautiful out of my father’s children, no, she
was the most serene child you ever did see; Serena. Her name suited her so
well. Even as a child I knew her power of beauty, her amount of control over
humans was incredible, even other vampires were captivated by her. So many
times I fell under her spell; that was how she persuaded me to do things,
convinced me to bend unto her will. She was powerful, although the extent of
her strength would not truly be shown until she had reached maturity.
Anyway, as I have mentioned, the games we played were common-place, I frequently
took part in these whenever I had the chance. I do not remember much about
myself back then but it seems I was…happy –contented or perhaps just not aware
of any kind of intense misery. How could I be? I was taught to relish in the
pain of others, enjoy every experience I wished and indulge in anything I
wanted. Serena took to this teaching like a fish to water. She was a natural,
and Father adored her. He doted on her exceptionally; he showered her in
affection, treated her with an indulgent tenderness, dressed her up in finery
and gave her anything she desired. I was not jealous, I did not wish for such
things. Also I do not believe I was aware of any difference in treatment at the
time, I was just delighted by my Father’s reaction to us when we would stagger
home, giggling hysterically and covered in flecks of blood. He would laugh
aloud and clap his hands at our display. We would literally cry with laughter,
all of us.
Sounds perfect, even in my mind it seems bright and golden. Maybe you
cannot understand why. Have you ever just cherished a moment for what it was? –
Regardless of reasoning or sense? My family was strong and fierce. Back then I was
proud to be a part of it. I apologise for my continuous diversion, it just
might help to get some context if you understand my family. My mind itself is
fractured, a fusion of thoughts which spin off chains and connections that I
find so hard to follow myself.
If I close my eyes I can recall
fragments of those memories, the sensory elements; splatters of colours, torn images, blurred vision, distorted sounds, pounding within my core, blood
thundering through my system, heart’s pulse squealing through me. I always
remember the moment when I first broke free from my façade and the victim knew
of my true identity; my body was jolted full of such intense adrenalin, the
emotions of the prey were so pure that you could bite through the solidity.
Fear; untamed and uncovered – raw and so bitter to the taste that it blended
with the metal mouthful of blood gushing down into me. Even as a child vampire
I would change into killing state;
the transformation when my body would alter for the kill.
My internal organs would change
to digest the elixir I craved, the orifices expanding in my throat to ingest. My skeleton would reshape for stealth and
flight, cracking bones and rearranging arteries around my quivering limbs as
claws and wings formed. My entire body would heave with energy and my features
would become animalistic; eyes glowing blood-red, jaw stretching, teeth
extending, skull elongated to make room for the bone ridges forming over my
face – my sharp cheek bones growing, the shape of my cranium and jowl.
Skin so taut, ice cold, shockingly white but unreflective, slippery to
the touch but tough like leather. Creature. Bat. Demon. Monster. Far from the
angelic dark haired child I was when I was found in an alleyway.
Even then the hapless human would not die of shock, barely did they
even faint from the horror witnessed. Horror; that was what I was – what I am.
I do not know how I feel about that…I have mixed feelings. Anyway, I remember
loving how the victim would not fade from me, their eyes still thrived with
life even as I drained them of their bodily fluid, the very liquid that
animated their muscles and fuelled the entirety of their structure. I would not
share a kill with Serena, never had, never will. Vampires do not share prey; it would
be like sharing the same mouthful of food. The sharing of acidic saliva and
competitive drive to ingest the most is repulsive. After the victim is used it
is fine to share together as the second vampire may bite into the first to take some of
the fresh blood, newly streaming through the rivers of veins. A vampire bite scorches the skin of the
victim upon first contact, another reason why sharing is out of the question;
too tainted.
Sometimes we would help each other gain a victim, if one of us had
previously fed. Serena was wonderful at capturing the attention of others so
occasionally she would help me encourage a traveller away from a busy crowd,
right into my chosen territory. The memory that sticks in my mind the most was
not such a time though; this is the furthest back I can remember for now. I see myself running through lots of dark
streets, rushing through alleys feeling the night air scraping through my hair
and shadows falling on skin and caressing the puckered flesh, fine hairs
standing up all over my body with excitement. Serena was close by but busy with
some other commitment of her own. We could communicate easily as naturally we
could sense each other’s presence from miles away, it would only take the
tiniest whisper of breath into the wind to get the other’s attention. We used to
be so in tune.
The prey I had chosen was a young woman; in those days I preferred
women, maybe it had something to do with being young and wanting a maternal
victim. This woman was particularly
attractive; she had deep blonde hair that bloomed out from her head like halo
waves, rosy skin and plump, soft hands that I knew were made for coddling
infants. I craved her. When crying out in mock-pain I remember her
kind-heartedness swarm around me; the sticky entrapment of over-affection
encased me within her emotions. I wanted to take it from her – the overwhelming
saturation of her passions was too much but it perfectly represented a dominant
mother.
When I took the blood from her I felt I took some of that compassion –
probably not really, but as a child I was fanatical. She died before I took all
her blood, it was best that way. But before she faded completely she wrapped
her arms around me, held me close to her as if she too craved my actions,
yearned to be used. Once I had finished Serena arrived moments later. I had
barely time to savour the kill when she appeared beside, cheeks flushed and
eyes glassy with euphoria. She always looks all the more beautiful after a
feed. No, more than that. Truly striking, making me abandon any woes of the
world and continue to ride the exaltation of the night.
That is the first memory I have. I am sure I have earlier memories
within my mind but it is getting harder and harder to remember these days. I
cannot seem to cling to any thoughts for more than a few moments before they
are torn from me. I cannot contain dreams or fantasies. I only hold memories.
To you the encounter I speak of is an act of cruelty, a stolen life force, a
being robbed of vitality. But consider this – how is it hers to keep? Think
upon it. How it is hers to selfishly contain when life only exists by feeding
off everything around it? What gives anyone the right to keep hold of their
existence, their nutrients, when they were formed from stolen energy? A child
that grows in the womb is a parasite; a foetus would destroy an unborn weaker
twin to sustain its existence; Uncultured, uncivilised existence – survival
before it was conditioned, before you were told of morals to live by. As for
the joy of the kill…I cannot explain. It seems it is an element of my nature;
maybe similar to how wild beasts enjoy the chase before the kill? Maybe you
believe you are cultured above me…or perhaps you are suppressing your most
natural urges because you fear them?
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