Shiver
I shivered in the cold wind. The night air smelled of beer and fish & chips. The drunken rabble on the corner, throwing up in the hedge, another collapsing under a bus shelter. For this one moment I realised what the world had turned into, but then it was gone before I have a chance to remember what it was. I moved passed them avoiding them, thinking that if I touch them I would end up like they are. It seemed stupid, but I then realised I believed it. The streets were always like this at night, but I don’t have any choice, I have to walk them.
I stare at the people I see, wondering what it’s like to be them. They don’t seem to have any worries about the world, but they haven’t seen what I have. I pass a homeless kid, one look into his pleading face and his expression turns to fear. It always happens, kids know, they always do. They might not know why they know but they do. The back streets full of the lost, lonely and helpless. It seems fitting for me to walk these streets.
I look at them, at their faces trying to read them, which one of these people wants to die? But I know I’ll only find out when it’s too late. I want just to help them, but sometimes I am what they all fear, ready to take them in their sleep. I wish that, even just for one night, I won’t have to be this and that I could be lonely with them, crying my sorrows. They would think me mad though and I know that. I’ve tried talking to them before, they laughed in my face. They should never do that, I have a temper, and I can’t stop it when I’ve started.
I see a boy cuddled in a box, clutching an old teddy bear, he’ll do my mind says. I approach quietly so as not to disturb him, it’s better if they’re asleep, they always look peaceful. I kneel down beside him and just look at him. Another kid taken to the streets, it’s getting more common, for me it makes life easier but even sadder. The sides of the cardboard box were broken, providing no warmth. A darken blue blanket was wrapped tightly around him, I could see the boy shivering beneath it.
I roll his shoulder towards me, willing him to stay asleep. For my sake and his, he does. I pull the blanket away from his grubby neck, staring at his pulse, knowing what I have to do. The hunger takes over me, I feel my eyes brighten and my teeth grow. It’s too late to stop now. I bite down into the soft flesh, when I hit the vein, blood flows into my mouth. I rejoice for one moment, it feels so good, the life comes back to my body. But then it starts, I see memories, but they’re not mine. I see the fateful day, when he ran from his father, scared to be hit again. I see his unhappiness, and his longing for a proper family. My eyes well up with tears, but I can’t pull away. My conscience is not as strong as the hunger. The hunger rules me.
At last the heart slows, and eventually stops. The hunger is gone. I release the boy from my fatal embrace. His body rolls to shows his face. His eyes are wide and the mouth open in a silent scream. He must have woken up near the end. I glance at the two holes on his neck they are already fading. They always fade, so no one will know I was ever here. Sometimes I wish they didn’t fade, so someone could stop me, but that hasn’t happened yet. It’s my only hope that I have left. I have one more look at the boy and then I walk away. I’m always on the move. There is nothing else to do. One day a city the next a town. I never remember their names; they just blend into one. Then I think, what is my name?
* * * * * * * * * *
The face in the mirror stares back at me. It’s skin is almost translucent, I trace a vein with my finger that’s equally pale. It’s hair forever a curly white, resting on it’s shoulders. I run a hand through it, it’s as soft as feathers, just like always. It’s eye’s glow blue, the silted pupil looks too real to be true. I stare at myself, telling myself it’s not me, but I know it is. I don’t look real, but I know that’s not true either. I am my greatest fear, the monster in the shadows.
I turned away from the mirror. The rest of the room seems to be coated in brown. A cheap place to stay, it’s all I need, nothing special. Who would think death was special. Death, that’s all I am to people, but not to myself. A wave of jealousy comes over me, though is soon replaced by guilt. My mind floods with images of rotting corpses, pools of browning blood, the look of pure fear on a toddlers face and all of it my doing. Self-hatred, the worst of emotions.
I wake myself from my own train of thought. I’ve left the room behind without knowing. I find my self in a park. All the children are gone the swing blows gently in the nights breeze. My mind pictures a young carefree girl, laughing while, being pushed by a parent. Then I remember where I’ve seen her before. Her body draped across the bench, she looks so at peace. I look closer into my memory. Her mouth is open. Blood has dried on her pink top. Her skin is pale and white. Her once rosy cheeks now look grey.
I make myself leave this place, too many bad memories. I take to my nightly routine. I hide myself in the shadows watching the people walk by. I hate what comes next, I’ve tried not to do it but I can’t fight it. My body takes over, a deadly killing machine with one intention, to feed. But to be without control, to be trapped in my body while it takes up its task of finding it’s prey, is worse than anything else I know of.
A young couple walks past me, not noticing anyone else in the world. I can feel their happiness for each other. I let their feeling of happiness drown out the sorrow in my soul, just for a moment. My mind imagines me following then, stalking them, going in for the kill. Then I wake up. They’re lying naked on the floor in front of me. A pool of blood surrounds them like a moat, protecting their love. My hands are covered in that same blood, I begin to lick my hands clean, without knowing it. Tears well up in my eyes, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” I whisper over and over. I fall to my knees, my tears mixing with their pool of blood.
- Login to post comments
Post to Twitter
A little something I wrote years ago... :)
We don't call you the goddess of death for nothing helen, heheh.
I like, but just asking, this vampire ideaology seems to be taken from Anne Rice novels, rite?
A little something I wrote years ago... :)
Yes this one was I think.... or Poppy Z. Brite, it depends on what I've been reading at the time. This was written a good three years ago now, my version of the vampire we feel sorry for. But the whole mirror bit gives away that its not in the buffyverse.