She told me if I looked in my heart, I’d find the answers I was looking for. How can she say that if she knows I have no heart? I feel no pain, no remorse, no sorrow, and yet there is something there, in the back of my chest, tickling like a spider crawling on the tip of my nose.
I was doomed to walk alone for the rest of eternity, it was the path I had chosen the night she died. I could have saved her but no, I just stood there like a child would in front of a toy shop, I liked it. I stood by her side as I watched her bleed, the scent filling my nostrils in a moment of pure bliss and ecstasy. Her blood was that of liquid fire, it burned as it slid down the back of my tongue and into my throat.
Am I a vampire? Of course not! Vampire’s don’t exist. I am simply a man, tormented by the ghosts of my past, haunted by the thirst for blood, human or not. My shadows follow me wherever I go, whether I want them to or not. Am I crazy? Some people may tell you so, I, on the other hand tell you this, “YES! I am completely insane!”
None of you could possibly comprehend the thirst as I do. It eats away at your entire being, refusing to be ignored. You can try and ignore it, but everything reminds you, you must drink.
There are some that claim they are what you would typically classify as a vampire, the bloodsucking wretches that have been so bastardized by North American television and Hollywood, but as I have already stated, that is an impossibility. You don’t have to be undead to appreciate the taste of human flesh, none that tastes exactly alike. I suppose if you really had to classify me, which I don’t intend for anyone to ever do, I would be called a cannibal, a menace to society. If they could catch me, I would never see the light of day again. Perhaps it’s better this way.