Maybe it was some sick game between light and darkness...
Maybe the Universe was bored...
Or maybe there was simply no explanation for my sudden existence in this world.
How or why I was created, I didn’t know, but I just found myself awake and hungry—no, starving—in the middle of a grassy field under the bright blue moon.
Its light was calling out to me...singing to me. I stretched my hand to try to touch it, but it was beyond my reach. I spread my palm instead and watched for hours as its beautiful light hit my skin.
My pale, luminous skin.
What a fascinating thing...
It didn’t bother me when I sprawled on the ground with twigs and grass prickling my skin. This little pain told me I was alive and breathing. Yes, breathing. It told me I was damned to live and survive this world, possibly forever.
My long hair helped with protecting my face from the dirt, but the other parts of me were fully exposed to the elements around me.
“You must be cold,” a voice interrupted my trance then.
Using the basic knowledge I already have, I knew it came from a woman. She used a language which I somehow understood, but couldn’t speak. I wasn’t even sure if I had the voice to answer her.
Remaining silent, I looked to my left side to see her standing some eight feet away from me, holding a basket full of berries and a brown paper bag with bread inside. Her head was covered by a black and red cloth draped all the way down to her shoulder. Her eyes were the only part of her face I could see. Not that I wanted to see more.
Even though she was already dressed in layered cloths, she still enclosed herself with a cloak. She must have done this because of the weather. She said so herself it was cold, but strange...I didn’t think it was that cold. I thought it was just normal weather.
Sitting up straight, I gathered more of her form. She didn’t look scared of me despite my appearance or my mysterious presence in this bleak location. In fact, her eyes flashed with two emotions: curiosity and pity.
Why pity me? I asked myself.
“Why you are naked and lying there, I will not ask. It isn’t my business,” she stated. “But I have seen several men out in these parts of the valley, almost as exposed as you, too drained to carry on with their lives after the war ended and ravished this land.”
Ah, there was the answer. She thought me a forsaken soldier. How naïve.
She placed her basket down, straightened, and untied her cloak in front of me. I cocked a brow. Why would she do that?
“Here, wrap yourself with this to keep you warm,” she then stated and tossed the garment towards me.
The joints in my arms and wrists moved, and I effortlessly caught it. Staring down, I examined the cloak. It was made of cotton and it profoundly contrasted with the temperature of my skin.
This is what ‘warm’ feels like? I asked myself. It feels...strangely good.
I wrapped it around me in haste, covering most of my chest and waist. The entire time I did so, she just watched me, until she placed her arms akimbo and said.
“No ‘thank you’ huh?”
I blinked fast and arched my brows. She wanted me to thank her? I didn’t ask her to give me this cloak, so I believed a ‘thank you’ wasn’t warranted.
“You can’t speak?” she asked, looking partly taken aback.
I remained silent. I can speak...maybe?
“Alright, alright,” she quickly placed her palms up. “I’ll get out of your hair as you wish but right after you take this.”
She picked up her basket and pulled the bread out of the paper bag. She neared me with no sign of hesitation and stopped once she was inches away. With the full moon’s light, I could clearly see the color of her eyes.
It was golden. Yes, golden. A beautiful color, indeed.
“Here. It’s not much, but it’ll help with your hunger pangs for a day or two if you ration it,” she continued.
I stared at the bread with my stomach growling suddenly; and with her innocent choice of word, I was reminded just how hungry I was.
Biting coldness rushed all over my body in an instant. My heart pumped forcefully, distributing adrenaline into my system. My vision turned red. My jaw clenched as my teeth ached a thousandfold.
Thirst and hunger filled me so badly.
Blood, my thoughts cried out. I want her blood!
I couldn’t stop myself when I reached for her arm and pulled it close to my mouth. The bread she held fell onto the ground just as my teeth sank into her exposed wrist.
“Ah!” she cried out. “What are you doing?!” I picked up the alarm and pain in her voice, but ignored it. “Let me go...let me go!”
She tried to pull her hand, but I gripped it tightly in response.
Once her blood entered my mouth, I rejoiced. As expected, it was warm, like her cloak. It watered my throat like the rain watered the dessert. It was my relief.
Her blood was delicious. Sweet, holy, and nothing else. I sucked and sucked until the flow of her blood in her wrist didn’t satisfy me.
“Please, sir, let me go!” she whimpered and gave me weak, pleading glares.
I withdrew, not because I gave in to her request, but because I wanted more of her.
With a brief pull on her arm, she fell forward and landed, kneeling, in front of me. After quickly tugging her sleeve down, I brushed her face cover up and exposed her neck.
“Ack!” she cried out just as my canines met her skin.
The rush of the crimson liquid in this part of her body was overwhelming. I rejoiced in it. I worshiped it.
“No! It hurts! Please, it hurts!” she cried out.
My fangs were pointed and so were my fingernails. As they dug into her flesh, it was expected they would hurt, but somehow a thought crossed my mind. I could have been gentler with her...make this experience less horrible for her, but then again, I was too hungry to care.
She tried to escape, flailing her arms and pushing me back, but she was perfectly under my control. As she whimpered...as she cried, I continuously suck her out until there was no more blood left in her.
Until she became lifeless and cold under my hold.
I felt full and contented. Thoroughly contented. Her blood might even sustain me for a good year or more. But as I released her and she fell onto the grass with her dull eyes directed at me, a feeling of longing overtook me.
I wanted to see her face. I wanted to see how beautiful she was.
I inched closer and reached for the cover, but then my hand stopped midway.
No. Let my memory of her—my first blood, my first kill—be only this: a woman with the golden eyes.
Are you enjoying my ongoing story? Please let me know what you think by leaving a review! Thanks, J.M. FelicWrite a Review