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Vampires as Nooses, as Vampires

Story Time

By Andrea MarcusPublished 6 years ago 6 min read
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Photo taken by me

Have you ever felt the need to belong? To be like everyone else? Not have to hide who you were and have someone who would except you for you, with absolutely no conditions? It's a common teenage thing to want to "be normal" but not every teenager was had that feeling for over a century. Life does put certain obstacles in your life that seem like all levels of hell to get through. Most of the time people end up giving up. It's not that simple for me. Even if I wanted to give up, that would be an obstacle in itself. I've traveled the world searching for... absolutely nothing. I've lived around most places people would only dream of visiting. I've had money and love but never have I truly belonged. Not even when I was... alive.

November 19th, 1910

There was a man in the dining area today with my father. He was very handsome. Dark hair, pale skin, heavy green eyes. I hadn't heard his name. I called him Night Crawler. That's the only time I'd see him. I suppose he had some business with my father. His furniture was selling extraordinarily well lately. It's wrong for me to want to go out of my way to know who this man is but I simply must. I told Scythe to stay in my room and tell father we were going to stay up telling stories, to not wait up. As soon as I had a chance, I made my way through the window. I knew it'd be cold even though I hadn't been out lately. The winter breeze felt wonderful on my skin. I'd left my hair down. I knew its length would keep me somewhat warm since I didn't own a coat of my own. I hadn't ever the need for one, I suppose. I knew Night Crawler would be somewhere near our home if he'd just left so I waited by the street post, which conveniently wasn't on that evening. Then, just a few minutes later, I saw him. His hair as black as night and eyes shining as bright as the moon itself. I followed him until I could venture a guess as to where he was going. Then went back home. I couldn't wait until the next time I saw him. This time I would make sure I knew his name, and he mine.

Everyone one does something foolish at least once in their life. Something drives us, influences us. Most of the time people can move on from what they've done. I couldn't. I was stuck with my mistake forever. There was nothing I could do about it. You have no idea how hard it is, to not want to hurt people, not even a little. But what choice do I have? Go up to someone and say, "Hello, I'm a creature of the night, might I have some blood from your veins to quench my blood-thirst?" As if. This is why I would give anything to be normal again. To be one of You. Not need to feed every year or so. Be able to eat chicken... after it's cooked ...and not be hungry anymore. But, like I said, some people have to live with their mistake for the rest of... well... eternity.

December 25th, 1910

Usually it's as simple as breathing for me. But this time... I don't understand what's gotten into me. Her eyes, as golden as the feathers of a cardinal; her hair as auburn as the dawning sky; her skin, as pale as mine, how can that be? And her scent. I long for it, so mesmerizing, so arousing. I can't though. I swore I would never again. What if I kill her? Augh! I can't! I will not. Ah, but I must otherwise... I don't know what might happen. I don't want to kill again. I can't.

Like I said, sometimes things drive us. Some to insanity. It wasn't his fault, it wasn't even my fault. He longed for me, and I for him. For different reasons, yeah, but for reasons none the less. It was a fatal attraction. One I should have ignored. But I didn't. Now I have to live like this, and he has to live with it. No one's happy, just thirsty.

The Meeting of Two Nooses

Neither of them were expecting anything. He came in. She was setting the fire. It was "love" at first sight, I guess you could say. To him she basically reeked. It was good though, he wanted her because of it. Her blood. It was a complete Edward-Bella moment. To her he was an angel. She wanted him because of it. It was a cliché, no doubt. Since she was down there her father introduced her to him, hesitantly, I say he was somewhat smart, but not very.

"I'd like you to meet my daughter, Cyan." The man took his daughter by the hand, kept her close to him. Might I add? She was merely 19. He looked at her, careful not to take his eyes off of hers, and not to lose control.

"Hello Cyan, my name is Jakob Connor." He took her hand and gently kissed it. She was a in awed. He appeared now, more gorgeous than ever. Charming, cunning, everything a young woman would ever want. Well, any dumb young woman.

"Alright, go up to your sister's now." Obviously, her father was no foolish man, he knew what women wanted.

"But father we've just met, it would be rude not to converse." She smiled at Jakob, making it obvious what she intended.

"It's quite alright. I'm sure we'll get our time to converse." He took her hand once again and kissed it. She smiled, her perfect smile then went upstairs, in a daze.

"Oh! Tell me, tell me Cyan! How was it? What is his name?!" Her kid sister, not even 14, knew all about Cyan's, fatal, crush.

"Hush now Scythe." She giggled and undressed.

"It was absolutely marvelous. I must see him again." Stupid. That's really the only word I can think of. Her sister wanted to know more, if anything had happened.

"What did father say?" Cyan gave her sister a stern look when she said that. She knew her father would disapprove. Which is part of the reason why she longed for him even more.

"Father must know nothing, understood?" She glared at the child, making it clear she meant bad things if her father were to find out. Scythe nodded, watching her older sister change into her night gown.

"Can I at least know his name?" She rolled her eyes, flopping on the bed, looking up at the ceiling. Cyan smiled and laid down next to her.

"His name is Jakob, Jakob Connor."

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About the Creator

Andrea Marcus

I love all things horror. Writing is a passion of mine, and I hope y'all enjoy my random content.

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