A Vampire’s Vampaneze’s Laments

“I am the walking dead heartbreaker, my apologies, I'm happy you'll never understand what It's like to be trapped under six feet of solid glass, I can see out, but no one gets in.” His eyes flickered open, the automated process now by which at ten o’clock he’d wake and get ready. His night was beginning. But tonight, he didn’t feel like going anywhere. He was sick to death of running – running from police, from his family and from his conscious. He wanted to face up to what he’d done. This night, he’d not be the one doing any killing. He slowly lifted himself from the ground and set off toward the city. It was late, but there’d still be some cars about. For only a few decades had he lived as a vampaneze, but already, he despised his purple skin and crimson lips. It was time to end it. With no one to guide him, no one to love, he didn’t feel his life was worth living. A few minutes later, he was stood by a long road, with the occasional car passing. He just needed to wait for a fast one and jump out in front of it suddenly, surely ending his tortuous life. A gleaming red car was speeding towards him. Perfect, he thought. When it was only a couple of metres from him, he threw himself into the road. “Screaming at this prison, I've locked myself into, I'm sorry that I'm still breathing and that I'll Kill again. The loneliness is too much for me to handle. But the taste for fresh blood pushes me on.” Howling with pain and anger that he was still alive, he looked up. The red car had veered off to the left, straight into the central reservation. Only his leg had been caught, some skin taken and the bone a little damaged. But in the car, the young, twenty-something driver, was half-sitting, half-lying across the dashboard, arms and legs splayed from the impact of the airbag. Fresh, hot red blood was flowing onto the cars upholstery. He looked away quickly and was about to begin to limp away, but the sight of the blood had tempted him. He clenched his fist tightly, digging his sharp nails in. But the temptation. It was simply too much for one of his kind to bear. He ran over to the car, yanked the door from its holdings and drew sharply on one of the man’s many wounds. Once the drink had started, the driver hadn’t stood a chance. He was dead. All of the blood, every single tiny drop, was drained from his body. Once finished, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and

screamed at the sight of the blood. He was sick of seeing blood. Violent memories of his ‘oh so clear’ past began to seem like yesterday. The The The The fear of romance pain of living joy of sorrow strength of forgiving

He had killed his girlfriend. He had killed one of his brothers and left the other crippled. He had forgotten what it was to be happy. Now, he knew only grief and guilt. Once, just once, he’d like to remember what it was like to be forgiven, not hunted down and chased like a vile animal, hoping one day that he’d be human again, peeling away the layers of purple and blood to reveal a young human boy, lost in a world he didn’t understand. I told myself the constant pain would ease the tension burning inside But the nights were cold and the days dragged to weeks, I will die here alone I will die He dragged himself from the road, hobbling madly into the dark, smelly alleys of the buildings, before sinking his long, dirty nails into his chest. He ripped at his torso, letting the blood flow down him, making his legs hot and sticky, leaving him drained and tired. He collapsed, still scratching, getting weaker by the second. The blood continued to flow down his front, angering him, weakening him, driving him to unconsciousness. Everything began to fade. He found that he could no longer tense his arm properly. It was too much effort. His other arm too began to fall limp, dangling uselessly by his side. His breathing began to falter and he drifted, numb from the pain, into a cold and heartless sleep. God help me, I'm so tired, but in my dreams the wolves eat out my soul God help me, I'm so frightened, but in my dreams wolves tear out my heart Huge, stocky grey beasts, claws and teeth like ivory daggers. They plunge at his chest, digging frantically, going for my heart. Only, they’ve already taken it. There is no heart left – it was taken a long time back now. Suddenly, he drifted back into consciousness, the intensity of the pain too much to allow for. Having a heart – now that was something he could barely remember. Back in the days when he

wouldn’t just kill for a drink. Back in the days when everyone loved him. I used to be golden, a saint in a time of sorrow, but then the turning came and I kissed The sun goodbye, don't you get it, it's always darker in my eyes, the screams of my brothers Egging me on When you die, they say life passes before your eyes. When it passed before mine, I wasn’t dead. It was just some goddamn recollection, tormenting me, trying to kill the remainder of my spirit. Admittedly, there wasn’t much left. I was losing my mind, falling to the ground, hands desperately clutching my chest, hoping to recover it. I see flickers of light, burning my eyes. I’m seeing my childhood. It was only a year or so ago, yet it feels so long away. I was loved by all –a general good student, a good son, a gifted musical prodigy – my future was planned for me. Then, I did it. It made the stupidest decision of my life. I joined them. My brothers were with me and they cheered me on. They were about to join, but saw the pain I felt – saw the absolute, condemning, sheer pain I felt – and ran for their lives. I went back home. No-one mentioned that night, ever. It was as though it hadn’t happened. That was, of course, until a few weeks later. We were playing football. My younger brother tripped and fell over the ball. I had over, lifted him up, and saw that there was a large graze on his arm. Blood was beginning to seep through the broken skin, dribbling like some kind of sauce, down his arm, making me all the hungrier. I grabbed his arm and clamped my lips around it, drawing heavily, loving the hot, salty taste of his blood. My older brother stood for a moment, in shock, before throwing himself at me, desperately trying to prise me from him. I lashed out at him, punching and swiping madly, blood dripping from my lips. Within moments he lay on the floor – dead. I fled. I feel strength building in me again. Nothing in my life is quite worth it now. But I feel that I must continue. The flavour of the blood on my tongue, so salty and metallic, makes me drool, hungry for more. But the torment, the fear and the grief of it all. Nothing could save me now. I was beyond all help. I stagger before me, by left leg dead from the position I was sat I. Anger was coursing through my veins, making me all over again. I fell to the ground and beat at it furiously with my fists. I felt it bend – my fists gouging at something. It wasn’t concrete. It was metal. I beat at it still, my hands aching, and eventually it gave way. I dropped down, embracing the darkness. Embracing the fear. Embracing the sadness.

For I was lost. Lost and never to be found myself again. My only friend was madness and I gave to it everything, allowing it to become me and for us to become one. No more would my conscious bother me. It was gone. No longer would fear drive me. It was gone. I too was gone. Never to see the light of day again…

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