I am vampire.
I have been a vampire for seventeen years now.
It has been interminable.
I do not understand the living… just as I do not understand why I am considered dead. I heal when injured; I act; I suppose I can even reproduce my kind, although I do not know how.
The living mock me continually, with their depictions of other vampires. They pretend we have a shadow government, that we are rich, that we are powerful, that we can fly, or hypnotize.
I cannot. I wish these stories were anything other than flights of fancy for young girls, analogies for sex without consequences, rape with an unwilling perpetrator.
I read, I watch, I beg, and I feed. I feed on the downtrodden, the unaware, the unwary… those who society will not miss and will never recall.
I have no other choice.
I was made a vampire in 1997. I was a young man, preparing to join the Army, and chose to spend some time on my own. I thought this was the manly thing to do, to strike out and be my own man.
Instead, I woke up unable to bear the sun, skin and eyes burning, teeth cutting into my own lips, parched and wounded. I ran, and ran, and ran… and had I not found a tree in which to lie like a bear I surely would have died from the light of day.
I woke up with the descent of the sun, still hungry, still… thirsty. Water I vomited up as soon as I was able to force myself to ingest it, and I was unable to tolerate food at all… and the thought of blood held me like a geas.
I fought my hunger for weeks, unable to eat or drink – and within two days of my making, I’d found two unfortunates camping not far from where my possessions were, and killed them, ravenous.
Blood was good. Blood was terrible. But it was the only thing that slaked my thirst.
Therein was born the pattern into which my life settled. I thirsted; I existed; I hunted.
I found my way back to the city, using money taken from my victims; I could not stay anywhere for long, for my nocturnal existence caused suspicion. I could make no friends. I knew no-one, and none knew me.
And I was tormented. I never wanted to kill! I never wanted to prey! I found myself longing to see the sun, longing to know someone longer than a moment, longing to have something as simple as a cheeseburger.
I could not.
I was tormented by images of those who pretended to be my kind: vampires such as Edward, or Vlad, or Bill and Eric. Rich vampires, powerful creatures who possessed willing victims or controlled those unwilling.
I am poor.
I am powerless.
I am hunted.
I am vampire.