A Feral Midnight

Like me, he was a predator.

Holding the silver blade against her neck.

Heavy breathing escaping her parted lips.

I can see the fear in her eyes. 

Slash.

Blood spilled from the opening in her throat like a red river.

Flaps of inflamed skin parted like a toothless smile.

I wonder what that was like.

The few seconds before death creeps in. 

I will soon know.

I could have saved her. Could even grant her restless spirit revenge if I am so pleased. What difference would it have made? By and by, like all things, her miserable brief life would come to an end. Moreover, her killer was around 50 miles away and I had no intention of delaying my demise any longer. Instead, here I am sitting on a bench in a suburban park half past midnight under the December moon. I curl my purplish-black blood-stained toes as snow gathers around them. 

Snowflakes teeter totter from the clouds and land on my skin. They don’t melt. 

Moving here was a death sentence. Normally, the hunters tend not to bother with us too much if we stay away from mass populations of people. After I ensured the “disappearance” of a few locals, it wouldn’t be long before they closed in on my location and eliminated me. I look at my surroundings for a final time, the trees bare like a wooden skeleton, the lake frozen over with the night frost. 

She’s not too far away from me now.

 And I, a 500-year-old statue, wait for her inevitable arrival. 

I close my eyes and focus on my killer. 

My breathing slows as I enter a meditative state, and her visage begins to appear in my mind. 

A beautiful brunette with tight curls, puffy cherry lips, emerald eyes, and olive skin. 

I can hear her footsteps crunch against the snow and smell her sweat in the wind. 

...I am not mendacious in saying that it took every fiber in my being not to strike her and slowly suck the life force from her.  

The hunger tugging and gnawing at the edges of my stomach like a parasitic worm. It almost was too much to bear. 

Pressing forward in my trance, her physique began to take form. 

She’s lanky yet muscular, most likely in her late twenties. All the vampire hunters looked like photocopy versions of each other. The Slayer Academy, stealing their new recruits as babies, trained them like military soldiers and therefore they would dress the same, talk the same, and act the same. Making them a mindless puppet. No... Not a puppet. Their ranks were more similar to a cog in a machine. A meaningless cog individually. 

Often times the hunters would send a weak member of their ranks to go after an elite vampire, a suicide mission to say the very least. Why they did this was for two reasons, one to teach the newer recruits of our “insidious” nature and the second being to get rid of weaker members. Needless to say, she was such a case. 

I could kill her right now if I wanted. 

Wrap my bony fingers around her throat. 

Drag her body across the pavement.

And leave her there, shivering and bleeding in the snow like a skinned chicken. 

Or, if I am feeling ever so magnanimous, break her neck and then gorge myself until full-bellied on her blood. 

I almost salivate at the thought. Pulling me out of my trance, the crunching of her footsteps gets louder. 

Then I feel it.

Her breath billowing heavily from her puffy lips. 

Her lavender scent swirling and intertwining with the air. 

My executioner has arrived. 

Taking in a sharp, deep breath, I attempt to prepare myself. 

If I were still a human, my heart most likely would race a mile a minute. Instead, I am only met with the silent chill of the desolate wind. 

Somehow, she seems almost aware of my suicidal intentions. 

Feasibly, the academy had warned her of the bloodthirsty Count she would encounter tonight. The reign of terror he had brought down upon various villagers in his younger more savage years. 

In lieu, she found a very somber, gaunt old vampire. 

A sense of pity lingered in the dark recesses of her mind and briefly, she wondered why she was even sent to kill me; I wasn’t the challenge she was hoping for, that much is certain.

Staring deep into her emerald windows, I can see the true lust in her eyes. 

A battle, predator vs predator. 

Blood spread across the snow, like a botched Picasso painting, and she comes out, silver stake in hand, as the victor. Or perhaps I would survive the ordeal, slink into her bedroom window, and sink my fangs into her soft spongy flesh. Letting her metallic blood graze my tongue and slide down my throat as I take my revenge. 

Brushing away these thoughts, in one quick movement, she plunges the razor-sharp silver stake through my chest.

I feel the concave. The pressure. 

I cough as black blood drips from the outside of my lip. 

Closing my eyes, I try to rest.

I understand it now…

The calmness.

The quiet. 

My head going fuzzy as my eyes begin to flutter. 

The soft tingling feeling as I sink further into the pool. 

I see it now, my warm home. 

The fireplace glowing. 

A warm meal placed in front of me. 

The smell of Evergreen trees fills the small log cabin. 

My mother smiling.

My mother smiling…

Isn’t it lovely? 

...

This is what I wanted…

…

I can’t breathe.

… 

I CAN’T BREATHE! 

I loosely grip the stake and weakly attempt to pull it out. 

… I don’t want to…

Stop.

This isn’t what I want.

No-no-no. 

I have to stop this. 

My arm falls limp. 

I have to---

I’ve changed my mind.

I DON’T WANT TO DIE. 

The dark surrounds me.

Holding me in its sticky, gooey tar pit trap. 

My mother's smile melts into a frown.

The glow from the fireplace begins to fade away. 

The cold is settling in. 

It’s too late now...

Isn’t it?