Night.

The wind blows and blows
Your breath stirs my hair
My head turns to face you,
And yet, you don’t move.

Something is in this darkness.
Something disturbed my slumber.
Something is in the shadows
Watching. Listening. Thinking.

Silently, dangerously,
I slip out of your arms.
Now I am that
Which is hidden in the shadows.

I feel my fangs sharpen
And my nails begin to lengthen.
If only you knew who,
Or rather what, I really am.

Would you be afraid?
Perplexed, even?
No time to think of that now,
For the enemy is upon me.

With my arms outstretched
I quietly stay hidden along the wall.
Can the enemy see me?
I know I cannot see him.

Is it a him?
It could be a her.
I severely doubt it,
But yes, it is possible.

No, not a him.
Or a her.
The enemy is an it,
Like me.

With wings black as coal
And eyes as red as fire.
With nails sharp as knifes,
The fangs like razors.

I slip into the hallway,
Hoping to draw it out.
Stupid animal.
It follows.

At least now I know who it’s after.
Oh, who am I kidding?
I knew who it was after.
The bad ones always come after me.

They come after me for many reasons.
Because I revel in their deaths, maybe?
Or perhaps because I love to watch the blood drain from their bodies.
No, they hunt me because I don’t drink from the flesh.

I am not one of the Fallen.
I am not one of them.
They hunt me to get me to drink from them,
For it is said, that once you drink from any flesh, you are gone.

Suddenly. Out of nowhere.
It is upon me. Literally.
With one hand holding me against the wall,
The other near its pocket, undoubtedly ready for a knife war.

They don’t know me as well as they think,
Now do they?
For I do not use weapons to kill.
I use wit.

I cry out for him to come save me,
Knowing he will come to his death.
For he is no match for it.
Foolish human. He came to my rescue.

Using the time spared by the death of the human,
I quickly started for the stairs.
To go retrieve the Piece.
The reason they want me to be one of them.

The piece is that on an angel.
The first Fallen one.
And, oh lucky me,
I am the only one who can touch it without catching fire.

The piece is said to have “unnatural powers”
That which only its possessor can control.
I have no idea how to do that,
But like I’d tell it that.

I hear it coming for me
So dumb he doesn’t use his nose.
He walks past me
In a hurried frenzy

My heart is pounding like it wants out of my chest.
Like I need it anyway.
I come out of my hiding spot,
Sneaking up on it.

Who would’ve thought,
That an animal of such strength,
An animal of such power
Could be so stupid?

“Looking for this?” I call to it.
It turns, shocked to be found unaware.
I walk up to it,
So gracefully.

“Why have you come to me?”
It starts to speak, stuttering violently,
For it knows of it fate.
He will die. And soon.

I create a series of faces,
From triumph to agony.
When I’m done with my charades,
I pierce its heart with the Piece.

Stupid fool.
How dare they try to attack me again?
You would think that after 490 years,
They would back off.

I slowly start back to bed,
And then remember I have a body to discard of.
The human. Stupid moron.
Time to go out.

I scoop up the human and his belongings,
And stand on the window perch.
I look down and smile.
4 stories is a long way down.

I feel the pressure of my wings,
They’re stretching under my skin, itching for release.
I let them come out and flow free,
And then I jump.

Time to create a “crime scene”
Foolish human. Why do they trust me?
Of course, it’s not like I kill them,
Just my enemies.

After the scene is secure,
I go back to my apartment.
Sleep at last has come for me.
I sleep in late after my adventures.

I awaken at early noon,
Turning on the television.
I see the morning news.
Such fools. Do they know nothing?

All I see is the “crime scene”
And the human plastered all over the screen.
Too bad he had to come last night.
I think I might’ve liked him a little.

I open the fridge and pull out the cooler.
This is my life-line, my food.
I pour the crimson liquid into a wine glass,
Always time for elegance, right?

As I sip the delicious blood,
I think of last night.
Of the human. Foolish human.
My face grows red, for was that a tear?

Night.

Sherry Brooks

Joined January 2008

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