Hunger

Shaking the memories a way as the hunger tore at him he focused his attention to the screen on front of him.
Logging in to 3 of his regular chat rooms he viewed the profiles of his potential victims.
Vampires! That’s what they thought they were. How wrong could a person be?
Those so called vampires and the “donors” who served them.
The vampires were mere mortals who thought they could live for eternity by feeding on the blood of others. Those sweet stupid girls who thought being a vampires feeding tool was a life style.
If they only knew how long eternity was. 1875 he was inflicted, 135 years of being this way and no end in sight.
If they could only experience the dark longing to feed, the constant hunger nawing at you and the feeling of a life fading in your arms as you drank your fill.
Most of them crumpled when faced with the reality, realising the myths and legends were the truth not some fantasy of a twisted mind. The rituals they followed nothing more than a way to feel closer to a power they could never understand or have. There was no ritual, no “donors” to appease the hunger. The raw satisfaction of draining a life force from somebody was the power and the hunger. The feeding the only way to sustain your own life, not a choice, the option of not feeding too harsh to even contemplate.
He had faced them before and they sickened him, a different city, a different time, He had lost control that time, wiping out an entire room full of these wannabes,
The sheer terror on their faces as they cowered before him, finally appreciating what it really meant to be a vampire. Begging him to allow them to live as he ripped them apart, one by one, consuming a little from all as we worked through them.
He recognised the signs, the hunger starting to cloud the thoughts, removing the conscience, pushing his soul to the outer limits and pushing him to find the next feed.
The dark thoughts receding, the excitement of the hunt was overcoming him.
He would have to hurry before it consumed him totally.
Clicking on the “search donors” icon he narrowed the search to the region he currently called home.
Appearance and age was irrelevant, he needed a recent addition to the site, someone who hadn’t donated yet, someone who wouldn’t be missed, they would just think it was some girl’s fantasy and she got scared when faced with the reality of what she was trying to do and just never logged in again.
It happened often, the revolt against the parents, the search for “more from life”, the wanting to be needed by someone. They logged in, starting to feel special, searching for the one who would accept them and brand her as his own, not knowing that this could be their last ever contact with the world.
He smiled as he spotted her, the nearly desperate opening message. The slightly gothic picture and the depressed writings of a teenage girl. He knew the type. He had been here before.
18 and only in the next district and she was also online right now. She would do.
Opening up the instant chat box he began the gentle seduction she was desperately seeking.

Spending hours chatting with her, his years of experience quickly gaining her confidence and trust. He was right, she had never actually been a donor, all the questions from her were searching ones, wanting to be needed she was easy to manipulate.
Arranging to meet her that night, he logged off and went to prepare himself for the final stage.
Knowing how she would expect him to look, he applied the gothic makeup as he had done before, withdrew the dark clothing and boots from the cupboard and got ready to go and consume her.

Approaching the bar she had chosen, he noticed the dark image it tried to exude.
How things had changed, it used to be his kind actually ran the bars and clubs where his kind could meet and they were generally shunned by society, now it was trendy and the crowd around the entrance showed its popularity.
Moving through the entrance the dark, suicidal music was the first sensation to hit him, the deep throbbing bass reverberating around the whole place. The dark lighting added to the atmosphere, sheltering the “private cubicles” surrounding the outer walls.
Picking out a cubicle he watched as a “vampire” drank from his donor. The small tattoo on her wrist showing who she belonged to. The small cut on her upper arm revealed as he came up for air.
The small amount of blood he saw, excited the hunger and his control over it slipped another notch. Maybe this wasn’t the best place to be, to lose control here would be dangerous, he would drink from all of them, leaving no one standing. The desire to do so was nearly overwhelming.
But that would alert the hunters to exactly where he was.
All they had now were odd reports from here and there that a drained body had been found. No point complicating his life with their pursuit.
Glancing around, he spotted her, sitting nervously at the bar, sipping a “Bloody Mary’. A huge grin spread across his face as he recognised the absurbity of the whole place. If only he could show them what it meant to be under the influence of the hunger, the awesome power he controlled and the raw savage instincts it released.
But, no… She was there and she would have to do.
Approaching her he saw the poor attempt at the gothic makeup and clothing, the nervousness of what she was doing recognizable in the rapidly tapping foot resting on the bar stool.
Sitting beside her he started talking to her, continuing from where they had left off on the web site this afternoon, easing her into it, making her as comfortable as he could.
Hours passed, he not drinking, just focused on her, she losing her nervousness as he gently seduced her with words.
As the alcohol relaxed her and his soothing words eased her conscience she asked hopefully
“Am I a suitable donor for you?”
”Why don’t we find out” He said and motioned her towards a cubicle
Sitting in the cubicle he looked around at the place, the crowd had grown and the constant pounding of the music covered most sounds. This wasn’t perfect but the growing hunger demanded sating. Here would do. Let them find her here, a reminder that they were mortal and not as they thought they were.
Opening her small bag she withdrew the scalpel and passed it to him. Placing a bandage on the table in front of her he realised she had thought this all the way trough and desperately wished to be needed. Well she had her wish.
“Where do you cut me she asked nervously?
“I don’t want my parents to see it, that’s all “she explained.
“They won’t, don’t worry” he smiled back at her.
Wrapping his hand around her hair he gently pulled her head back, exposing her neck to him.
Rubbing the makeup off on her lower neck he released the hunger.
The fangs forming as he lowered his head to her neck he heard her gasp at the movement, this wasn’t what she expected.
Sinking his fangs into her neck he began to feed, the rich dark fluid flowing quickly as her rapidly beating heart feed him.
She tried to accept what was happening; this was what she wanted wasn’t it? But it felt wrong.
The pressure of his bite, the scapel on the table unused, she felt her pulsing veins feeding him, the weakness overcoming her and the approaching blackness that was washing over her.
As he swallowed every drop of the precious fluid he felt her body begin to resist, but it was too late, he had already consumed enough for her not to survive.
His hunger dissipating with every pump of her heart, his satisfaction was nearly complete.
Holding on till her heart beat no more he finally released her and gently laid her across the bench seat in the cubicle.
The powerful rush of her life force pulsing through his veins was exhilarating.
All thoughts of his own predicament forgotten.
As his body accepted the new rush of life he slowly became aware of his surroundings. Looking at the still lifeless body beside him he felt no regret, just a deep appreciation of what she had given to him so he could survive.
Glancing around to see if he had been noticed, he saw that all the patrons were too engrossed in their own pleasures to be worried about what anyone else was doing. He gave a small sigh of relief. He wouldn’t have to kill again this night.
Standing slowly, he made his way to the door, leaving her there, drawn and gaunt, a drained shell of the girl she was a few moments ago.
The hunger gone, the darkness started its creeping back into his head, the soul reaching at his mind, screaming at him.
It was always this way.

Returning to his darkened apartment as the morning twilight started to show, he went straight to the bathroom removing clothes as he went. Turning the hot water on full he waited till the fan was struggling to cope with all the steam and stepped in.
The scalding water burning at his flesh, he stood there allowing the pain to temporarily remove the mental anguish of killing again.
Replacing one form of pain with another, the only way he knew how to give his mind a break.
Staying there till the hot water ran out, he eventually stepped out o f the shower, looking into the mirror , seeing the cold dark eyes staring back at him, the flesh on his body starting to swell and blister from the burning water, it was less than he deserved he decided.
Walking to towards the living area the soles of his feet leaving a blood trail he sat on the lounge and placed his head in his hands, his body racked with the pain of his flesh, his mind a whirlwind of emotions as the blood of his victim reconciled itself to its new home.
The dark despair of what he had done settled heavily upon his mind, reducing him to a listless hulk.
Hours later he finally rose from his self imposed mental imprisonment.
The flesh already beginning to heal, the mental pain would never cease.
It was time he had to move, again. The past 40 years was all the same, a blur of moves, kills and despair. Every third kill, he moved, another city, sometimes even another country.
The self enforced solitude allowed him to move as needed, to disappear as required.
Collecting the few items he actually kept with him he dressed quickly and rang for his driver to get the car and the jet ready. It was an advantage of the everlasting life, financial planning was easy, time made you wealthy. The specially prepared vehicles allowed for travel in perpetual darkness, the enclosed cabins separating him from the people who worked for him, they never approaching him or seeing him. The questions of why he never aged or why he avoided the sunlight never asked.
Finally settling into the back seat of the car he allowed himself a small moment of prayer. Praying for the three souls he had released in this city and praying for the small piece of soul that remained within him.
Reflecting on his teachers words he had become exactly as predicted.
A solitary figure, desperately seeking the solace of death, but unable to find the release from his own personal hell ,moving around the world indiscriminately killing the innocent to sustain an unworthy life.
As his thoughts turned inwards, the images of the stolen lives replayed in his mind, the unnamed sustenance his body craved and demanded. His mood darkened with each face as he remembered.
Why couldn’t she have let him die? Why didn’t she finish what she had started. Shunned by his own kind as they had no souls, and the rest of the world being potential prey, he was in a no man’s land of despair.
Neither vampire nor human.
Only she could finish the transformation. If she still lived?
The endless roaming and searching for traces of her were tiring.
Did he want her to finish the transformation or was he searching for her for another reason?
The thought of her neck snapping in his hands bought a small smile to his lips, the pleasure it would bring, the small equaliser to the world, the removal of another predator being a small consolation for all his wrong doing. It was the only reason he had to live. To find her and receive the answer his mind craved.
He would continue to search until he had his answer.

Hunger

strangers

Risdon Vale, Australia

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