Life With Fangs

                                              Copyright © 2012 Princess Gatmaitan

                                                            All Rights Reserved

Prologue

The feeling was intense; strong and powerful.

           I got no foothold of the real world outside this hell. I’m supposed to be dead. But the incessant ringing I hear and the extreme pain putting me in agony I’ve never been into, tells me that I am, nevertheless, alive. I could feel something inside me dispersing through my veins, giving me the excessive urge to eat. I’ve always been a glutton, but this was something telling me to eat, eat, and eat.

           Food! My swirling mind and my epicure stomach repeatedly cried. I knew to myself it wasn’t food I needed. But I wasn’t sure what it was.

           I shot up from where I had laid, engulfing excessive amount of air like I haven’t breathe in years.

           “Finally, you’re awake.” A deep, hushed voice said, like he had been waiting for me to wake up in days.

           I turned my head at the source of the voice, which was a man, about twenty-one, idly leant at a black post, which seemed to be holding up a bedroom loft.

           An overwhelmed cough was my response. The excruciating hunger was keeping my voice from coming out. Finally, “Who are you?” I asked as I sat up.

           “You don’t remember me?” He simply asked with rapt amusement slowly scattering on his face. “Truly?”

           “I…” Shaking my head was the first thing I did. Then I looked at the man. His face was perfect. His simple black v-neck shirt, jeans, and messy hair slowly reminded me of something fearful and unacceptable; death.

           I’m supposed to be dead. I thought to myself. And this man was the reason why I wasn’t. He was both the reason why I was supposed to be dead, and why I wasn’t.

           “You! What did you do to me?” I asked him when my obliterated memory was gradually getting back.

           He moved an inch, and then suddenly, he was already at the couch across where I had laid and sat. “Hello, Kara.”

            I flinched at the sound of his voice much more than I flinched when he suddenly appeared two feet away from me when he was supposed to be across the room. His tone was sweet but cold; tender but sharp. “How did you know my name?”

           He pulled something from his back pocket; a long Aeropostale wallet, my wallet.

           “You’re a thief…” I slowly stated, like it wasn’t enough obvious. “What are you going to do with me? I could tell you now I have no money, and I don’t have a family either.”

           His features appeared surprised, doubtless it is for the reason that my voice did not show any hint of terror or anxiety, and I was surprised as well. I do not feel anything alike with those two but my fair-beating heart pumps humid tranquillity and composure at the moment.

           He sniggered, which sent another trembling chill to my spine. “Easy little girl.” He taunted, throwing me back my wallet. “I’m not a thief.”

           Unintentionally, I caught it with perfect skill. It has a few hundred dollars in it but I didn’t bother checking if it was still there. Money was the last thing I am concerned about at the moment. If he's entertaining the idea of not prolonging my life any further, money's not gonna matter.