The Whore (part one)

The Awakening

My chest tightened as the winter wind slapped across my body, but yet I felt nothing. My blonde hair cascaded around my shoulders and hid behind my back, leaving the wind to nip at my face. I did not move. I did not breathe. I was simply nothing.

I kept picturing his smile. The blood running down his plump lips and dripping off his chin. A God. He was a God. Something most women can't even imagine up. His chest hovered over my 5'5 frame and his hands, although rough from work, felt like velvet on my skin. He owned my body, my mind, and my heart. But yet, he killed me.

I ran my brittle finger up my arm and rested it over my heart. If it were beating, I am sure it would break once more. Why is it not beating? How can one, who is dead, climb out of their tomb on a dark winters night and contemplate life without the devil himself guiding their every move?

My mind wondered for hours as I stood in that same spot. Perhaps I was in shock, or perhaps I wanted to die again. Eventually the sun came up and reflected off the snow and it burned my skin. If i could cry, I would have. Horrible blisters painted my body and even as I ran, the wind did nothing to sooth the burn. I found an old house just outside the graveyard and I smashed through a window just to stop myself from combusting. Where the strength came from, I will never know. Or perhaps understand.

I sat on the kitchen floor in a strangers home and screamed. Screamed for the confusion. For the pain. For Elijah. As I came down from my manic behavior I noticed the blisters slowly fading and also a noise stirring from upstairs.

A man came into view and suddenly I could remember what fear felt like. This man, with long blonde hair and teeth like razors, took his nail and slit his wrist. Still in shock, I sat there calmly and watched him. His eyes held no emotion as he walked towards me and just as I went to back away, he grabbed a fist full of my hair and brought his wrist to my mouth.
Heaven. I had tasted Heaven.