Death is Only the Beginning: A Guide to Vampirism

Seven: One Bite at a Time

I learned to live

One breath at a time

Scared and curious.

I learned to walk

One step at a time

Unsteady and unpredictable

I learned to talk

One word at a time

Slow but steady.

I learned to live

One step at a time

Unsteady and unpredictable.

"Quietly."

"Shush."

"You're moving too loudly. Softer steps."

"Grrrrr."

It isn't the werewolf growling, it's me. Wolf boy over there is trying to smother another bout of unmanly giggles with his hand covering his mouth. Who invited him along anyhow? So what if I'm not a great hunter yet? I'm new at this! And I'm hungry. And I feel yucky again. And I just want to get this whole awful thing over and done with. They really should cut me some slack and not yuck it up like I'm some sort of one-woman comedy show.

For days, these guys had been following me and critiquing my (I can admit it) pathetic hunting skills. Can't they give me any better advice than 'quietly' or 'blend into the shadows'? Maybe I'd be blending a little better if someone actually showed me WHAT I WAS SUPPOSED TO DO! Like HOW to blend into shadows? How is cracking up EVERY SINGLE TIME I try to be stealthy helpful?

Gabriel says 'you just do'. Thanks, real helpful.

It's not like I can morph into a shadow on a whim.

Or can I? Hmmm... I have to remind myself to check up on that when I get home. Maybe there's an easy index in the back of the book. One of these days, I'll check.

Maybe I'd have better luck hunting if I did.

It's been about a week now since I've started my training. And each night, I fail to catch my prey, and each night I feel like a failure when they shove a paper cup and straw into my hands to make sure I don't starve. We now always carry the exact change needed to buy them. At least, they don't actually pat me on the head condescendingly and say 'poor baby' as I gulp the stuff down miserably, though they might as well have. Then again, I wouldn't be adverse to a teeny bit of sympathy. I mean, I am failing at something as basic as feeding myself, which is kind of important if I want to keep on living. I'm going to assume that Gabriel isn't going to be here forever with me to make sure I get fed.

Who knows, maybe it's all just psychological. Maybe I failed because I don't really want to succeed. Maybe I feel guilty about using people for food. Maybe it's some sort of self- punishment for getting caught up in this to begin with.

Or maybe I just don't know what the heck I'm doing.

"There has to be an easier way," I whine, as I sulkily kick at a can on the sidewalk.

I figure I deserve to do a little whining. After all, I'm starving and miserable and sick. All the time! I barely even remember what feeling well feels like!

Gabriel rubs his hand over his eyes, then picks up the can I kicked and tosses it into a nearby trash can. It isn't the first time I've pulled out the whiney voice tonight. He's probably trying to rub away a headache. Or homicidal thoughts. Probably trying to decide what kind of punishment he'd get if I 'accidently' got caught in the sun or something. And if it might be worth it.