Sebastian

Chapter 1

"Hello. My name is Sebastian Reed." I shadowed lidded eyes with drapes of matted black hair. I wasn't particularly shy, nor was I self conscious or sensitive about attention or eye contact. I just didn't care to be gawked at. For one reason or another, children seemed to be obsessed with the idea of a new body to pick at and tease juicy scraps of information from. Children loved fresh meat. I'd had countless complaints from my mother about how I refused to mingle with others my age beforehand, having only been homeschooled before, oh, but I digress. No matter, I liked it like this. The teacher encouraged me to continue. What else was there to say? My age? We are all one and the same. There's nothing about me they'd give two shits about anyway, unless, of course, it were something life-ruiningly embarrassing. And to tell them? Fat chance.  So...
"...and, I play the violin, I guess."
I rolled back my shoulders into a shape less knotted, just wishing to sit back down and sink into the shroud of drab uniforms and blurred faces. The rest of the class lowered their heads in dissatisfaction, perhaps bored at the absolute revelation that I was, in fact, a human being, and not a stuck-up, snot-nosed brat. So much for that "one interesting fact about myself" exercise the teacher had decided to lay upon me. Stupid bitch. But oh, it seems that I was just too hurtfully boring, wasn't I? A face from the front row had decided to yell something.
"Aren't you that one kid who bathes in blood?"
How distasteful.
The walls of my vision shuddered with an awful shriek of laugher. First a rumble, then turning into that horrible cry of girls trying to giggle at the boys and the boys egging on the culprit. I didn't know schools even worked like that, but, oh yes. Kids still suck. Majorly.
Of course I didn't humour them. Of course I didn't! Over the months I have mastered a stone cold gaze towards the teachers, the prefects, strangers, anyone. No one deserves anything out of me until I'm ready, until I'm forgotten about by staff and students alike. What was I supposed to do, anyway? Stick out my fangs and hiss like some kind of starved serpent? I wish I could. I wish I could swallow them up and grind them to paste in my armoured body.

The class eventually fell silent as my vision grazed between the students and towards the back wall, half lidded, blue-grey eyes barely scanning the faces of each pupil. They didn't get a reaction, hum. Cry me a river.
I took my seat.
I caught a few snippets of the muttering around me. The ambiance of the room transformed back into its usual collective buzz of chatter, the scrawling of pens seemingly more prominent and scratchy as I called on every part of my body to block out human noise. I thumbed my own pen with agitated fingers, almost too focused on the sound it would make when I joined the rest of them in brainlessly copying whatever the superior scrawled with the superior pen on the superior board. It was stupid. It was pointless. I clicked my pen.

Tugging the surgery gloves delicately off my hands, I strolled over to the exit, disposing of them on my way. I remember my first day of school- in fact, it must be one of my clearest memories. Until then, I had been homeschooled and of course taught by my calloused mother that I shouldn't give a damn about what other people thought. At least if I made my true colours clear to begin with, I didn't have to worry about keeping secrets from people who took a liking to me. Nothing about me should make a difference to other people anyway, apart from giving them a good laugh, of course. If I decide to indulge myself in something bloody I do it in my own privacy.

Maybe, though, my lack of social skills- and more importantly my lack of giving a shit- is the reason I have such a stone cold personality.

Muttering a brief goodbye to my co-workers, I swung the door open and felt the cool air on my bare arms. I inhaled. Ah- I could almost smell the lingering scent of fresh blood from my hands-
It was a fine evening, the clouds rolling over each other in shades of peach and gold, creating a breathtaking view which anyone else would savour with waves of bliss and tranquility blanketing over them peacefully.
My eyes hovered cooly over the image. It all just seemed fake to me. Not natural at all. As if we were all trapped in a dome and the gods had painted over the top like a canvas. I sighed deeply, fumbling with the keys to my car. It was a beaten up old thing which would barely start. Sure, I had the money to replace it if I wanted to, but I couldn't be assed. All that effort and fuss... just for a shiny new hunk of metal. Couldn't be bothered.

My sister, Anya, should be waiting for me at home. She works as a vet- it's minutely strange, I suppose, the difference between us. I cut open animals and she stitches them back together. We're like two sides of the same coin. Unlike the other pairs of siblings when we were at school, we were always extremely close. Even being younger than me, she still protected me with such a fiery passion whenever someone brought up my little character flaw with those horrid smug grins of theirs. I could even openly say that she makes me smile.
Genuinely, without thinking twice.
I think Anya may be the only thing which brings me joy. Real joy, I mean. Not the high I get from the insides of a dead animal.
Oh, but it's a shame. All good things must come to an end, I suppose. I mostly try and distract myself from such inevitabilities but when the times come you can't just ignore it.
You have to face it with your head up high and your fists curled, raised, ready.