Sebastian's Point of View
On my stomach i stare into the small reflecting pool. I gaze into my reflection, only feeling a brief flash of humor pertaining to the rumor of this impossibility. And why am i gazing upon myself, you might ask? But that is it- I am NOT gazing upon myself, unlike the concieted attitude of modern day society, but SEARCHING for myself. I can see the me everyone else percieves, the young boy just past manhood- not really, i remind myself, the new age of legal adulthood is 18, not 16. I sigh, reminicing for the days of old. The land of today is a troubled one, confusing and not at all as straightfowards as it used to be. The reflection sighs back at me, eyes having gone completely red from hunger and the desire to mate with that boy. That boy.... Whatever is his name? Was it ever mentioned? I think back to our brief moments together, attempting to recall any memory of his title. None come forward. I hear the tiny wet sound of water forcefully meeting another liquid. I look down, find that the tiny reflecting pool has become as rippled as if it was having it's only little storm, and that a tear drop from mine own eyes has caused such a disturbince. Lightly i brush my fingertips over the snail-trail of black, the colour of my tears and my soul, and press them to my lips. All i taste is a long ago broken heart. Once agian gazing into the tiny pool, I look upon my reflection now creased and distorted, and i find it suiting. I am a rippled, ugly creature, No longer human but still loving them- and how could i not?!? I myself was one once-all of my kind was, something they seem to cronically forget. But when i look into the now-still silver pool, i cannot see who i once was. I see no hints of the young human boy sold to the brothel for money, the boy who's teeth were pulled when he reached the correct age for money, the boy bought and sold for money. Money, money, money- the true corruption of the soul may be blamed on this. I look and i see a disgusting creature with a face blank as a cloudless sky, as white as virgin sheet's, with eyes of dark and cruel lips. I see nothing worth loving, and, with a sudden fit of rage, i strike out at the pool as if it were to blame, and rush to my feet. I run with out knowing where i am going, only knowing that i am running and that i still can. The feeling of the wind slapping at my face, my body, like a forsaken lover, makes me forget. It is as if the wind has gone in through my eyes and ripped the worries from my mind, and the tension from my muscles.
And then the smell hits me.
I freeze in my tracks, sending up a wave of soil and bits of leaves, and crouch like the animalistic preditor i am. I take a deep breath, feeling the smell pressing agianst me like a kiss. It is suffocating, tugging at my primal instincts and tempting me forth like a finger curling from a dark alleyway.
There are humans here. A group of hot-blooded, fresh, young, humans.
I want them, want them ALL. I NEED them.
And so I go and take them.
When i am finished, the walls are decorated with vibrant splashes of crimson.
I remember a time when my blood was like that, before i died and it turned black. The walls, the flooring and carpetting, even the cieling and the furniture.
Pretty pretty red, here there and everywhere.
I look down at myself. Surprisingly, i am cleaner than what is deemed possible after such slaughter. I mean my clothing and my skin. Inside, i am the filth crawling away from the light. My shirt seems to have gotten the worst of it, a stain the size of a baby on the front, so i peel it away from my body and let it slip to the ground. I know it cannot be traced to me, even if their oh-so-reliable-cops find whats left of the bodies, and even if it can i find myself nonplussed. Going to a jail or recieving penalization of any kind would just be a new adventure for me.
It appears I have become a "glutton for punishment".
Later, my hunger sated and my eyes returning to normal --or as normal as they will ever be,-- I wander into town, stopping only at the decrepid old manour where i now reside to pull on a coat. It is a black leather coat, something i picked up off of one of my victums, and i have found myself forever fascinated by the divots and various studs it has decorating it. I gently place the necklace i stole from the young victims along with the rest of nick-knacks i had collected from my many others. It is quite a collection, measuring the years of my immortal life in deaths, starting with the last man to buy me to the most recent addition. I keep these thing to honor my victims, for I find that no-matter how impossibly human they are it makes me love them none-the-less. They provide me with the nutrients i need to continue this cursed life, and there is also something else about it, something sensual, something indescribable. But anyhow, I eventually make my way into town, to wander among these beautiful, fragile creatures, them not sensing the death in their midst. I am as the shark among fish, but discreetly hidden in plain sight. I have noticed, that even if they do notice the danger among them, they tend to ignore it. They tend to shun anything that doesn't fit into their idyllic lifestyle, either that or try to kill it off. Many have tried the second option on me, and just as many have had a belonging added to my collection. I let a sigh escape my lips as i watch them all hustle about, some with purpose and others who will never have one, some with home in mind and others who have none. People watching is one of my favourite past times, for it allows me to become better acquainted with my food and keep up with the times --unlike those who would rather sit and rot away of their own accord, then come back centuries later and expect the world to have stayed the same. What most fail to notice is the consistent inconstancy that seems to follow humans around like a faithful dog. The dresses or old toned down, in fact the whole entire wardrobe completely changed from what it was at my time. Women aloud to dress as men were once only alowed to, men wh dress like women and those who aren't either dressing as what ever they want. Young girls walking down the street -- ahh, here are some, devoid of self respect as the let everything hang out-- dressing as if they are whores waiting for their next customer around everycorner, shorts like underwear and breasts dangling in practically-see-through shirts. Women no longer wearing corsets to displace organs and bend ribs in a attempt to make themselves thinner- no, now they have something called "spanks", or somewhat along that line. People wearing leathers and silks and plain cottons, every colour or pattern, sequined, "badazzled", or studded. But their minds, on a basic level, i find have stayed pretty much the same. The desire to hate is there, the desire to be loved, too. The need of something to hate, such as homosexuals or those of different race. The desire to have someone to whine to and to make excuses for, such as this supposed 'god'. They believe that the advancement of technology and science has allowed them to leave thier primitive selves behind, when in actuality they can't stop draggin it around with them. Through the years, i have found that humans always want something to hate.
But I was once human... Did i hate as they do? I do not remember. I do not think so... I myself have loved men for as long as i can remember, and the race has never mattered to me. But i do not remember.
