Life In Death

Four Months Later

Part ONE

It has been ten months since that realization. A lot has happened to me since then. I know how to be a vampire now and the person I was no longer exists.  You may notice (or may not) that the tone of this is different than that of what I wrote previously.  As I sit here typing this, I know that I am no longer the same outgoing, fun, sociable girl I used to be. All that has been stripped away from me. I, Lily Jade Hartley, am a beast. I am monstrous. I have killed. Four months ago, I had only existed on hurt animals but I now know the taste of human blood and it has changed me.  Most of them were bad and deserved to be done away with but not all of them. I fear I am turning into one of those feral cats I so often fed from; eating anything I can get my hands on.

I also know how to be depressed and alone. I have been alone now, completely alone, for almost a year. Ten months And counting. And it has really taken its toll. As my parents died when I was eleven, I know something about being alone. But this is a different kind of alone. I am accustomed to being around people and now I am completely isolated. Sometimes, I kill just to ease my loneliness and depression. In the moment of the kill, I feel such bliss, that the coming guilt seems worth it. Like a drug addict with mental illness, my drug of choice is killing humans to quell my misery. 

Is that even possible? To be a vampire and have mental illness? I say yes because I experience it. Never before have I felt so low. Never before have I felt so empty or alone. Never before have I been so alone. I still have yet to meet another vampire. I still have yet to meet the bastard who did this to me. To kill him. That is what I have decided to do. One of these days, I will find him, and I will kill him. I will get my revenge. That's another way I have changed: revenge. I had never understood revenge or the need for it until now. 

I have been filled with anger. Filled with rage. Filled with the need to find the vile creature and make him suffer as I have. Yes, kill him I will do. But slowly. Methodically. I will give him what he deserves. I will make him pay. 

I am fed up with this life I have. I am fed up with the person I now am. I do not like this version of myself. Although I must learn to. This is me now. To go on hating what I do is to go on hating who I am. I must learn to accept my murderous ways.

There. I said it. I called myself a murderer. For the first time ever. I have written it so now it is real. That is how writing works for me. I often don't know what I think, feel, or want, until I write it down. Sometimes, not until I reread it later. Sometimes years later as in the case of my preteen to early adult years. 

And with that, my story moves forward, in a backward kinda way.