Tonight I hibernate. Not a glimpse of a silvery beam of moonlight until tomorrow, meanwhile I'll cast myself to the shadows. Last day before crescent it's always the worst, the longest. Not only dark, but cold, so cold that it numbs my fingertips and toes. To the flickering feeble flame of the fire pit, my eyes finally shut. Weariness. The crackling sound of the embers slowly fades, joining the murmur of the spring, brushing the rocks inside the cave to hum a lullaby to my fatigued existence.
Soon dawn will break, but that's not the light I wish to see, the one I need. Vampires, never fond of sunlight, prefer lurking in the shadows, but not me. While in complete darkness my relatives feast, I sleep. I feed on moonlight. Some call it a birth defect, a genetic disorder only one in a thousand suffer. Others think of me more like a werewolf. I thank God, Satan or nature hair doesn't grow on my skin and it's plainly evolution, a mutation that offers me an alternate diet, another way of living. A parasite nonetheless, a monster that always kill. Even though blood streams through my veins cold and thick, it's not on blood I rely to live. That makes me even more dangerous... I murder for pleasure and the moon fuels me.
I think and think until my last thought scampers away with the morning star. A few more hours to lay down. Today I hibernate.
My skin tingles to the gentle touch of the night. Through a crack on the stony wall, the first ray of light, glittery, whitish light squeezes through, dimly illuminating the interior of the grotto. Dust swirls ascend from the moistened floor. A smile curves on my thin lips while I saunter my way towards the cave's opening where the brightness seduces me out.
Moon-bathing my nakedness, I stand by the creek, feeling once more replenished. Splashing in the shallow water, I open my arms wide, as if to embrace the light that engulfs me. It is just for me to feel, to taste, even to smell, crescent moon beams. It arouses all senses in me and it fills me in.
In the distance, cracking laughters, human laughter brings me back to reality. To the sniff, the breeze carries with it the smell of smoke. But nothing as sweet as the smell of flesh and blood. I lick my lips. A pair of elongated, sharp fangs, show to the enticing scent. The moon light fuels me, yes, but it's killing what keeps me alive. Tonight I hunt.
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