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The shame of being a vampire. The shame of draining the blood of the innocent. Some would see immortality and youth as a blessing. I see it as a curse that can never be lifted. Vampirism is the cross I bear. Living forever, ageless means nothing to me if I am to remain alone. All the women I have wooed on warm summer nights and only to drink their sweet nectar. None of them will ever look upon me in compassion. I am a monster. I only can watch from a distance as couples hold each other promising eternal love. A love I will never claim. I am startled from my thoughts by a noise coming from below. I peer out the window into the night. A girl with dark red, long hair shuffles slowly along the dirt path. Her head is bent down towards the ground as if her head is to tilt forever that way in an angle of emotional pain. Compassion flows through my empty veins. I notice that she's dressed in Goth attire. My Lord. The way styles and stereotypes change. The same way the youth has changed. Disgusting. What I knew of Goth was not this sad excuse for their recreation of it. Goth was great pieces of art and majestic structures of architect. Slowly as time went on it transcended into music, religion, clothes, and now a repulsing stereotype that smarter, more athletic kids prey upon. I never understood the way children teased and taunted each other over meaningless fashions. I guess times hasn't really changed that much.
Just by watching her and noticing her stance and posture I can already tell she's a loner, an outcast. Once I had that stance and that distinguished posture. That specific posture screams I am a victim to be teased and ridiculed for my differences. A long lost memory of myself standing alone in the park as the other boys that I went to school with played baseball at a distance. I shake my head and return to the present. Yet I remember that I know the feeling of loneliness all too well. It is clearly visible upon our faces. Her hand fumbles with her stringy hair. She's perfect. A girl who will not be missed and still with the taste of freshness. I lick my blue-tented lips. Then drift outside to meet my next kill.

I quietly approach the girl. Her eyes, such lovely sea green eyes, drift to mine in a childlike way of hesitance. I can sense her newfound fear. It provokes me. She slowly bites her bottom lip. Almost mauling at it like a wild animal. Her slightly shredded lips curve so perfectly to form her beautiful mouth. The crease in her mouth swells with tiny droplets of blood. I can almost taste it. Something in me stirs and the craving to feed grows. I need her blood now. Right now. I concentrate harder to work my way inside her mind. It should not take too long. She does not have a strong will, yet her defenses are up which could cause delay. She gives a whimper and mumbles unknown words. I can feel her body tense. Her body is petite and frail but carries a stunning beauty. I see within her thoughts images of rejection, scorn from her peers, graffiti covered lockers and hurtful words thrown towards her. But among all her thoughts and memories a dark, shadowy figure hovers over them like a plague she cannot cure.