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Choices:

Choices. There's many different types of choices and each is based on a different reasoning which lead to differing results and consequences. There's the choice of what you will have for breakfast; toast or cereal? Or whether or not you will wear the black top or the white top. But these are simple insignificant choices to me. For I am the result of an important choice misjudged. I was given a choice on a night a long time ago.

I chose life not death. I refuse to return to the darkness from where I was plucked some two hundred years ago. Two hundred years. It seems a long time to the human mind but it isn't really. Two hundred years is only a pin prick in the hole of eternity. And eternity is as long as I am deemed to walk this earth. But I've often wondered. Is it my eternity? Or is it eternity as it seems to everyone else? My eternity appears like a tapestry. It is many threads woven together to form one final product. Threads cross over each other and work through each other and it's when you come to one of these many crossroads in a life you incur choices that need to be made to continue on travelling along your path. But it was when I reached one of these crossroads of my life that I made the wrong choice and now I live and walk the earth for eternity as a consequence of that bad choice

Innocence:

The winter of 2000. I had just finished rehearsals at the theatre and picking up my bag walked out through the foyer doors. The cold wind lashed, hungrily at my skin. The snow had fallen all day, leaving a thick white sheet over the city. I pulled my coat around my tired shoulders and holding my hat down on my head, trudged down the front steps of the theatre and headed on home. My feet crunched through the snow. My exhausted legs, carrying a tired body. A car screeched to a halt at the traffic lights allowing me to cross. It wasn't a long walk to the bus stop and I made it there soon enough. Shrugging my bag from my shoulders I slouched down onto the seat, digging my hands deep into my pockets in an attempt to make them warmer. The street lights flickered to life, above, lighting the dark street. The bus came soon after, it headlights appearing, blindingly, around the corner.

You meet some strange people on the bus. I took my usual seat near the back of the bus. Walking down the isle I passed a couple of teenage girls, giggling and gossiping. They were pointing to some man in the back corner. He didn't seem to mind. Sitting down only a few seats in front of him, I leant my back against the fogy window and studied him. He was slightly different from all the other men I'd seen before, although how exactly I could not tell. He was wearing a black over coat and black boots. He had long black hair tied back into a pony tail, covered about half way down with a piece of dark, leather looking material. I turned with my back to him. He didn't feel right. Fumbling through my bag I drew out my script and began going through my lines. "I need to know how you feel. To comfort you. Please. I miss your touch. I miss your gentle chuckles when I told a pointless joke or made a fool of myself.