And if I Die Before I Wake...

I stared at the open doorway, down the hall, and to the bloody side of my parents' former door. The only sign that they would no more attack me was the pale, dismembered hand peeking out of the doorway. She must have blown them to bits…

"A little overzealous, aren't you?" I asked. Though I knew I shouldn't have been, I was disgusted, and my expression clearly showed it.

She shrugged. "At least I have a positive attitude about my destructive habits."

Neither of us spoke for a long moment, the only sound in this desolate place being Morgan's incessant (sp?) shuffling through her densely packed weapons bag. The expression on her face was so concentrated, it was almost comical.

"What on earth are you doing?"

She ignored me and resumed searching through the bag, taking out various lethal-looking instruments and setting them on my bed.

"I wish you wouldn't do that..." I mumbled, noticing the transparent vampire-goo that remained on the weapons dripping onto my sheets. I’d never get the smell out of it…

“Aha!” she cried once she’d reached the bottom of the bag, pulling out what looked to be an old, rusty knife with most of the handle missing. “This is what I’ll use next.” She stated gleefully. It was a little disturbing to watch her dance around with it; I hadn’t known she was so psychotic. “Now, you’re going to have to give me some answers before I can do anything else.”

I looked to her challengingly. “And what makes you think I’ll do that?”

She paused. “I could run away? There’s nothing keeping me here after all.”

I rolled my eyes. “You seem to forget, Morgan, that you’re not the only one who can go on homicidal rampages.” I paused, smirking at her. “And next time I may not feel pity.”

She rolled her eyes at me. “You’re no fun at all, you know that?”

I didn’t answer, and she didn’t seem to expect one anyway. I stared out the window, remembering what life had been like one hundred and two years ago. I was tall, handsome (if I do say so myself), and didn’t have a care in the world. I was going to be a butcher. So little I knew then….

A voice interrupted my brief fit of nostalgia. “Aren’t you coming? I’m going—“ She giggled. “Hunting.”

I scowled at her, a grotesque molding of my facial features. “Why?”

She beamed at me, not unlike that of a child showing off a new possession “Why not?”

I bit back my retort that only mad people would find murder a suitable pastime. “Can’t.”

“You’re not doing anything.”

“On the cellular level I’m really quite busy.”

She rolled her eyes, dragging me out of the room and out onto the street corner. “Now where might one find more of you on this side of town?”

Before I could answer, Morgan was off again, almost running towards the nearest house.
Oh no... I thought. I knew who lived in that house. She was an old woman, appearing to be about fifty, but was relatively new to immortality. She was a surgeon at the county hospital, working with another vampire as their nurse. They did things alone and were quite successful, but whenever you heard about someone dying on the operating table, you knew who it was.

I watched from the street corner as Morgan entered the open door. There was a moment of silence before the shrieks ensued, making the very ground tremble with their volume. Then they stopped, and Morgan exited the house, wiping the transparent vampire goo off on her pants.

“Next house!”

A few murders later, Morgan stopped and looked up at me. My expression had become more and more like stone the longer I watched her kill.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, but there was no genuine concern in her voice. A bit of curiosity maybe, but no concern.

I hesitated before answering. “You act as if they chose to be this way.”

She shrugged. “Vermin didn’t choose to be born either, but they are exterminated every day.”

My hands clenched. “We are not vermin.”