Status: Still being written, going to update it every once in a while when I improve it.
The New World Order
Chapter 3 (Escape)
There was a long time, 62 years to be exact, until I next met the Templar Vampires; 62 years until I learnt that they really could hold a grudge.
I lived my 62 years of freedom in relative peace, other than the near constant need for blood; the everlasting fear of being found; and the conscious nightmares that plagued me. The hunting of innocent people that seemed so easy to me at first didn’t take long to get to me. And once it began to get in my head, it just dug deeper.
Every night I lay with the images of murdered innocents in my mind, no sleep to free me; no death to liberate me.
There was a short time that this constant bombardment of guilt got on top of me, and that I began to make more guilt to later feel. In this time that I lost all of my human sanity, I fed for the wish of shedding; seeing and sometimes drinking blood. As opposed to the time before where I had fed for necessity, not a Quentin Tarrantino style blood obsession. Obsession, as a matter of fact, was the perfect word for my lusting for blood. If I wasn’t out being a murderous ghoul, I was pretending to be dead so that I could be found, taken to a hospital, and sneak out of the morgue at night to steal blood packs from the medical supplies. More often than not, unfortunately, I was a ghoul. Fresh, it would seem, was always much better. And the blood packs in these hospitals were always refrigerated; and it was always so much more satisfying just around body temperature. “The way blood should be.” As an undead Subway fan would say.
I lived my 62 years of freedom in relative peace, other than the near constant need for blood; the everlasting fear of being found; and the conscious nightmares that plagued me. The hunting of innocent people that seemed so easy to me at first didn’t take long to get to me. And once it began to get in my head, it just dug deeper.
Every night I lay with the images of murdered innocents in my mind, no sleep to free me; no death to liberate me.
There was a short time that this constant bombardment of guilt got on top of me, and that I began to make more guilt to later feel. In this time that I lost all of my human sanity, I fed for the wish of shedding; seeing and sometimes drinking blood. As opposed to the time before where I had fed for necessity, not a Quentin Tarrantino style blood obsession. Obsession, as a matter of fact, was the perfect word for my lusting for blood. If I wasn’t out being a murderous ghoul, I was pretending to be dead so that I could be found, taken to a hospital, and sneak out of the morgue at night to steal blood packs from the medical supplies. More often than not, unfortunately, I was a ghoul. Fresh, it would seem, was always much better. And the blood packs in these hospitals were always refrigerated; and it was always so much more satisfying just around body temperature. “The way blood should be.” As an undead Subway fan would say.