These are the journal entries of a centuries old vampire, Nicolas Rider. Welcome to his world...

Monday, December 17, 2012

March 14, 1915 - Fargo

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     The luxury of air filling your lungs may not be necessary for all species but every creature craves it. Every ounce of every being yearns to taste the freshness of the air as it sweeps over its tongue and expands its chest, relieving the pressure inside. And as I lie at the bottom of this frigid riverbed, deep away from the penetrating rays of the sun, I wonder how many more times in my life I will suffer holding my breath for an entire day. How many times must I let the air in my lungs grow stale and unsatisfactory?
     Regardless of how much I think of it, I have no answer. As the sun sets and darkness takes its grip on the sky, I swim to the surface and emerge, dripping wet and knowing one answer. Those werewolves that chased me here will not have to wonder when they will stop breathing cause they are about to find out. 

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