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

Monday, April 29, 2013

June 1, 1952 - Rampur

     With her face buried in my chest, Kate paints my shirt with her tears. I hold her against me whispering sweet assurance in her ear and stroking her hair with my hand softly. The night had started off as a simple surprise for her latest boyfriend but it soured quickly when she found him in bed and not alone. The thing about vampires is, we tend to overreact, probably because nobody can really stop us when we do.
     One phone call to me and her problem was solved. It did take longer than I intended but only because I didn’t want to end his pain and so now due to the fleeting darkness, we are obligated to spend the day lying in some neighbor’s crawl space, listening to the sounds of a real life above us. I hold her as the blood on my hands blends with the dirt, making a sticky paste on my fingers, because holding her is what she needs me to do. 

Monday, April 15, 2013

July 14, 1664 – Paris

     The immense room holds one of the most pleasing smells that I have ever come across. The heavy scent of leather caresses my nose as my eyes dance over the spines of the loosely bound books and scrolls.  Like a great hall, the Mazarine Library boasts rows of tables for those few patrons that are capable of reading well to enjoy the vast selection. There are many hours of darkness left tonight and I will spend every one of them here, perusing the literature.
      I will spend my time alone, carefully avoiding the attention of the humans. They would surely suspect my abnormality when I leap across the room to sit on stacks of books comprehending the writings faster than a human’s eyes can move. Luckily, this is not a popular place at this hour but there was one human, the librarian. I lick my lower lip, tasting his blood as I trail my fingers along the books, streaking them with crimson.  What a beautiful sight. My two favorite things.

Monday, April 8, 2013

October 9, 1520 - Athens

     I miss the sun. I miss the way it warms my skin. I miss the way the rays danced across everything I loved, making them brighter, better, and more beautiful. But the moon is often forgotten by the day-dwellers. They overlook its simplicity, its gentle pull on the world and the ones in it. Unlike the sun, it is a beckon of light to a dark species. It casts shadows of the trees around me, covering the forest floor. I stare at its nearly perfect circle, listening to the howls in the distance.
     Werewolves are oblivious to the effect the moon has on me. While it calls to them, caressing their wolf form with its gentle glow and they howl in loyalty to it, they call to me. The sounds of their pleas are easy to track and they lure me to them with the promise of a massacre. There is an unexplainable pleasure in bringing down a pack single-handedly. Watching their blood spill across the grass as their bodies shake and shift into the human they pretend to be and silence left by their last breathes bring me peace.  

Monday, April 1, 2013

February 24, 1890 – Rio de Janeiro

     Lent begins tomorrow. For the humans here, it means giving up their biggest pleasures. Forty days of prayer and fasting. Every year, I struggle. Forty days without blood. My skin grows ice cold, pale, and appears sunken. My throat burns until my body trembles from the pain. Crying silently as the monster inside claws at my will, I find myself muttering the same unheard prayers for death to take me.    
     Our newest vampire wonders why I suffer through it at all. And as I watch the humans dancing in their brightly colored clothes, celebrating only the way humans can, I explain it to him. Forty days worth of blood will spill on Easter, quenching an insatiable thirst. I will bask in crimson, letting it wash away my pain, and I gorge like a glutton until exorbitant strength seeps from every pore.