September 6, 1664 - Paris

     My hands do not catch every tear as tap the cold floor. I lean my head against my knees, letting my tears stain my shirt. Quietly, I let my sorrow wrap its arms around me in a pained embrace. I let my memories of her course from my eyes. A sweet local with the face of an angel and a talent for cooking that I would swear she sold her soul to possess. One month is all I had with her. One month on my own, without any other vampires living with me. 
     Full of life, she taught me the best parts of all things French, cooking and… well. Never once did she ask why I didn’t taste any of the food. Perhaps, she knew my secret. Either way, she was doomed when she agreed to stay with me, night and day. Once my family returned, our hiatus was over and the reality of my fate was restored. The scent of her blood still lingers on my hands, despite how much I’ve scrubbed them. Not even my tears can wash it away. I should have realized that vampires and humans cannot be friends.  

August 2, 1441 – Limerick

     I watch her naked body until the color leaves her cheeks and her eyes haze over. Her fingers grow cold and rigid. Her clothes are scattered across the room, hanging from the dresser and laying about the floor. The sun will be up soon, shining its light on the bodies and attempting to give warmth where I have stolen it. 
     I should feel bad. I should feel the monster inside is consuming me. I should see the way the darkness has changed me. This wasn’t a vampire looking for a meal. I didn’t bite her. I didn’t taste her blood. I wrapped my hands around her neck, felt her struggle against my unmovable grip, and watched her life leave her eyes. I’ve never thought of my actions as murder because they’re not. Death is merely a product of life. But this does not feel the same because it isn’t.        

February 18, 1985 – Los Angeles

     The rain drips from his wide brimmed hat, pounding against the ground. Standing under a lamppost, he soaks up the only light the cold night allows. Calling into the darkness, his words of doom and despair reach out, grasping at the passersby, who reject his message. Humans have thought these same thoughts, feared the same terrors, and are still haunted by the same judgments. His sign reads, ‘THE END IS NEAR’ but the others ignore him, distracted by their repetitive lives.  
     Some will not notice his absence tomorrow. Some will be happy that another fanatic has been removed from the limited view of reality. Some, but only a few, will wonder where he is, if he is alright, but they will not lose sleep over him. He sees me approaching, the only one in the crowd that can feel my inner demon. As I step into the light, I let my eyes change to black and he looks into them, knowing just how near his end really is. 

December 15, 1442 - Strasbourg

      Humans really do trust us too much. I suppose our charismatic appeal makes them overlook their own instincts and natural fear of us. Tonight, however, my neighbor’s confidence in me may be detrimental. He asked me to care for his friend who is ill while he fetches the doctor. A sick friend? One that is ill enough to die... unexplainably? Yes, this could very well be a mistake.
     However, as I step in the bedroom where the ill man sleeps restlessly, I notice a book lying near the bed. The room smells of sweat and infection, only slightly masking his blood but still, I pick up the book. After all, I do not see one often. As I flip through the pages, I am mesmerized. This man will not be killed by me. Not tonight. Not ever. This man, this book, they are important. Rubbing my fingers over the title, Aventur und Kunst, I look at the man that can change the world, Johannes Gutenberg.