September 15, 1980 – London

    The red of her dress catches my eye. It is familiar. I saw her earlier tonight on a payphone in the hotel lobby. She was speaking to her husband about the children’s bedtime and sending her love to him. Then she promptly went upstairs and put on the dress the fits just a tad too tight. Her heels have not been out of the closet in some time. They still have a fine sheen of dust in the places she missed while wiping them off so quickly. As I watch her, I find myself wondering whether her blood will clash or blend with her dress should I happen to spill any on it. I suppose I will find out soon enough. 

    She pushes her hair behind her ear, exposing the empty hand that once displayed her set of diamond rings. And she sits a little too close to a man who smiles just a little too much. As he opens his wallet to pay for their drinks, I can see the indention of his own wedding band, tucked neatly away inside the leather folds. As they head toward the elevators, I smile. Neither of their spouses will believe the rumors. Neither will acknowledge the monsters that were lying to them. Only accepting that a monster was assuredly in the hotel room tonight and it was that monster that destroyed their happy families. I will have to leave town for a while. Just a few months. Not long enough for Marcella to find me as long as I am careful. But long enough for the dust to settle some. Perhaps Italy. Or maybe America. I hear California is nice this time of year.

July 1, 1932 - Paris

   She came here to fall in love. They all do. I can see the rich hunger in her, that longing in her eyes, the way her body shifts when a man walks by, gauging her possible suitor. Her stance gives her away, open and searching but still so timid. I watch the hope dance across her face as she wonders if this man is the one she is here to meet. If this is the man that will save her from a life of solitude. But he does not even brush her shoulder as he walks past her on his way to another lady. And the disappointment is heavy in her eyes.

   Already in her late thirties, she feels the pressure of time and she has come here determined to find the one who can fill the void that aches so deeply inside her. Now she stands on this tower, looking out at the tiny people below, hoping to see the love she is so desperate for. I catch her eyes as her gaze scans across the faces here. Her smile is soft and inviting but she does not understand the need in my eyes is not for her love. The void that aches inside me is not for a partner but only for one who can satiate my hunger. As I walk toward her, my stare makes her blush and I realize just how easy this will be.

June 19, 2000 - Maldives

    I suppose it is fitting that the birthday of a monster must always end in bloodshed. Usually the blood is a gift to myself. Another year celebrated in crimson. But this year is different. This year, the blood that stains my hands does not belong to any human.
   I saw him three nights ago and he saw her. As a vampire, I take no real pleasure in killing another vampire. No more pleasure than removing any other obstacle from my path. But still, it had to be done. He saw her as just another werewolf, a wolf oblivious to him, and a wolf he wanted dead. But neither of them saw my need to protect her. And neither of them realized that I would slip away tonight and leave her warm embrace simply to hunt him.
   As the warm waters bathe me in salt and the gentle waves cleanse his blood from my skin, I look toward the small bungalow hovering over the water. Inside, she sleeps peacefully, unaware of the monster whose blood now quietly becomes lost in the vastness of the ocean around me. Three nights ago, she asked what I wanted for my birthday, unaware of the murder I would be committing in lieu of a party. Three nights ago, I told her the truth: that she is my favorite gift. She is the only thing I could ever really want. Which is good, because she is truly the only thing I have left.

July 11, 1841 - Mt Everest

     The snow swirls around me in a hurry with no place to go except into the silent abyss. The silence of the night reaches even the coldest parts of these mountains. For a human, a trip up this mountain is a completely different experience than a vampire. Humans spend weeks, sometimes months, hiking this mountain in particular. A rite, the mountain, calls them, tempts them, and, sometimes, it claims them. Vampires can do this hike in less than a day, careful to avoid the sun. Peeking into the troposphere, humans find the limited oxygen debilitating. Vampires do not need to breathe; therefore the crushing of our lungs is minimal. 
     Still, it is no wonder why humans risk so much to be here. Sitting on top of the world does have a soothing, humbling effect. Even in the dark, the view is not lost on my eyes. The world and all its turbulence is lost to an ocean of clouds wrapping around the neighboring peaks. Serene and peaceful, the mountains tower above everything. Everything except the monster inside of me. My hunger cannot be escaped. Not even at this height can a vampire rise above its most primal need.  It pushes against me as strongly as the wind here. Some say that humans should fear this mountain; but humans should not waste their fear on inanimate things.  Humans should respect the mountain. They should fear creatures like me.

May 13, 1938 - Cleveland

     The snow blows in through the shattered glass. This abandoned factory once held the futures of so many middle-class workers. Now, it only houses dirty needles of the lost and the corpse next to me. Her death is almost reflective of this factory in its own way. Once so full of life, now she is only a shell that grows colder by the day. Her dreams, her future, is gone. Floating away with the flurry of flakes that dust her skin.
     When I saw her standing in the snow,waiting for a taxi, I did not plan for her to die. A much different carnal need was driving me. However, to be honest, I suppose I knew it would end this way regardless. She gave me her body and I took so much more.  It was not a lack of control. I was not overcome by my inner demon. It is simply a lack of value. Most human lives are not worth more than the meal they provide. Much in the same manner a human values the life of a cow. Sure, a farmer might enjoy their cows as pets. But when push comes to shove, a cow is a cow and dinner still needs to be served.