Yet is it really necessary to
celebrate aging when you don’t? Regardless, my birthday tomorrow gives me an excuse to act on my sincerest
impulses. The blond waitress that bring me another drink will suffice my basic
carnal needs. She is young and vibrant with blood rich with sweetness. Tomorrow,
that will end. She is my gift to myself. Her trepidation will delight my inner
monster, her blood will quench my ravenous thirst, and her pain will spill over
my every craving. This will be slow and extensive. I will let her pain and my pleasure linger. Her blood will run warm. There will be screaming. So much
screaming. And it will satisfy me.
These are the journal entries of a centuries old vampire, Nicolas Rider. Welcome to his world...
Thursday, May 16, 2019
June 18, 1923 - Chicago
Sitting in the back, I watch the humans drinking merrily.
Their voices carry through the room as though it may not make it through the hazy cigar smoke lurking in the air if their voices weren’t projected so
loudly.
Laughing, they have no suspicion of what watches them. The monster inside me
smiles with each passing moment knowing that my birthday gift to myself grows
closer. Tomorrow, I will indulge myself, though there is no real purpose
to it. Humans rejoice their passing years as they transcend through the
decades, growing, learning, but mostly aging.
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