My vision is blurred by a pale incandescence. My focus finds the bottle green of the living leaves that are dangling on the trees above me. My fingers grasp the cool earth beneath me. My hair feels damp and my skin is cold. In the distance I hear the howl of a wild beast. The dawn is coming but I feel a calling from the night.

I feel an ache fill my hollow chest; an ache for a lost love. A cry escapes me as the darkness of distant memories holds me. The dawn spills golden light into the forest but I am already lost to the night. 

Never love a vampire.

My mind is broken. I am torn. All I want is to be left. Don’t try to fix me because I’m not okay. I never will be. Just leave me alone. How can you love me if I hate you? I hate everyone. Just let me go. Oh, fuck off. Don’t be a martyr. Don’t suffer me. I’m not your responsibility. Someone once promised me that God would carry my soul. But, you see, I don’t have a soul. I’m pale and empty and that is beauty. My hate is self inflicted. I am completely selfish. Don’t- please just don’t make me feel bad. Don’t make me feel. Let me jump. I want to get lost in the incandescence of this breaking dawn. I will be immortal because I sold my dead soul. I will be ancient. Just don’t come with me. Leave. Just leave.

I am fractured; the flaws in me stand out like the tiny imperfections in cracked porcelain. If you look close enough you will see that my smile is a grimace, that the shine in my gaze is just a reflection of a glassy stare. My teeth are as white as a virgin’s wedding dressing, but the sharpness of them was made to penetrate you. There’s little difference between me and the night. The speckled light of the stars is just the remaining shards of my soul; scattered and distant. Their gleam is tarnished by the dark. 

It was a Sunday.

Don’t trust anyone. There’s very little in this world I care about, with the exception of myself. I would sit with my peers, gazing on. What they never understood was that my silence was plotted, picked out for pristine moments when I became invisible only to observe them, only to smirk at their stupidity and always know that I am better than any of them. They would call me an outsider and look at me sympathetically because they thought that having a shy friend like me would make them look so much sweeter. School politics. Playground etiquette. The Plastics have an odd friend, oh how sweet they are for accepting her into their group, how sweet! No one suspected me of anything.

The world would glance at me and I would glare back with all my fierce hatred and if the world were to ever notice it would recoil in terror and disgust. I have seen the deserts, the blank landscape, the abyss that falls into nothingness. I never looked for a God because God never looked for me. I never searched for my reason because I knew there was no reason. I glare back at the world with all my fierce hatred because I know there is nothing beyond what I see. God is a copy of all the empty hope that fills our empty hearts. I now know that nothing is real and I feel cheated for it.

This realisation, this horrifying revelation came to me like a dream. Whatever I do, I know it doesn’t mean anything. It was a Sunday when my peers came to my house. It was a Sunday when I pushed one of them down the stairs. It was a Sunday when, with calm serenity, I stooped over her limp body and placed the heel of my foot on her nape, applied pressure until I felt the crack and crunch of her bones. It was a Sunday when I killed her just because I could.