Path of the Vampire forum

IT'S BEEN A FEW DAYS since I first woke up to find myself here, in a place I didn't know, a face I didn't recognize as my own. Maybe I should really be saying "a few nights" since, in my condition, I can't seem to get up while the sun is in the sky anyway.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. And being more mysterious than I should be.

To be straightforward: I woke up, and I didn't know who I was; I still don't. I didn't know who I was and where I was. I didn't know who brought me here, and I didn't know why. And after a few days, I figured, maybe, just maybe, if I started to write things down, I'd start to remember things that I really should know.

Also, I'm afraid that if I don't start writing all this down, all that's happened that I can remember, all I've done, all I've realized, all I've thought about and worried about and been afraid of... that I'll forget it all again. That tomorrow, when the sun goes down, I'll wake up not knowing what little I know now. That I'll look again into that bathroom mirror and not recognize the face looking back at me. And writing this now, I wonder just how many times before has this already happened to me? How many times before had I looked upon an unknown face, woken to a reality that I only vaguely had an idea about? What if this has already happened to me many times before, over and over?

The very thought drives a icy spear into the very center of my being.

So, if I am you, and you are reading this, and you can remember none of it, I hope this helps you/me this time around. That you at least will suffer less of the confusion, and that this will help you find answers. But I hope - dare I say I pray? - that I am merely being paranoid. And that this forgetfulness is not what I fear it is.

I hope that all this electronic journal will do is catalog the things I consider important and worth remembering; a place I can store my thoughts for later study and consideration. A way to see how much I have learned from the first days of my reawakening.

But again, I am getting ahead of myself. But instead of going to the beginning, I will start with some basic things that I believe to be fact.

First of all, I understand that I am a dead thing. Not to mean that I am some zombie creature writing this, or some other sort of embodied corpse. I am apparently the spirit of the person I used to be, taken form once more in this world. I and the others like myself call ourselves Vampires, because, really, that is the closest description that applies. I will write more about this in the future, as I learn more about this.

Secondly, I am from a bloodline called the Vedarian, though I am not entirely sure what that means at this point. Enough for now to say that my explorations and research has led me to this information. The only thing I will add is that someone helped me to find this information, though as of yet I do not understand the motivations of this individual.

Third, I am in a city called Harper Rock, in Ontario, Canada. This information was easy to find, once I had walked the city myself. I seem to remember parts of this city for some reason, but I still do not know why.

Fourth, I have not completely forgotten everything, simply the answer to the question of who I am. I obviously understand words, I know what money is, and how much a newspaper should cost. I can count, and even do some complex mathematics; apparently I can even use a computer and program software, but I can't say where I learned this, and really how much I know. This is part of what makes be believe I will remember more once I start writing things down.

Fifth, it seems I can always hear a constant hum around me. It stays with me when I sleep during the day, and gives me dreams and seems to give me hints of who I may have been - things I forget upon waking. And when I wake, the hum stays with me as well, fragments and whispers and incomprehensible screams and sighs. I'm still not sure what to make of it.

And on that note, I am starting to have trouble concentrating because of that very hum. And it seems I can hear a whisper that is almost clear, something I can almost understand. I will stop here for now, and I will try to listen more to this voice.

I just hope it's not some other sign that I'm going crazy.

WHEN THE SUN COMES UP, I get an overwhelming urge to sleep. It's a feeling similar to exhaustion, I imagine, but it's not because I feel tired. At least not physically tired; I don't think I've actually felt really tired since I first woke up. I think it's because the sun is my enemy now, and something deep within me knows it, and hides from it by taking refuge in slumber.

This has happened every day since I first woke, one of the truths of my new existence. Heh. "New existence." A term I find funny, since I don't really remember an "old" existence. Oh I know that normal humans go to sleep at night, wake up in the morning, eat breakfast, live their lives, and go to bed at night. But, as far as I know and remember, I never did these things. It's like knowing something because you've read about it, but never experienced it before. It may be true, but it's just not real.

Anyway, each day as I sleep, I find that I dream. The hum that is part of my nightly existence fills my mind as I close my eyes, a like a heavy fog that surrounds me. At first it is like background noise, like static on a radio listening in on a frequency that just isn't receiving anything. I'm the radio, but what am I listening to? I'm not sure how long this part really lasts, but it does seem like a long time. Many days it seems almost like a lulabye, and my mind almost shuts down the way my body does.

But before that happens, the fog lifts. Not like a curtain pulls away and reveals the actors on a stage, but more like a camera that slowly comes into focus. This still isn't quite right though, since that would imply that I see just one thing. Instead, I see many things, many images, all at once. It starts as a trickle of two or three, then they are joined by others, each moving, flashing, racing along. At the same time, the hum becomes a cacophony of voices, each vying for my attention. Listen here. No, listen to me. Hear me. Know me. Feel me. Take me.

Sometimes, overwhelmed, I think I try to scream. But I don't know if I do, as the sound of the multitude fills me and I hear nothing else. Perhaps I do scream, and it is drowned in the torrent, a small droplet in the river, no, a sea, raging out of control. I am the droplet, and I am carried by the winds, pushed by the water, then lost among the others, submerged, scattered, broken and dispersed.

And along with the voices, the noise, the endless rush of sound that isn't sound, I can feel. Pain, agony, distress. Melancholy, depression, repression, regret. Happiness, longing, sadness, envy. Love, hate, fear, excitement. Lust, apathy, disgust, adoration. They pull me this way and that, and it makes me wonder what am I really feeling, who am I among these sights, sounds, thoughts and feelings. I am drowned, I am lost, I become nothing and everything.

This is why I think I don't sleep to rest during the day. I have these dreams when I close my eyes, dreams that I don't think should give me any kind of rest. But when I waken, when the images dim and fall away, and the shadowy fog returns, and the din recedes to a manageable hum, when I open my eyes I am no more tired or rested than I was when I lay down to sleep. At least, I that's what I think.

TODAY I TRIED to single out one of the images in my dreams, one of the voices vying for my attention, in the hopes that it will give me answers to who I am. Though I guess it would be more like "who I was" actually. It didn't matter which one, even being able to make sense of just one of the images, visions, sights, sounds, whatever I should call them, would, I think, be a minor victory. Seeing just one would probably let me learn more than I already knew.

I write this now, having just wakened from my daysleep. The sun is just minutes past the horizon, and I feel tired deep inside, but I have to recount the events of the past few hours, or I may forget them later on.

I don't know if I can consider it a success, but I was able to do more than simply be carried by the waves this time. As soon as the sun came up on the horizon I couldn't see, as soon as the weight on my eyes was unbearable, the fog came upon me, the cacophony started to rise, the images began to take shape. I struggled and fought, though, seeking to focus one any one thing. As I didn't care which one, I tried to reach for whatever I felt was "closest" and I pulled myself towards it.

I thought that it would be a titanic struggle, a solitary ant against a mountain, but after a whirlwind of visions and noise, one image began to sharpen, its voice started to become clearer. The others were still there, the images still at the borders of my mind's eye, the other voices becoming the familiar hum I lived with nightly, but the one image had greater clarity, and soon I could understand a voice.

"Do you know where my car keys are?" one voice asked, and the vision turned to face the voice. A man stood before me, light grey suit, blue tie, white shirt. Greying hair, crow's feet at the sides of his eyes that seemed just a little tired. But he had the hint of a smile on his middle-aged face. Around him, a well-lit room, perhaps part of a home. His home, something whispered to me.

"Have you tried the kitchen table?" a woman's voice answered with a question. As close as I felt she was, I couldn't tell where she was speaking from, but I couldn't look around to find her, couldn't make the vision turn. The man laughed, and muttered something, and the vision seemed to recede and pull away.

I was drawn once more into the whirlwind, how long, i do not know. But soon another vision came into focus without my willing it to be so. A small child was playing on a front lawn, his little plastic toys scattered on the cut grass. Behind him, a colorful tricycle, plastic and rubber scratched and dirty with use, lay on its side, one wheel still spinning lazy circles.

He was probably no more than three, yet I could not see anyone watching him aside from me. For a moment, I felt a slight worry, then he laughed, his face shining in the sun as he bumped his little plastic figures together. I could see that his face and hands were slightly muddied, his clothes just a little dirtier than he was. For a moment I felt myself smile as I watched, then I felt a jerk, and the image pulled away again.

Yet another vision, two men, black suits and ties, eyes cold and dead, haircuts as military and precise as they way they stood in front of a large table. The room they were in was grey, and even colder than their eyes. nothing adorned the walls, and even the light that shone in it felt dead and lifeless.

There was a voice, gravelly and deep speaking to them, about methods and procedures and failure. I cannot remember, or perhaps could not understand it all. But he spoke of zombies and dead things, and weapons caches and the need to keep things under control. "Kill them," I heard clearly, then his voice seemed to mash together into a loud murmur.

I tried to listen more closely, willing things into clarity, but soon I felt an even fiercer tug, and again I was again surrounded by the chorus of sights and sounds, the chaotic dance I took part of and was subjected to with each daybreak, until the sun set. I think I must have tried to again to find even just one other image, one other vision, something that would help me make sense of what I had seen and heard. But I don't think there was another through the day.

That, or maybe I don't remember. Again, maybe I'm being paranoid, but it's started to occur to me that maybe I'm even forgetting little things even as I think of things that I do remember. And somehow I do know that most people don't remember their dreams; though experiencing the whirlwind every daytime, and actually remembering as much as I do does suggest yet another way I am not like most people. I need to shake these thoughts off, though; there's little I can do about them right now, in any case.

I woke again when the sun was down, and the hum replaced the chaos once more. This time, however, I actually felt tired upon waking, and I felt the hunger even stronger than in previous days. Had I failed to mention this before? I am a vampire, after all, and I need blood. That much the myths and stories got right. I believe I need to feed. I have questions, but those will have to wait.

I should tell these things to my sire, perhaps she will have answers for me.

I DON'T REALLY REMEMBER the first real thought I had waking up. I'm pretty sure I had a lot of chaotic ones, full of nonsense and fragments. I do vaguely recall that it was much like how I have awakened every evening since when the sun goes down. The chaotic images, sounds, voices, a lifting of the veil, a thinning of the fog. Then my eyes opened to my new life.

The first person I met was my sire. It was she who explained what I was now, and what I needed to do to survive as a new vampire.

Vampire. I do remember what I thought when I first heard the word. It fits. The first thought I had when I was told that I was a vampire now was that, it fits. I was a vampire. I felt like I always was, that the life I had no more memory of wasn't my real life, that this existence, was what I was always meant to be.

Perhaps that is why I cannot remember what I was, who I was before I woke as a vampire. Maybe it's because it was something I discarded, something I had no more use for. This is a good change, a good, different thought from my nightly paranoia. There seems to be some sense to this, but I still fear that I will continue to forget things in the future.

One of the first things she taught me was that I needed blood. Pig's blood, specifically. That was what she fed me soon after I woke that first night. Some part of me remembered that a normal human should feel some revulsion at the thought, but I drank it greedily, almost uncontrollably. Until then, I didn't realize that I was hungry, and as I continued to drink, I felt something like warmth spread through me, through my body, into my arms and legs. I even felt a tingling in the tips of my fingers.

Right then, I felt the sensation collect on a spot on my chest that, until then, I had not noticed was painful. Somehow I had been wounded before now, but I could feel the blood attempting to heal me, to regenerate the damaged tissue, to remove the pain and calm what I had for nerves.

According to my sire - that was the word she used to refer to herself - I had been wounded before she turned me. I suspected there was more to the story, and eventually she did tell me the rest of it, but at the time I didn't press the issue. Instead, I accepted all she told me, eager to learn, much like how a newborn would, I guess. After all, that's what I was: a newborn vampire, wiped clean of my old life, hungry to learn. And also simply hungry. I think I had another two cups or so. Likely, more.

Thankfully, it turned out she had a refrigerator full of pig's blood, and we had little risk of running out that night. Eventually, however, my sire also taught me where I could get it by myself. There were shops, butchers, mainly, who had little use for it, who sold it with little question. There were also other shops, that sold other things that caught my eye and my imagination as well. Worst case, pig's blood could be stolen; apparently I had a bit of skill in that department, and my sire was even far better than I. So there was and is little risk of me ever going hungry.

All the while, though, something did nag at me. At some point I realized that, like the vampires in the books and movies I could not remember having watched, and yet could remember in some detail, I had fangs. I could feel them with my tongue sometimes, and I suspected they were not some vestigial aspect, some leftover thing from an evolutionary path I knew nothing about. They were sharp, and I could expose or retract them at will.

If we were meant only for pig's blood, why did I have fully functional fangs? Perhaps one way to think about it was that drinking pig's blood could be safer in terms of the quality of the blood, that it was, to have no better way to say it that comes to mind, healthier. Perhaps that was what my sire was teaching me, a better way to be a vampire, a path she walked and believed I should walk as well. I kept my suspicions and realizations to myself, but conceded that my sire should know more than I, in any case.

However, I could remember things about vampires, things I possibly heard about in the past life I have no recollection of now. Among the things I could remember was that vampires did drink blood. Human blood. That vampires killed humans for their blood. Again, I kept this to myself.

Among other things that my sire taught me is that the sun is a bane to us. As I have said, I cannot muster the strength nor will to rise during the day, and I've been told that the sun means death should I ever walk beneath it. These things were the same as what I already seemed to know about my kind, again likely from books and films I had seen in the past.

I've also been taught that we must hide what we are from the masses of ignorant humanity around us. Not my sire's words exactly. The thought was new to me, something I had maybe never come across or considered. When I thought about this, I suspect it was, again, for our own safety. That humanity would not understand us, that they would fear us.

And I remember that humanity often destroys what it cannot understand or control. So let them be unaware. There are many more of them, I think, and I rather like my new existence. Let them be ignorant of the things that go bump.

I HAVE FOUND that I find some enjoyment in watching people. One cold night, I felt drawn to the roof of an apartment building, and stared up into the skies. And while I found the stars to be beautiful, and was, for a long while, lost staring up into them, my eyes eventually fell to the somewhat busy street below. Down there were people, normal human beings, going along with their lives, blissfully unaware of we things in the shadows.

That night, I watched a young man and woman walk down the street. The man had his arm around the woman, and they talked in hushed tones, their lips moving in a rhythm I couldn't follow. Their faces betrayed tiredness, but they seemed content. With each other, with the fact that they were going home, perhaps enjoying the beautiful night.

On the street corner behind them, an older man in a faded colorful shirt, and torn jeans, sat before an open guitar case, his guitar in his hands. He played with what seemed to me was practiced skill, though I could barely make out the strains of his guitar from my perch above him. I leaned forward slightly for a better look, and I could see his face wrinkled in concentration, the days-old growth of hair only accenting his street artist look.

Somewhere directly beneath me, someone stepped out from the apartment building just then, and pulled out a cigarette. A somewhat larger man, he pulled out a cigarette and lit it, watching the street musician as he did so. While I suspected he had someplace to go, he stayed for a long time before he crossed the street and tossed something into the open guitar case. The guitarist nodded in thanks, and the larger man nodded and walked down the street.

One the opposite appartment building, my eyes are drawn to an open window, where an old woman sits on her large chair. The color of it was faded, and it had seen better times, but it stood there like a loyal dog, keeping her company. She held a cup of coffee, maybe some tea, and had her face turned away from the window. I imagined she was listening to the sound of the guitar playing beneath her, or perhaps watching a television I could not see. i wondered how she could stand the cold, someone her age, but she seemed content enough.

A sudden movement from another window catches my eye and I see a middle aged woman in a waitress' uniform rushing to and fro. She has her bag, and seems to be speaking to somebody I cannot see. She pauses by the window for a while, and turns into her appartment; speaking some more, likely. Then she vanishes from my view, and I don't see her again.

I looked again at the guitarist, and found that his playing had drawn another person to him . A tall young man in a plain black leather jacket, hands in the pockets of his jeans that were perhaps a few sizes too large. His white kicks tapped to the music, and he nodded a few times as he listened. For a moment, I almost recognize his face. But his skin is the wrong color, his eyes a little too round.

A car passes by, and it stops further down the street. An old man comes out, dressed in a worn siut. He takes out a small shoulder bag, then closes the car door, then offers a wave and a smile as he turns and walks towards the apartment building. The car starts again, and leaves this street.

The door to the apartment building before me opens, and out steps the waitress. She's put a long brown jacket over her uniform, but the tips of it peek beneath the hem. Her legs seem slim and pale in the street light, and I watch her as she walks down the same way the car had just gone.

I wonder if I watch, hoping that I see a familiar face, remember a lost memory. Perhaps this is even something I used to do, before I forgot, before I Became. Maybe I watch because something inside has me wishing I could remember my story, while I observe theirs. Maybe I look at them, and catch glimpses of their stories, because I wish that I had a story of my own to tell.

Or maybe there is no deeper meaning here.

I THINK I DO FIND IT A LITTLE STRANGE that a Vampire, such as I am, can simply sit on a small computer and learn about the world just like any other human would. Though I guess, it shouldn't be so odd, and I do know where the strangeness comes from. My only real exposure to my kind, after all, is through books and movies (that, again, I don't remember actually having experienced personally) made by people that have little firsthand knowledge.

Although, when I think about it, wouldn't it be funny if perhaps some of my kind did write, or make movies about us? We do hide in plain sight, sort of. Why wouldn't our kind have writers and artists and dreamers and storytellers? Admittedly, there would be difficulties, but there are also ways to get past them, I think. Would only need determination, planning, resources. I imagine the advantage of immortality can help in the figuring of such things too.

For a moment, I can almost imagine myself as a writer-poet among my kind. Except of course that I don't really think I have the talent for it, perhaps not even the patience to learn even just the skills. I am no modern Shakespeare, I'm not Yeats in undead form. (Which, again, leads me to wonder if there are any famous names that were - or are - among our kind?) I can leave that as a dream, and perhaps I can at least be a dreamer.

After all, I have dreams every day, and few of them ever makes sense. And the latest one was even stranger than usual:

Again, as the sun went down, I underwent the chaos that becomes of my mind when I close my eyes to rest during the day. I had in the past days sought to focus my visions or dreams, but this time, I had no agenda, no plans. I was not seeking any great revelations. My night had been good, if solitary, and I had spent it once more watching people from a shadowy perch, just enjoying the sight of them, imagining their thoughts and lives.

So I was a little surprised when my mind focused once more on one vision: a woman in a flowing deep blue dress. Her eyes were deep black, and they stared right at me. Her long hair flowed around her, blown by an unfelt wind. Her skin was pale, though there was some slight color in the cheeks of her elfin face, and on her thin lips. As I stared, those pink lips opened in a slight smile, to reveal sharp fangs where I imagined mine would be.

Vampire! She was one of my kind!

I felt myself step back as I took the rest of her in: she was slim but not gaunt, and while the thin fabric of her dress was translucent, I could see that there were many, many layers to it. Most of her was covered by it, save hear head, part of her arms and hands, and some of her legs and bare feet.This did not completely hide the curves on her body, which I was somewhat ashamed, in a way, to find dangerously appealing. She held her arms slightly away from the side of her body, and in each hand she gripped a long pointed knife.

Despite my attraction, I felt fear of this creature. Not simple fear of the unknown, or fear of death. It seemed to pulse from her, like a heartbeat neither of us should have. She took a step forward, and I found I almost broke and ran. Instead, I continued to look upon her, wishing that I didn't feel this fear, that I could look at her some more.

But as she took another step, I found I could not hold my ground; without thinking of it, I turned and ran. Around my the dreamscape shifted and changed. I was in an alleyway, I was on the rooftops, I was in a forest, I was in a long dark hall. And despite the fact that never once did I turn around, I knew that she chased me. And as I ran, my mind raced. How can I stop her pursuit? What can I do?

In an instant, the dreamscape changed once more, and I was stepping through a wide blue gate, one that seemed vaguely familiar then, but one I cannot place now. From there I leapt up and reached up to the dark sky, knowing it was the right thing to do, but not knowing why I did so. And when I once more felt my feet on the ground, I found that, in my hands, I held two long knives as well.

And as I turned to face her, she stood there as I first saw her, but now I felt no menace. I was not afraid, and I didn't feel the pulsing of fear as before. Instead she simply stood, her dress and hair blown by some wind or other force. And she nodded once.

And I opened my eyes; the day was over, the night had begun. For a while her face stayed in my mind's eye; I am trying to keep her there still.

Maybe I should start seeing a shrink. Are there even shrinks for our kind?

I HAVE NOT YET SEEN any other vampires, aside from my sire. Logically, I would think there are others there, as my sire doesn't seem to have suddenly become a vampire on her own. The various myths and stories that have been passed through the ages also suggest that there are other vampires, or at the very least some sort of creature very similar to one, the basis for those tales.

This makes me wonder: who was that in my dream? That she was even vaguely familiar is more than a little disconcerting, though perhaps that was simply an element in my dream. Something my subconscious has made up, fabricated, created, in order to make sense of the many things that are as of yet beyond my conscious mind. I guess it's also possible that I do, or rather, did, know her in my past life. And maybe she wasn't actually a vampire. Or maybe I did know a beautiful vampire in a blue flowing dress in my past life.

I don't think I'll continue my self-psychoanalysis here, though, or my paranoia and worry about memories lost. I think I do that enough at other times to let it bleed into this space. But I will admit that my dream has me bothered, and some part of me does want to find out who she is - almost desperately, I will admit. Perhaps some day I'll find out.

And perhaps some day, I'll actually meet another vampire. I don't blame my sire; I blame myself more. I'm not exactly what one would consider very social. I've interacted with very few humans to date, and only to either buy blood, or to speak to them to get myself out of a sticky situation. Short form: I don't really get out much, and when I do I keep to the shadows when I can.

What would I do then, if I did meet another vampire? What would that vampire do then? Would the first other vampire I meet see me and consider me an enemy? I am unclear about this, but, if we are actually predators as I suspect, and not just carrion feeders, (Not a very kind description, but how else should I think about buying Pig's blood to survive?) then there may be some instinctual response when two vampires first meet. Which means, even I may react in a way that I won't have control over.

This thought isn't very comforting to me; by what I can tell, and by my own inclinations, I don't think I was very active or even confrontational when I was human. My body is slim, some would even consider frail, and some part of me fears that any other vampire would snap me like a twig. I don't think that would be an interesting or particularly desirable outcome. And I can imagine a host of other undesirable outcomes as well; I have a healthy (or unhealthy, depending on how to look at it) imagination after all.

However, if my curiosity is any sign, perhaps vampires are social creatures. Maybe the next vampire I encounter will look forward to knowing another of their kind, the way I am at least curious myself. After all, if the old myths and stories are to be believed, we all come from humans, and humans are social creatures by nature. They build communities, create social groups, maintain families. Maybe vampires are the same.

Of course, if those same myths and stories are to be believed, and I doubt everything they say is true, then we are also demon-born, cursed things, servants of the devil sent to steal souls and break the bodies and the faiths of humanity. So, unless I didn't get the memo and we're actually working for big red pointy tail, I'll have to take what I know with a grain or two of salt.

At this point, I will admit to two possible paths to consider. First, stay the course, keep the status quo, don't seek them out, and continue as I have done nightly. Second, go out of my way to find another vampire, and attempt to establish contact. Things to consider.

I TRIED SOMETHING DIFFERENT TONIGHT, something I've been thinking about for some time now. If you/I am reading this (again?) for the first time, you may have seen this coming. It's something that was brought out by my looking into the various myths and stories about vampires, compared to what my sire has taught me. I consider it an experiment, something that could very well change how I think about myself and what I am.

I decided that I was going to feed on a human.

Once I made this decision, I felt almost excited; the prospect of drinking human blood seemed right somehow, though I admit that it's quite possible that it was all the literature That I'd read that gave me this feeling. It's also possible that I have a morbid fascination with death and blood, being that I realized that I am a dead thing from near the moment I first woke up. It's even possible that, in life, I was someone obsessed with blood and death - maybe a psychotic killer? I do doubt this last one though, but I will admit it as a possibility.

Whichever the case was, I was determined to find out the truth about this at least. Could a vampire feed on a human? I made some preparations, first of which was to be sure that the fangs I could feel were there could actually puncture human flesh. With no readily available human to test on, I decided on my arm. So, yes, that was a painful endeavor, but apparently my teeth has the necessary sharpness, combined with a little force.

Just in case, however, I prepared a short knife for my use. I made sure that it was sharp enough, though I didn't bother to test it on myself this time.

As for my victim, I chose a target that would be easy. I had recently discovered that there was a homeless man who often slept the night away in a nearby alleyway. The alleyway itself is dark and unlit, and the street connected to it is rarely passed. This should allow me some privacy, while a fire escape near the end of the alleyway would allow for an escape route should things go pear-shaped.

I also prepared a mouth gag and handcuffs, again as contingencies. Worst case scenario only, since it was highly likely that my victim would be asleep when I found him. I decided against taking the Glock I found among my belongings; if things went tragically, horribly bad, I planned to flee rather than fight, and the presence of a weapon could have tested by conviction to do so.

In addition to this, I dressed in dark garb, which was not too different from my nightly attire anyway. The clothes I was wearing when I woke, dark jeans, a black shirt, and even the black jacket should be sufficient for my needs. The black combat boots may prove difficult to be stealthy in, but I have not had too much trouble in the past days with them.

When the time came, I left my sire's lair and took a long walk to prepare myself. I felt each step I took gave me confidence I needed for the task ahead, and also allowed me to think of other things, to make other plans as well. These other things, I will write on in the future.

On my long walk, I did pass the alleyway to ensure that my target was there; I found him sleeping, a bottle of some alcohol wrapped in his arms. The only thing left was to wait until the pedestrian traffic was minimal, which meant I needed to wander an hour or two, something that I was able to do easily. After a while, each step felt like a tease, and I could feel the anticipation build in me. Soon enough, it was time, and I was there.

I stepped into the alleyway, with no other humans out in the streets, and made my way carefully to the ragged man. He leaned on one corner formed by one wall, and a dumpster; this was good, as it gave me even more protection from discovery from the street.

I looked at him for a long time: I studied his breathing, his occasional coughing and turning, and I made sure that he was indeed, quite asleep. I even prodded him once, carefully, and decided his sleep was quite deep enough for my needs.

Dirty and covered in rags, for a while I wondered about disease or infection. I even wondered if I was in any way disgusted at his state, or about what I was planning to do. My concerns about disease were possibly valid, but I thought to disregard my worry. And I found that I was in no way disgusted or repulsed by him, or by my plans to feed on him.

I sat beside him and I took the man's left arm carefully, taking great care not to wake him. Given his state of inebriation, and likely malnutrition, I figured he would not wake, or even resist much if he did. In this case, he did not wake, and I was able to lift his arm enough to get to his wrist.

I tested my fangs one last time, and put my mouth to his wrist, piercing the skin there slowly. I felt them go in easily, even easier than when I tried it on my arm. By this time I could even feel the pulse of his heartbeat, the rhythm going through my teeth, mouth, tongue, head, through the rest of me. It almost filled my whole attention, until I tasted the first drop of blood enter my mouth.

I find it difficult now to describe the sensation. The liquid itself felt thick, and tasted sweet and salty. But more than that, it carried something I felt I needed, desired, wanted, and I felt something like a warmth go through me with each careful sip. I am tempted to say that it is like sex, like a summer day, like the feeling of winning - but I have none of those memories to draw upon. It felt like power, it felt like love, it felt like lust. It felt like life.

After a while, I felt an almost uncontrollable desire to draw all the blood I could from him, to take in all the life that I could. I felt sated, however, full, that I had taken all I needed, so I stopped. Despite the pleasure I had in the drinking, the satisfaction that the pig's blood I had been taking could not even begin to match, I found I could still control myself, though I do think it is possible that I could lose control if the circumstances were different.

His blood continued to flow from his wrist, however, and I allowed myself a last taste of this precious liquid. I took a last lick, and I planned to tie his wound closed with some of his rags. But when I pulled his wrist away, the wound had closed somehow. A pleasant surprise, and something I decided I should test more in the future.

I almost laughed aloud at this validation, this confirmation. As I stood to leave this poor homeless man, now a small measure of blood weaker, I did feel the slightest sense of guilt. But I smiled in satisfaction: I am a vampire. As I accepted this fact before, I accepted even this: that I could feed on human blood, could prey on humans, and that I enjoyed doing so.

Before I left the alleyway, however, I decided to lighten my feeling of guilt a little. I took what bills I had in my pocket, perhaps no more than fifty dollars, and put them in the hand of my still-sleeping victim. I could always get more money, after all, and I believe I was the winner in this exchange.

I'VE HAD ANOTHER DREAM about the woman in blue. I'm starting to think that maybe some part of me is obsessing about her, and I don't even know why. I don't know her, or at least don't really recognize her while I am awake, but when I dream she seems important to me for some reason or another.

Like many other dreams, I found more than a few things odd about this one. Firstly, the first night after my first dream about the woman in blue, her appearance - the shape of her eyes, the curl of her lips, the bridge of her nose - haunted me. I could see her face so clearly that if I had an skill in art, I could have drawn a picture. I close my eyes now, and the image has faded somewhat, but I think I would recognize her still if I met her on the streets.

But in this dream, while I was sure that she was the same woman, and I reconized her then in a way I can't quite explain, I can't say with any real certainty if she actually appeared the same way. The dream itself felt muted, even more so than any of my other dreams. Features were dulled, everything felt unreal, even when I was dreaming. So I can't really tell if it was the same woman, at laest in appearance. But in the dream, I had no doubt whatsoever that she was the woman in blue.

Anyway, the dream, or at least as much of it as I can reliably remember:

The first moment I recall is being at a party, in a large mansion. The mansion has many rooms, and as I walk from place to place, each room I pass seems to have people talking, drinking, laughing. I recognize no one, and it seems nobody recognizes me.

Every person is dressed in some sort of formal attire, long gowns and variations thereof for the women, black suits of all kinds for the men. There are many servants going to and fro, passing around drinks in tall glasses, or bottles of some light liquid that is perhaps champagne.

Some moments even I am carrying a glass of this liquid, but other moments it is gone, only to return the next. In any event, the glass never touches my lips, and seems merely an accessory in order to fit in.

I feel that I am searching for somebody, andI believe I am searching for the woman. Despite the varied colors surrounding me, none of the women I see is her. Each room I pass is just filled with the same laughing, drinking people; none of them is the woman in blue.

I don't know how many rooms I look into and walk past, but soon I start to feel an urgency - I must find her, and find her now. I walk faster, search more desperately. The urgency makes sense in the dream, but now, I don't know what made me rush, I don't know what great need drove me.

And then, a glimpse of blue. The crowds pass, and she is standing there, looking at me. She nods, and turns, and I follow, pushing past people in finery. She turns at a corridor, and then into the room; I see the tips of her blue gown flow inside, and I follow the only blue in the whole house.

I race there, hoping to just catch her, but she is not there, there is nobody in blue. I look from face to face, from conversation to converstaion, and she has disappeared. I feel a sense of loss, certain that I had wasted my time in some way, that I had missed her through my own fault.

But then, from behind me, I feel arms embrace me, arms that I recognize to be hers. Her voice whispers something in my ear. In the dream what she says makes the deepest sense, and I nod and smile. But what is said is lost to me while I am awake, though I do keep the feeling that what she has told me is both important and true. I turn, and it is the woman in blue, she has found me.

We speak for a while, our arms around each other, dancing to music that seems to have grown out of the murmurs and laughter. It is a slow, solemn tune, and again I cannot remember it now. Nor can I recall the words and meanings we exchanged as we danced. I do remember that everything seemed to fade away as we talked: the mansion with many rooms, the people laughing and drinking, the servers with their drinks and bottles. There's only the woman in blue.

We continue to speak, and she insists upon something that she considers of great importance. We reason, we debate, we get heated. All the while we are dancing, the rest of the world be damned. Finally, I agree, and the music begins to fade, and everything fades back in. She nods her head, her face grim now. And she releases me, and I release her. She turns and walks away, and vanishes into the crowd. All I can do is watch.

I awoke with tears of blood on my face today.

I'VE BEEN THINKING about what purpose we vampires have here in this world. I admit, this is partly because I'm trying to leave alone the dreams I have had recently, at least for a while. Perhaps by thinking on other things, the rest will make sense. That and I think I need a break from my own kind of crazy.

But again, I digress.

Why are we here? I guess this has been a philosophical discussion through the ages, one that humanity first thought of, or at least that's what I think. Though perhaps if you believe in the existence of God and His angels and the fallen, maybe they thought of the question first. But somehow I can't imagine God, or any god or supernatural all-powerful being having questions about his, or her, or its existence. Maybe that was taught into me in my past life; I must unlearn this, I think.

How wondrous and terrifying it would be if there were one all-powerful Creator of all things, and even He had no idea what we were all doing here.

From a scientific standpoint, mankind is the result of millions, billions of years of evolution. This would mean humanity is just the result of so many years of trial and error, just another stepping stone to the next thing coming along. But what would be the purpose of all that? Without a controlling sentience to the process, the suggestion is that there is no point to it. Oh we can say that X exists because it helps to control the existence of Y, or creates Z so that A can happen. Causal existences that don't quite answer the higher question.

However, a certain belief states that the universe is trying to understand itself, creating life, creating sentience, so that it can better do so. That it possesses a higher, different, incomprehensible sentience, that we cannot yet grasp, and when we do, the universe would have succeeded in its goals. Another belief states the existence of an all-powerful sentience that created it all for its purposes. So each thing has purpose, has a reason for being.

Which suggests, in either case, that everything has a purpose, even if it's not immediately evident. Does that include us, I wonder? Do we fit in the natural order of things, even if we are considered supernatural? Are we still part of the universe attempting understanding? Are we creatures created by an all-powerful being? Also, what if that term, Supernatural, does suggest a relationship of relatives? Since I am a vampire, it is natural for me to be so. Then, what is supernatural to me?

What if, however, it is an expression of simple fact: we are not part of the natural order, and do not fit in the scheme of things? We are supernatural, because we are beyond it, above it, not part of it. Which of these are we? Or are we all these things? Are we none of them?

I think, without really knowing our true origins, all of this is speculation. Which suggests that everything I'm doing to find the answer may be pointless. Though, I guess this isn't anything different from what the Greeks first did in their philosophy; though they did believe in a certain genesis. I guess everybody who ever thought of this question did. They may not have had all the facts, but they struggled with what they had. It may have led to mistakes, but mistakes led to questions, to more mistakes, to more questing and seeking of answers.

I don't even have any real ideas on our origins; my own origin, at least my vampiric origin, I know. But even that gives me little to work with. I was created out of compassion, as I was a human about to die because of the error of my sire. Does that mean that I am the fruit of such compassion, and should possess some of it myself? Or should I be bound to the genesis story that I do not even know? Or should I adopt a genesis story, consider it fact, and live my existence to that, hope for the best?

I am a vampire, yes. But what does it mean to be so? Am I merely a killer, a hunter, a predator beyond the natural laws? Am I an unclean, cursed thing, destined only for adding misery to the world? Am I a creature unbound by laws and conscience, above these concerns because of the nature of our being? Should I be a moral creature, but what is moral to a creature such as I? Would I, should I, follow moral codes set by beings who had little inkling of the existence of something such as I?

What are we supposed to be? What were we meant to be? Surely something created us, with some purpose or another. Or were we some accident of curse or magic, or an accident of evolutionary powers science has yet to comprehend?

What am I supposed to be?

A question every sentient being alive has to answer for themselves it seems. Though in my case, the living part is perhaps overstated.