“Mama, where are you?” a small boy called as he sniffed, whipping away the salty water drops that cascaded down his cheeks. It was dark in- wherever he was, he was sure that he wasn’t home. But he was alone, and being alone he didn’t like. He didn’t like it one bit.

“Mama!” he called again, still no answer from any soft, familiar voice that rang of comfort; only darkness and solitude. “Simon.” He heard someone call his name but it wasn’t the voice of his mother-- it was unrecognizable, almost like a stranger but was a mean sneer that called him.

“Simon…” There it was again, that damn voice. Why didn’t they appear already? It was so frustrating--all he wanted was his mother. “Mummy dearest isn’t coming back, boy.” Simon looked around at the statement. What were they talking about?

“Who are you?!” the young boy deemed Simon called out. But all he heard back was the echo of his empty voice. “She’s not coming…” the voice replied. He ran, he ran and ran as fast as his legs would carry him across the black void.

Suddenly he stopped, seeing a body lying in its own blood. It looked like a woman. His eyes widened, his feet moving before mind could register the gesture and stop from what he was doing. This isn’t his mother, it just couldn’t be, the woman looked demented and gruesome as blood soaked every inch of her porcelain flesh.

The pool of red liquid lapped at Simon’s feet as he knelt down to touch the face of the women who could possibly be his mother. As his own pale hand touched the demented face of the disgusting corpse did its jaw open, almost on its own will.

“Simon, you are nothing…” the voice spoke in a demonic voice. The boy gaped fear clutching at his very being like a snake; he could hardly breathe as he pulled away, but the corpse dragged itself after him, reaching out to him, claws digging into his flesh as he let out a scream of agony.

Then nothing but darkness consumed him.

Simon shot up in a black coffin, tangled in black sheets as blue eyes searched the empty dark room. Sweat soaked his body, making his long chocolate-colored hair stick to his neck, his once loose shirt clung to his lanky form. If one were to see him for the first time, they would have guessed he hadn’t eaten anything in ages. They would, of course, guess correctly.

But, when one is already dead they can’t die again. So Simon only got thinner, he didn’t need to eat much anyway. Just a pint of blood would do him good for a few days, but finding a lone human out in the dark of night was scarce these days.

Sighing, he whipped the sweat from his face finally being able to breathe properly again; not like he really needed to breathe. He hadn’t had that dream in a while, and he always couldn’t figure out the ending to it--It bothered him horribly. Yet, the dream had scared him enough to not sleep for a few days. This wasn’t really the best thing if one is a vampire.

He cursed under his breath. “Damn that Christopher to Hell, it was his fault for the dream. If he hadn’t off our mother in the beginning, I wouldn’t have to be bothered with it.” Simon’s senses told him that it was already well into the night, might as well get a head start for breakfast.

Whipping the dripping blood that soaked his marble-white flesh, Simon gazed up with harsh eyes; he knew that he shouldn’t care that it was just a part of an undead life he would have to deal with to live. Yet, still he could never handle the thought of waking from a mist with a dead corpse in his hands.

He glanced down at the young woman in his arms as she laid lifeless, and a part of him wanted to give the life he had took from her back. She looked young, maybe in her late teens, at least with dark swirls of chocolate-brown-hair. He didn’t know the color of her eyes as he had enough respect to lay them closed with coins.

Suddenly he heard the sound of sirens as blue and red lights flashed over ahead. Quickly he made his way towards the back of the alley dropping a spare knife to make it seem like the girl was just a mere teenager in a depression state. It wouldn't be good for a vampire to get caught by the police.

He could picture it now, how funny it seemed. "Where were you on the night of the 15th?" they would ask. "Oh, what year do you mean?" he would reply and then, they would give him odd looks as if he were on speed or some other type of drug. He'd flash his fangs in a toothy smile, and then, he'd eat them.

Simon laughed to himself at how ridiculous it sounded, like some age old horror film. Turning a corner he bumped into a small girl, blinking he helped her up. She looked to be at least the age of fourteen, half her bangs dyed in an electric blue color while the rest of her locks were a dark brown. Cut to her shoulders was the length as her olive green-or was it golden eyes stared up at him.

It was slightly annoying not to mention rude of her to be staring at him like that. Opening his mouth to speak he looked down at her, but she was gone. Glancing at his feet he noticed a piece of paper, picking it up. He read it.

'Teresa Luciano
-84 Queen Lane
Apartment No. 16'

Underneath the address was smeared so he could not read it, but it must have been important.

So that was her name? Interesting.