Do you all want to kill me? I would die if I read something with an ending like that. "WHAT?" I would scream. "THAT'S IT??"
But you may be happy to know that that is NOT it. Yes, I am a sick human being and decided that the only way to resolve any sort of vampire romance is to give it a sequel. Indeed, a SEQUEL!! And just so I don't get killed, here's a preview of the sequel, hesitantly and stupidly titled "City Morgue" at this point, 11:00 p.m. Sunday night.
I woke with an unpleasant and violent start as my alarm went off. Sitting up fast, I hit the sleep button, leaving the small room quiet, except for the noise of traffic six stories below. But that would never stop, and I was only just starting to get used to it.
Sighing deeply, I looked to the other bed in the room. It was empty, the sheets all tangled up in a ball near the bottom. I'd been in deep sleep earlier, dreaming again about the events that had happened two years ago, the night of my 'birth', as some would call it.
I kneaded my temples, looking down at my pillow. There were a few large drops of blood, and I reached up to my lip, finding blood there.
"Great," I mumbled, standing. It always happened when I had that dream: I would somehow manage to expose my fangs and bite right down on my lip. It may heal fast, but it was just annoying.
I went to the mini bathroom and washed the blood away, splashing my face while I was at it. Unfortunately, I had signed up for a mythology class, which only took place early in the morning at 9:00, and I still had to take the subway to the campus.
I paused for a second, closing my eyes and concentrating as I let the fangs fade away. As for needing blood, I was okay in that department, having fed well enough at the closest United Blood Services. I had come to really appreciate those places. They were pretty much everywhere, and I was usually guaranteed to find someone like me working there. I had never actually fed off a person except on two occasions: once back in Los Angeles with Patrick and another time to the point of their death. But that was how I got my roommate, so I couldn't really complain. It was also the first and only time I had ever made another person like me.
I retreated back to the cold room with its cement floor and white walls. Changing fast, I grabbed my bag, making sure everything was inside. I went to the small fridge, in search of an emergency supply of blood, and found none.
"Damn it," I mumbled. I hadn't been the one drinking lately, and that left only one person . . .
I grabbed one of the granola bars from the shelf, figuring that would distract me if I got really bad during the day, though I never had before. Eating food actually comforted me these days, too. The roomy just liked to eat, missing food from being human.
Slinging my bag onto my shoulder, I was ready to go, when a photo fell out of one of the pockets. I looked down at the picture of Patrick and I, and bent down to pick it up. I crumpled it a bit, and shoved it under my pillow. I didn't like to think about him much, and had managed to forget for awhile. I had no idea how that picture got into my bag. Maybe I'd gotten into the habit of carrying it around since he left.
Forgetting about his face, I left the apartment, leaving a note to the roommate to get another supply of 'goodies' before evening. I taped it to the fridge, and left the room, wrapping a scarf around my neck before braving the cold of the Manhattan streets.
So there's a little hint of what's to come. I'm dead tired right now, but I'll more than likely post up a few chapters tomorrow. Just search for "City Morgue" or look under my pen name in case I decide to change it. Most likely not at this point, but I love all your reviews, I love all of you, and I hope you liked "Morgue of the Desert". Any unanswered questions in this story will be covered in the next. I really hope you'll all follow up and read it! I may just go make a new story file and all tonight. . . well, hope to see you all soon!