My name is Roxanne; I am nineteen years old and a vampire. Some might refer to me as a menace, blood-sucker, leech or murderer. I wasn't always this way, though, I was transformed, created, made like this. I barely remember how it happened, just my transformation. Something that excruciatingly painful can't be forgotten easily.
It was a year ago; I was all alone, vulnerable, waiting in a park somewhere I don't know anymore, for someone who I can no longer remember. There was no moon that night, the last remnants of light were fading fast and nobody had come to light the lamps as hardly anyone stayed in the park that late. I did, though. I should've known something bad would happen, and I did, but by that time it was too late. A man emerged silently out of the darkness and seemed interested in me, bearing his white fangs. His eyes were pitch black and bloodthirsty. I should've screamed, I should've yelled, or fought back. But I didn't. The bite marks on my neck are still visible. The moment his fangs injected their poison and stole my blood I knew I was going to die. And in a way, I am dead; forced to live on the deaths of others.
My empty veins felt like molten rock ran through them, scorching the inside of my blood vessels. My mouth was dry, and I still couldn't scream, too paralysed to make a sound, yet writhing on the ground where the stranger left me for dead. I was always like that, even as a human. Whenever I was hurt, I would remain silent. This time it was my undoing, but I doubt that even if I had screamed, that anyone could've saved me. It would've just resulted in more deaths. To feel as if magma was coursing through my veins is a feeling I will never forget. I felt as if my innards were on fire, and every inch of my skin was inflamed. I crunched my eyes shut, wishing it would be over, not wanting to see myself, just in case my skin was grossly swollen. I guess I'll never know if it was.
I was in the park 'til morning. Nobody came. I opened my eyes as soon as I saw first light. But when the transformation was over, the desire for blood took hold of me, causing me to commit my first murder. Part of me was horrified at the fact that I could bring myself to do such a thing, but my thirst overwhelmed me, drowning out the cries of the last few remnants of the old Roxanne in my mind. She didn't exist anymore. Not in that body, the body of a killing machine. I became too enthusiastic about my new found powers: strength, agility, speed. My porcelain features startled me, ivory skin contrasting with bright red hair and lips, and vanity took over my conscience. Another thing dead.
Death followed me everywhere; I baffled the humans time after time. I found it amusing to be the cause of such mysteries. Sometimes I left behind clues, like a strand of red hair or a finger nail, knowing they'd never find me. I didn't feel the cold, so I slept wherever there was shelter. Sometimes it was with the humans' livestock, cows, sheep, and pigs. I killed them too, not for an alternative to the humans, but for fun. I was powerless against myself, even with my supernatural gifts.
The thought of a companion never crossed my mind; even I had enough of a conscience not to put another human through that torture. I also couldn't successfully turn a human into a fit companion; I always ended up killing them in the heat of the moment, as my thirst took over. I could barely trust myself, so the thought of creating a new rogue vampire didn't seem particularly appealing at the time.
Looking back on it now, I remember it as a dark age, that I would so very much rather forget. However, my supernatural memory won't allow it. It's the only thing I lament about my powers. To go back, I don't think I would've, or could've, prevented what happened to me. Every day memories of my human life fade, and I become apathetic. I barely remember my human family. I had a mother, father and younger sister. My sister's name was Marigold, I remember that much. She had honey blonde hair and brown eyes. She seems, now, like a friend I had as a child but lost touch with. I doubt it would help things to go back to them, even if I have more control over myself now. It has been over half a century since that night in the park, and I haven't aged a bit. But for however long I live, I'll never forget that star-crossed night, when I erupted and became a monster.