Some call me an abomination. Others, less educated, call me a freak. Some want to kill me while others refuse to acknowledge my existence. It doesn't matter either way. Only a handful, a select few know about me, and even they wouldn't know where to find me. I was only confronted once, when I was young, naive, trusting. They didn't get very far. I may not be as strong as the best of them, but I'm stronger than the weakest. I'm clever, I use my mind as well as my body to fight. That doesn't mean I haven't made mistakes. I have. My biggest one was letting him live. I should have finished it right then, when I had the chance. But, you see, it's not in my nature to kill. It doesn't come easily to me to be so unfeeling, so cold, so evil. Although that's undoubtedly what I am. Evil.
That's one of the biggest differences, between me and them. My unwillingness to commit the act of the devil. To murder. To them, it's survival. Instinct. And I don't blame them, not for that. It's the cycle of life, the food chain, whatever you want to call it. Animals kill to feed. And they're animals. When they kill for pleasure I have a problem. Pleasure to them is suffering. The suffering of the innocent. The suffering of the human.
They are the soulless. Wandering the earth with the devils mind and the devils heart. The living dead. The Vampyre.
I'm not one them, I never was and I never will be. But I'm not human either.
My mother was pregnant with me when she was bitten. He drank her blood and left her for dead. It wasn't an act of hunger. It was an act of pleasure. He took enjoyment in her terror. He laughed in the face of her fear. He didn't do a very good job. He left just enough blood in her body and enough life in her lungs to sustain me until we were found. An emergency caesarean removed me from the freshly dead corpse. The place which should have been my tomb. You may not know this but a vampyre has venom. It's how they change from the living to the living dead. It's a disease for which there will never be a cure. A disease which no one will admit exists. I had received venom from my mothers blood but not enough to make me one of them. Had this been the case I would have been doomed to an eternity of helplessness. Vampyres do not age. I, however, do. Slower than humans, yes, but I age. At over 450 years old I look merely 11 or 12. I don't turn to ash in sunlight, consumed by flames so quickly it's almost instant. I burn as a human does in the glare of the sun, although more severely it can be controlled. Sun cream and sunglasses provide protection. I can't eat human food, I am still sustained by blood just like them but unlike them animal blood is sufficient. I have their skill of a photographic memory and can see centuries ago as if they are the present. I am as strong and as quick as the average vampyre although I do have one thing they do not posses. A soul. A conscience.
I'm the only one of my kind. Vampyres may be consumed by a lust for violence but they're not careless. Not normally. Which leaves me alone and persecuted by those who protected me for so long as an infant, before they knew the truth about what I am.
They fed me human blood for which I feel guilt. I am forever repaying society for what I unnecessarily took. For what they took and continue to take. They knew nothing of why I didn't age, they thought I was one of them. I'm not, and although what I am may disgust me at times it does not bring the revulsion I feel for them.