What if, I'm a monster? And I just can't see it myself?
You know, maybe there's a reason I cannot see my own reflection in a mirror. Perhaps my sins are far too great, and it would hurt for me to see my own raw ugliness.
I wonder if other people can see it. All of the blood that coats my lips, all of the death caked upon my body like paint. Does it show? Is it obvious I'm a monster?
But if I am a monster, I must be the worst kind. The kind with no feeling, no care… the murderous kind.
But we're all slaves to something. I to your heartbeat, to the rushing blood in your veins, to the very force that sustains you. I am slave to you humans. You call it "murder" I call it "survival".
But this is no debate. Is it so wrong to kill in order to keep my own mind in its state of sanity? It isn't when you humans kill the animals of the world for food, is it? No, not until the hunters become the hunted do they begin to scream bloody murder.
I don't drink your blood because I wish to, because I crave its metallic, bitter taste. I drink it for both your loved one's sakes, and my own.
It's more complicated than simply a bite, a suck, a lost life and an evil laugh. Your stories cast us in the darkest light, a villainous myth that twists at your very wretched souls.
It is because you create such illusions that you nothing of true hell.
But keep stumbling through dreamland, and you will eventually happen upon a nightmare.
Hey, thanks for reading the prologue for my new vampire story The Truth About Monsters. And I mean, really thank you.
The first chapter will be posted soon, I promise, in fact I am about halfway through it now.
I hope you leave me a review (maybe a favorite?) and stick around to check out the upcoming chapter.