We've all taken that long walk home, late at night, alone
with our broken hearts. It happens to everyone, young
and old. For some they walk them more often than others;
and then there are the lucky few who rarely know the sound
of their heavy footsteps upon the worn sidewalk. But be
they infrequent visitor or steady regular, they all come
to walk down the dark street. Emotions raw, thoughts in
turmoil, they wander towards some destination, whether
known to them or not.
Furtively, their eyes dart around as they walk through
the lonely darkness, but it's only occasionally done as
a conscious effort towards safety. Most of the time it's
due to the internal conflict battling it out in their
heads. Seeing and unseeing, they continue to walk.
These are my prey, the emotionally lost, broken-hearted
souls that visit these streets.
Succulent are their hurt and pain, juicy their torment
and vivid the memories of their lost love as I drain their
Some of my brethren, the more sadistic, will feed on
a lost one for weeks or even months. Using their influence
while feeding to urge the prey to debase and defile themselves
in such manners to ensure that they remain in an almost
constant state of mental turmoil, just like stirring a
boiling pot of hearty stew. Personally, I view it as more
an act of laziness or selfish gluttony, but each prey
has a unique flavour, and there are those whose special
combination of turmoil can be so intoxicating that I can
understand why they do it. But there are dangers to engage
in such behavior.
The intoxication can become an addiction, and in the
midst of feeding one can become lost. If the prey should
become too drained they could pass and the feeder be trapped,
their two beings bound to share death for eternity. Or
the prey becomes so despondent and lost that suicide is
seemingly their only answer in ending their torment, leaving
the feeder without the fix; and a feeder going through
withdrawals is indeed a sad sight!
I would be a hypocrite if I said that I didn't use my
powers of influence on my prey. I just don't do it to
keep my prey in their depressed, tormented state. Instead
of cultivating and securing a supply of one or two estranged
souls, I feed only what I need and drain some of the hurt
and pain that they are feeling. Usually, they'll get back
to their homes and sleep. Their torment lessened by that
which I've siphoned off and a few key mental prompts while
in their head to help guide them through and recover from
A vampyre with a heart; ironic isn't it?
I know what the myths and legends say about us, but I'll
let you in on a little secret: they're all lies! Some
are based on a bit of truth, but the lore was created
long ago, designed to misdirect the prey. Blood sucking
is a farce. We don't change shape. No bats, no wolves
or rats. Crosses, wooden stakes through the heart and
garlic are powerless against us. For in truth, we have
no bodies. No actual form. We exist like the wind, unseen,
We are everywhere, yet nowhere. Some, like my twisted
brethren, specialize in what types of prey they hunt.
They'll go after only specific age groups, gender, age
or even torment. Go to a funeral or a wedding and we're
there. Hell, even prom night has its vampyre groupies
lurking about in the shadows, waiting to cull from the
herd the freshly popped cheerleader disillusioned by her
first experience with sex or the ditched date who's discovered
his escort in the arms of another. Their highs and their
lows all add to each individual's unique flavour.
But I prefer the lonely, lost walkers on the dark streets.
It's far more intimate when it's just the two of us swimming
the swirling tides in their head with no distractions.
That's when I can concentrate on their memories, reliving
the parts of their lives that are at the most forefront
of their thoughts as I absorb the highly charged chaos
in their minds. With practice, I've learned how to delve
deeper, see further into their lives.
At times, it can become difficult to separate that which
is your own and that which is not. With the loneliness
that is our ethereal existence, any diversion is a welcome
How this came to be, how 'we' came to be is an arguable
subject. There are those who believe we are the damned,
those who believe that we are the victims, and still those
who believe that we are the lost. On the occasions that
we do gather together, you can see the various groups
gather in their own little like-minded groups.
Each eyeing the other with disdain, disgust and even
revulsion, much like political or religious groups. All
because of some shadowy concept of creationistic ideology.
Ah, how much things can change and yet remain the same,
At least to me, the why's and wherefores of how we came
to be are inconsequential. We are what we are, but that
doesn't mean that it has to define 'who' we are. Guess
that would explain my penchant for helping relieve some
of the torment of my prey instead of exasperating it for
my own needs. Then again, maybe I am truly unique among
my own kind. Yet I don't view myself above any of my brethren,
just different. No better, no worse, just myself among
the many like me.
Waiting in the shadows of the lonely streets.