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I stare out of the smoked window. This is the only glimpse of the Sun that I can ever look upon. I haven’t seen the Sun in over a thousand years. A thousand years of night and darkness can bore a person who adores the Sun and light.
One night, down a dark alley in Cairo; my sunny, Eastern lifestyle became traded in for a dark, nomadic lifestyle in a single bite. Now, thousands of homes and tens-of-thousands of gallons of warm, rich blood later, Ilive in the shadows of the suburbs of Chicago, my feeding ground.
A thunderstorm is raging outside. The heavens are pouring bucketfuls of water onto the Earth. I haven’t felt the cool pitter-patter of rain in, what seemed like, an eternity.A whim is a strange thing; a random want of the heart. My heart longs more than anything to run through rain again. Watching the gale is almost unbearable. The wine glass grasped in my hand is trembling with the misery shaking my lithe body. I could never run through that rain outside. Any ammount of water can burn like the flames of Hell against my skin. The effect the Sun has on my skin is worse. I die in sunlight. I could get hit by an eighteen-wheeler and be only mildly injured, but a little water or sunlight... the consequences are severe.
I take a sip of the dark red fluid in my wine glass. It is my sustinance. My life.I look out to the storm outside and my urge strengthens. I place the glass on an end tablde nearest to the window. whwn I pass the mirror in the hall I stare at the empty space where a reflection should be and realize how long it’s been since I’ve actually seen myself. The cherrywood door stands in front of me. It stands as if in vigil, protecting me from outside intruders. Not caring who saw, I kicked down the door with my inhuman strength. Rain of acid stabs at my skin while walking out onto my lawn. I let out a bloodcurdling scream of agony, but it’s too late to go back now. I never run away from what I want. I wanted this and now I get it; no matter how painful. Steam rises as the burning continues. I slowly drift away into wherever I shall go. I am oblivious to whether I go to Heaven or Hell. Hell shouldn’t be more painful than this or the past thousand deprived years. Heaven would be a release from everything I have ever gone through. Though, Hell would even be a release from the many years on this withering Earth.
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Title:
Whim Of Death
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Artist:
psychopathicness
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Description:
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Date:
01/22/2009
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Tags:
whim
death
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