good is conscience to a being like me? It serves only to add
a dimension of torment. How sly this curse. How cruel in
its craft. How accomplished the mantle of the undead in
perpetuating perdition.
If only I could end this non-life by my own hand
and slip into the hell I deserve– instead, I remain in this
hell on earth, indeed, the deepest wound this curse inflicts.
I remain doomed to hate myself, hate what I must do each
night as the wolves howl and the moon commands the
hour. Abhorrent eternity, enemy of the half-dead, I have
no power over you. I walk the night chained to the curse
of who I am, what I am, and shackled to the horror that I
am a slave to dark needs. Not wanting to continue, I
continue. Neither wanting to be found nor to remain a
secret, I slither like mist in an unwarmed world. I belong
nowhere to no one. My only calling is my next victim, my
sustenance. The desire rises, and I obey.
My world, like my heart, was warm once. I will
never know soothing again. I will never again know the
comfort of a caring companion. But I remember it. I will
never touch her again, but her skin, her scent, her soft and
sensitive ways are vivid, so vivid still, and the deprivation
drives me to madness. The gifts I once had I cannot forget
even in this depraved state. If only memory, like my past,
would die.
The pain that I was once the man she loved but
would now fear is Satan’s most clever handiwork. When I
watch her from the shadows, I cannot reach for her. When
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