The Fallen…

Chapter One…

“Who do you think we are? Are we like flowers? Pretty once, yet obvious to fade? Are we like animals, beasts of burden? What? Are we merely God’s little servents, and the angels are the caretakers? What?” said Mr. Donoven, moving to the back of the class, the poetry book in hand. “That was written by Father Matthew of the Third Chapel of America. Who can tell me why he wrote this?”
“Cause’ he was some stupid monk who didn’t have anything else to do?” answered Jack Booney, a rather rude, and stupid person who sat across the row from me.
“No, Mr. Booney. He was a monk though when he wrote it. He wrote because he was questioning his faith. That’s this weeks lesson…questioning religion. Turn your books to page 154, where more biblical poems are there. Write two paragraphs on what you think they all mean.” I pulled out a peice of paper, and a pencil, and stared at the poems. Today was going to be a very long Monday, I felt it.

That night was party nighty. Three of my friends were going to come over, I was going to pop open a few of my late fathers beers, and we were going to get wasted, staring at the T.V. My father had died but two weeks ago. My mother was amazingly sorrowed over it, for she had often said how she was going to kill the man. I had accepted, much to the help of his well stocked alchohal. As I popped open a beer, I heard a scratching at my window. I looked. Nothing.

I turned, and heard the scratching again. It was like a cats claw. I looked again, sipping my beer. A white flash. I was shocked, yet went to the door, and upon opening, felt a strange, dark shadow move up my spine. Something wasn’t right, I felt it. I looked at the field that was infront of our house. Nothing. Not a single sound even.

Moving back inside, I plopped myself on the couch, one leg on the table, and stared at the T.V. It was some show on old english myths, a real bore, so I switched it over to MTV. Some pop video was on. I turned off the T.V., and closed my eyes. I felt a tear stream down my face, and then a cold prescense lifting it away with a small brush. It wasn’t flesh, it was pure cold…a freezing, yet numming and soothing cold. I opened my eyes. A man, in black leathers, and solid white flesh, as there, smiling. Two small, ebony teeth…fangs really…stared out from under his top lip.
“Hello James,” said the man. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
I was in shock, yet I couldn’t move. His mere prescense kept me still. I dropped the beer, and was stunned when I didn’t hear the crack. And immense pain was ripping through the flesh at my neck, and only now did I realize that the figure was bent over, biting down on it. I realized what was happening, and tryed to fight it off, yet my strength seemed to disappear right there. I fell under some kind of high, like that of a hallucigenic, but better. May I call it my own death? Or is that just to suspicious of the truth?

A black, oozing ink moved up through my body. Not only did I feel it, I became it. It was if my very exitence, my very cunning desire to be was being changed that very moment. I felt a strange toxin move to my head, and it was over. Black…nothing but a black screen. I was awake, but everything seemed cold, I couldn’t feel my body. Was it hell? No…no not hell, it can’t be. I felt a grasp, and my body was alive again. It was that figure, and now I was scared. Very scared.

He dragged me along the floor, and slammed me against the wall. My legs wouldn’t hold me, and the blackness started coming again. I felt the grasp, and I was awake, being dragged again.
“Fight it James…if you do not…you will die…”
I was scared now. Very scared. He slammed me against the next wall and I went flying, fall face down. The black came again, that cold, unfeeling darkness. He grasped me, once more, and threw me out the window, leaping through a moment later. The blackness was coming, yet the grasp came and through my against my own house. Was he toying with me?
“No James, I am not toying with you…I am keeping you in this world. Now fight it!”
The black came again. A sheet of darkness, yet as I felt the grasp coming…I knew a prescense was about to touch me, I came out of it, and my hand reached out, grabbing his hand. My own hand was strong, and pale, and I felt an errie wind blow behind me. It wasn’t like real wind…more like the wind of the mind. I turned, seeing my three friends, staring at me and the figure…I was scared.
“James,” one asked. “Are you OK?”
“I…I…” I knew I was stalling. I didn’t know what to say. I turned, and the figure looked grim, he walked forward, lept through the air, and grabbed two of my friends necks, snapping them. The last, a girl named Shannon, went running off, screaming. I didn’t feel pain, or heartbreak, or even slight remorse at the action just now done. I felt cold inside…
“James,” said the figure, dropping the corpses. “Kill her, and then go down to Fifth and Rose Street. The old, black warehouse. You understand.” I heard the sound ‘yes’ but didn’t feel my lips move. I didn’t know why, but this figure had me connected to him. He was more important. I bolted through the night. Oh, what speed! I burst, the night dancing around me, like a wave of pleasure and fright, and fear. I felt a rage of a hunter burn in me, and I knew I had to kill Shannon. More then that…feed from her.
I raged forth, grasping onto her shoulder, and spinning her, lifting her. She seemed innocent, the way she looked at me, but the pain in her eyes, the want for death was obvious. Of all the kills I have ever made in my career I never once met anyone else with more of a want to die then her. I brought her down to me, and bit, and sucked. The taste of the blood was differn’t then normal. Infact, I can’t really call it taste, but can’t really call it anything else. It burned through my body like a liquid, and drove my mind into fresh emotion. Love, hate, mercy, pity. All of this was dead before, but now alive! And then I realized what I was doing…realized I was killing, and drinking the blood of one of my own friends.

I dropped her, and fell to the ground. I wanted the blackness to come…I wanted to die for what I had just done. I wanted her to come back to life. She didn’t. She layed there, her body growing cold, her expression null of any human emotion. I walked away from her, going to the house I had called home, and looked at the other two bodies. The emotion in me started to die off…the blood weakened…and the cold, null emotion returned. I was sure I was not human. I was looking at the two friends I had depended on, trust in, I would have killed for them…and they were dead…and I didn’t care.

I moved through the night again, that speed was amazing. I didn’t even realize I was going fast. I made way through the night, giving a wink to the moon. I knew right then I was mocking God. His perfect little world of concious gone in me, and I loved it. I loved the feel of the wind. The human emotion beating off my mind like elements. Anger was like fire, depression was like ice. More and more, I felt, saw, and became the emotions of the humans around me, in there little houses. It became a drone, and I had to stop. I gathered myself for a moment, and looked at the corner. Rose and Fifth. I had to find this being…I had to find out what he had done to me, why…and, maybe, how to master it.

By FearHate

I am Man, I am Beast, I do not hate, but I do not love. What am I?