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I'm so glad nobody ever reads this. it allows me to temporary-post work here that i plan on pursuing, especially if i dont have my flashdrive with me or like.. stuff..
so, due to my horrible new obsession, here it is. my very own horrible vampire love story (up here only temporarily, while i get it all edited and whatnot)


You sneezed. Although it was warm outside, somehow you think you're managing to catch a late April cold. It's extremely humid outside, which is a bit strange for a spring night. You're walking home along the route you know so well; after all, you've walked it for 3 years now, going to and from school. The play that had just seen with your friends was "Midsummer Night's Dream" and it wasn't actually too bad, being a school production. Although you never fully understood why exactly they chose to have these plays start at 6pm, you weren't scared of walking home in the dark; after all, you lived in the suburbs and nothing ever happens here. Nothing.

Up ahead, you see a lady in a light blue jogging suit walking her cocker spaniel. They pause by a bush while the puppy does what it needs to do, and you pass them.
Suddenly, you feel a cool hand grab your wrist, and you're pulled behind a large red minivan. You would think that the jogging suit lady would have noticed, but she didn't. You open your mouth to scream, but suddenly, after a rushed 15 seconds, you're not in the darkness of the street, but in the dim comforting light of what seems to be a living room. It all happened so fast that you're completely shocked and your throat seems to have locked up. Having no idea what happened, you stare at the owner of the hand which is now gripping your wrist.
He, that is, the owner of the hand, is of medium height. The first thing you notice about him are his eyes, which are the lightest hazel green with specks of gold intermingled in them. Medium length almost entirely black hair frames his finely shaped aristocratic features. You're stunned at how beautiful he looks.
"Wait a minute..." he says. "You.. Are definetly not the woman with the dog." He tilts his head, stares at you, and releases your wrist. You slowly slump down onto the soft navy blue carpet. He looks out of the window, consumed in thought, and starts pacing around the room, muttering something about his now lack of perfection over and over again.
"I couldn't have made a mistake," he says. "I just couldn't have. I don't. Ever. Make mistakes."
His pace starts picking up, and you realize that you've been slowly backing up and your body has hit the big leather armchair in the corner of the room. You cower and attempt to hide in the shadow of the large piece of furniture, and are even more amazed that you still seem inable to talk. All that comes out is a quiet inaudible squeak. The man, however, is still pacing about the room.
He suddenly stops, and shoots a "so what are we going to do" look at where he had last left you, surprized to find the space empty. His eyes wander on you once again, and he approaches you, sliping one slim, graceful finger under your chin and tilting your face up to his.
"So.. What might your name be?" he asks, casually. You refuse to answer, wanting desperately to scream and run and struggle, but finding yourself unable to do either.
He watches emotions play across your eyes and decides to answer for you. "Prefer to be called Ash? Ok then"

He starts leaning forward, slowly coming closer and closer, and you can faintly smell a scent of vanilla. You start backing up more, your shoulder forcing the leather armchair to the side, until you've squeezed directly into the corner of the room.
"A meal's a meal," he says, with a slight shrug of his shoulders. His hair brushes the side of your face, and you let out a loud scream. As if on cue, he lets out a low growl right by your ear, and you feel a sharp pain just above your collar bone, followed by a tingling sensation all over your body as your blood reverses its direction of flow.