Blood is actually a disgusting form of food. Vampires do not gain pleasure from piercing necks. Blood is thick and viscous, a texture that slips sickeningly past the tongue. It's warmth is not satiating, but sickening. It's coppery coating glues itself to the tongue and sticks to the roof of the mouth. It doesn't go down easily. It's a struggle to swallow, yet uncompromisingly irresistible.
Despite my immortality, I am dying every day. I am immortal, yet I am decaying. My skin is tight, but my mind is loose and unraveling. According to your narrow view of time, I have been a vampire quite a while, a few decades. But when you think about how long I'm going to be around, it only amounts to the bat of one of your fakes eyelashes. And despite time being a dead, obsolete device to me, I cannot imagine stretching myself into eternity. I cannot comprehend forever. I am locked into this body with no escape. For anyone else, it might be a dream come true but I am existing in a nightmare. Eternity isn’t such a dream for someone who hates themselves. You see, I have a slight problem with self-loathing. I'm a bit depressed. Or, I was when I was alive. Turning into a vampire didn't change that. I grew stronger, sharper, but felt as discontent as ever. Don't think you'll change for the better, either. You'll still be as sad and pathetic as you are now. You humans always dream of better things, always wait for some kind of mystical transformation that will never come. You don't make the effort to change yourselves. You sit on your hands and wait for someone or some thing else to do it for you. When I realized my sadness would be my only true companion until the end of everything, I considered ending myself right then. I've played with the idea of stepping into the sun and smelling the sweet sulfur as my skin burns, cracks and dissolves in the daylight. But, there’s something that keeps me in the shade. It’s the drive to live, the drive to maintain. It’s a drive that is even stronger than the human will to live, that instinct to just exist. You see, there is evil in all of us, lurking in our limbs. It is while we are human that we learn to control this evil, to conquer or at least contain our foul tendencies. But, becoming a vampire unleashes that evil in us. It's a door that comes off the rusted hinges, a gaping wound in which all the agony comes spilling out. It consumes our corpses and causes us to rise again, to spread our evil like a disease through the blood. And that evil is eternal. Weak humans have the choice of ending their lives. Vampires have no say in the matter. Evil has a will to live that is stronger than anything I have ever felt in my years of existence, in life and in death. It is a presence that shall never perish.
To make matters worse, vampires are ultra sensitive to everything around them. In a crowd, I can feel whatever anyone and everyone else is feeling. When I walk into a club, I am bombarded by sexual tension, excitement, obsession, depression and desperation. I've come to learn that these clubs and crowds of people are more messed up than they let on. Humans are blinded by bodies. They cannot see past flesh, cannot comprehend beyond the tongue and hands and genitals. Words so easily fool you. You all are not intuitive enough to see what people are like on the inside. Even more pathetic, you do not care enough to try. But as for me, I can't help but to know what you all look like without the protective coating of flesh and clothing. Let me tell you that no one is normal. I can feel everyone's flaws. I can tap into everyone's pain and it's sickening. Being human casts a veil of protection over your heart because you can't handle the reality. Humanity hazes your vision of the true world. It numbs the nerves. But, for me, I can feel every prickling portion of pain of those around me. I am exposed to the suffering of souls. I am never at ease. The pain is ever present. But, that is just one part to my assortment of abilities.
We are also imbued with powers of persuasion. Our eyes can pierce souls. Our hands can provide pleasure. Our kisses are quite literally intoxicating. And these abilities are solely for the purpose of obtaining prey. These skills help us survive. And the pain gives us the drive to devour. For you see, the only substance that can stifle my suffering is blood. My sexually hypnotizing nature is what helps me get what I need, built into me like the speed of a cheetah or the powerful jaws of a shark, and the pain that pummels all of my parts is what keeps me coming back for more.
Blood is like a drug. It numbs these foul feelings that consume me. You know, I never realized how bad humans had it until I was surrounded by their suffering. I thought my own depression was as bad as I'd ever feel. Taking on the suffering of others only compounds the hatred I have for myself. It amazes me how you all can continue to live under the circumstances of the world. How you all don't slit your wrists or shoot yourself in the head is a mystery to me. I wonder what keeps you all going, what makes you wake up into a world of chaos. It’s been so long since I’ve been human, I don’t even remember what it’s like to live for something. What do humans live for? What is there to live for, anyway? You all lug around your loneliness and carry your pain in your pocket and yet forge ahead in these frustrating times. It’s a conundrum. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad you all don't kill yourselves. If you did, I'd go hungry. I mean, you really don't want to die, do you? It's not the death you're seeking, it's the release from the pressure, that vice grip on your heart. You only see the end product, the vampire you'll become. You don't think about the process, how you'll have to endure death to enter eternity, how my venom will trickle through you, burning at every cell, taking you over from the inside out, killing you endlessly. Is it worth it to you? You think you know pain. Your pain has all been in the mind. You have never tasted pain, never even come close.
No, blood is nothing you’d want to have taint your tongue. It has the texture of phlegm. It stains the mouth. It burns the throat. Yet, from the first sip, you’ll never recover. Believe me, there’s no going back. When I was human, I befriended several drug addicts, even ate a few after I turned, and their tales of drug lust are nothing compared to going too long without blood. That’s an indescribable pain that cannot be articulated. It's worse than the pain of humanity, more searing than the flames of hell. Cigarettes, alcohol, methamphetamines, Coke, X, all dissolve in death. But, blood sticks to your bones. All those synthetic addictions pale in comparison to the taste of blood, how it transcends all troubles, how it temporarily kills that pain that crawls up my neck and digs into my brain. It’s something I hate, yet can’t “live” without, just like how I hate you humans but can't go on without you, either. I’m in a constant struggle between lust and loathing. The thing I need the most, yet hate the most, can only be provided by the things I need the most, yet hate the most. As with any drug, the euphoria of flowing blood soon fades. Then, it’s time to kill again. I don’t particularly enjoy killing people, just so you know. Yes, I'm a monster but I'm not a monster just for the sake of being one. Don’t get me wrong, I could care less if you humans live or die. You all are as inconsequential to me as a cockroach. As long as there are enough of you blood bags to keep my belly full, I could care less about the rest of your population. Yet, I take no particular enjoyment in taking lives. I’m not some sick serial killer who seeks satisfaction from slashing throats. I only kill to live. Am I really any worse than you who kill animals for your sustenance? Sure, they are simple creatures in comparison to you but you are a simple creature in comparison to me. In fact, I’m doing humans a favor. Death opens the door to peace. I unlock that door. The question is, do you deserve death, that final path to peace? Maybe I don't get much pleasure from killing but I do enjoy a little torture. You anger me. You make me out of my mind with your stupidity. Maybe I should grant your wish. If I were merciful, I'd drain you and let you die. But, maybe I should I extend your suffering into an incessant existence, present you with this "present" you have deemed the perfect solution to quell your crushed heart. Maybe I'll make you my pet. Should I spare you the torment of a truly tortured existence or let you find out for yourself how horrific my "life" really is?