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 Entry Two, 1357

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Satavia Kazaarious

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Posts : 70
Join date : 2009-04-05
Location : Everywhere yet nowhere

PostSubject: Entry Two, 1357   Fri Oct 22, 2010 3:58 pm

October 1, 1357

They call me patient number 13...We no longer have names according to these people. Aren’t we “human” as well? Then again, we’re seen as freaks. Outcasts from normal society because of our mental illnesses. When I was dragged in here on September 21 of this year one of the doctors screamed at me because I protested their ridiculous idea of me being crazy. I swore to him that I wasn’t, but surely my hysterical behavior at being dragged there from my warm spot by the lovely burning town did me in. It sealed my fate.

I had been identified as the “flesh eater” or as one of the policeman called me that quite literally dragged me from my wonderful perch beside the glowing, dancing flames, “the crazed child killer.” Both names fit me well, and to this very day, October 1 of 1357, I won’t deny my actions, and in truth, I accept full responsibility for the lives lost that not so faithful night.

To recall that memory, and those events that lead to me being stuck here, I shall write it down here for any that are fortunate enough to read this so that they, in their crazed, drunken stupors or their moments of lacking proper judgment won’t end up in my position, or the ones of the other so called patients…

Days passed, perhaps it had been weeks since the last time I had fed. The hunger gnawed at me like an irritating itch that I couldn’t do anything about. Prey. That’s all I saw when I looked at the humans I passed by day and night. How did I walk in sunlight, you ask. Simple. I was a hybrid with remarkable endurance even to the burning rays of the sun. But still, everywhere I went all I saw was prey. Most were unfit for me to even fathom the idea of feeding from them.

Night settled, and I remember the date quite fondly, seeing as I was locked away that very night or perhaps it was early in the morning. Back to my tale now. A pub in a barely surviving town caught my attention, perhaps it was the noise coming from within its hollowed walls that drew me in. Whatever the reason, I couldn't resist the curious nature I had when I was on the verge of starving, nay, of withering away.

Time seemed to have slowed as I made my way through the small crowd that had gathered inside that tiny, unattractive, pitiful excuse of a building. Where had all these people came from? I didn’t remember seeing that many earlier that day, and surely they didn’t come out of the poorly done woodwork of the place.

The scents in the place were overwhelming. A tantalizing mixture of vodka, sweat, and the sound of pounding hearts driving blood through alcohol soaked veins. I could feel them all. Smell their blood already and not a single vein or artery had been ripped open yet. I could almost taste it. That sweet, coppery taste of their blood, and feel the texture of their skin. My mouth ached. My fangs, as usual, felt rough and jagged to me, as if they had serrated edges, which after centuries of killing I had learned was true. They weren’t smooth like most vampire fangs. Instead they had small, numerous serrated edges that lined the sides, with small pointed tips that went up instead of down. Releasing my prey was already the messiest part of feeding, but God I loved staring into their eyes as they died.

Sounds of anger permeated the place and the next thing I know a man had been shoved into me, nearly knocking me off my feet in my weakened state. Anger rose sharply as I turned on the man responsible for nearly knocking me over. In that moment, I snapped. Without hesitation, and without thinking of anything other than the fact that the human fool had just bumped into me, I had bent my head to his throat, sinking those jagged fangs into his sensitive throat. Oh the taste of that life saving liquid. But there was something that pierced the air. What had it been? It took only moments before I recognized the high pitched scream of fear.

No conscious thought crossed my mind about the fact that I had just showed every human being in that pathetic excuse for a town what I was. A low growl had came from my throat as I let the man fall careless to the floor. His body was limp and already going cold from the lack of warm blood pulsing through his veins. So careless was I that I hadn’t bothered to properly deal with the tears left behind in his throat. That precious blood of his was spilling forth onto that dirty floor as if it had been a river held back by a dam. But that didn’t matter. The only thing that did was releasing that anger, destroying who had screamed and everyone else along with them.

That anger didn’t dissipate like what I thought it would have as I stood there staring down at the man’s face. His wide bright green eyes brought a fleeting moment of joy to me as I watched the last signs of life and light fade from them. That man’s last ragged breath was like music to my ears. That moment was short lived as pain ripped through my side. A burning unlike anything I had felt over the centuries. As anyone would have done, I turned on the person responsible for the injury without so much as a second thought.

His face. His eyes. I could have swore, in that brief moment, that it was Abelard, a close friend of mine from, if my memory serves me correctly, Berlin, Germany. For some reason I froze, for the first time when I needed to act. I stood there frozen, time just passing me by as I stared at him completely bewildered, thinking, more like believing I had just seen a ghost from my past. There was no way he could have been alive. I had watched him die before my very eyes when I was escaping from Berlin centuries earlier.

There it was again. That searing pain in my side, but it was worse. This time it was accompanied by a sharp, almost stabbing sensation in my skull and all over my body. My temperature seemed to rise, faster than what I could have controlled. It felt as if flames were licking at my skin, or worse in my mind as if someone was pulling my skin off agonizingly slow, layer by layer.

But the pain isn’t what struck me the hardest out of everything that had happened to that point. It was his words, which till this very day, haunt me. “I loved you Satavia. More than the world. More than all the money I had, and what do you do? You leave me to die. To rot. Because of your cowardice I paid the price! Because of you I’m now the very thing I hunted all those years ago!” It was then, at that moment, my anger broke the dam holding it, but I controlled it to the best of my ability. If, indeed, it had be Abelard, I knew there was more to come. “And yet, the biggest betrayal of all wasn’t you leaving me. Oh no. It was finding out that you had lied to me about being human. You lied to me all those years about what you were, nay, are! How could you?!”

His words had echoed in my mind for a moment, perhaps it was longer but darkness settled over me. All light had faded in that moment. All emotion and hope was abandoned as, without warning, I pulled the dagger from my side. In one fluid movement, I slit his throat without so much as a sound. Abelard’s body fell to the ground next to the other dead man, but that didn’t stop me. I growled out at him, that harsh demonic sound I had gotten accustomed to after killing so many already prior to that event. I startled him, my clothes stained in my own blood, but still, I stabbed him a total of sixty-two times in the chest, stomach, throat, and face. His blood tasted the same. A bitter sweet taste that was like a drug to me.

But, sadly, my attention couldn’t just be directed on the man I had once loved. That scream. It still played over in my head like the nagging voice of a bitch in heat that wasn’t satisfied with anything that was given to her. I blacked out, but still my body moved. The series of killings I don’t remember after that, except for a few, and that was when I came to.

It was a small series of murders while the town burned. The flames flickered and danced around me, devouring everything in their wake, everything in their way. They scorched, destroyed, and removed most of the evidence left behind that something other than a human had committed the crimes. These lives, I remember well, for I still see their faces during the day when I manage to get some sleep.

One, was a young boy, no older than eleven I assumed at the time, and looking back at it now while writing this, I firmly believe that’s how old he was. Another was a young girl, about seven years old at the time. The last two, were the mother to the children, and her obviously new born daughter, and judging by the scents that came from the small family, I would say the child hadn’t been born no more than a couple of hours ago. Untainted blood. That’s all I thought about at the time.

They were cornered, no where to go except into the flames. The air all ready smelled like burning wood and flesh. All I saw them as were two things, food or more fuel for the fires. I wasn’t about to let them choose the fires over the fate that I had planned for them, so I backed off, turning my back to them in the hopes that they would try to run. And just as I figured, they tried. The mother obviously had ushered her kids to the side, telling them to run. A head start. That’s what they got from me, but it wouldn’t last long.

The two older children were running in front of their mother, putting her and the infant at the end of the line as they tried to weave their way through the flames towards a possible escape. They should have known that it wouldn’t be that easy. Everywhere they turned, there I was. Everywhere they looked, I was there in front of them, blocking their exit. Cat and mouse. That’s what the game was to me. They were the little mice, and I, the cat.

The game grew old quickly as the children began to tire. I didn’t want it to end yet, but it was better then than later. It was too late to back down now. I had crossed that fine line finally, and delved my already blackened soul into pure damnation. No chance at saving. No backing down ever again.

The girl ran into me, blinded by a small explosion that had happened no more than a few feet from her face. Without hesitation, second thought, or second guessing, I snapped her neck with my bare hands, letting her body fall to the ground with her head turned all the way around. That scream again. It had been the mother that had screamed earlier that evening.

Her eldest son, in a blind fury driven by rage, lunged for me with a small blade in his hand, as if he expected the weapon to do any damage the moment he made contact with my flesh. That smirk, that if I had known at the time would become my trademark, I would have done it sooner. The kid got within striking distance, and with me being the cold hearted creature I was, even then, I kicked him in the face. The poor boy’s head snapped backwards, breaking his neck. Poor, poor child.

Last would be the woman, and before her, that child. That small babe. I wanted that untainted blood, but that order I had set on going in quickly changed as the woman tried to fight back. Such a feeble attempt it was at hitting me that I almost regretted breaking the woman’s arm in four places. Pain would be her downfall that night, and I would see to it myself if she didn’t throw herself into the flames.

I managed to ignore the distant sounds of people moving quickly toward the burning town. That woman persisted on voicing her opinions, calling me every name she could think of at the moment. Her life needed to be ended. Nagging wenches like her didn’t deserve to live.

My sides still ached, my head still throbbed as if someone had bashed me over the head with a boulder. I hated the fact that I could feel pain at that time, but it did little to slow me down. I kneeled down close to the woman, that mother that was holding her broken arm as if it was the last thing on the earth. She seemed to have forgotten about her babe, which was perfect. I remember what I said as if it was yesterday. “You will give me your heart. This won’t hurt a bit…On second thought, it will.” And it was upon finishing that last sentence, that I plunged my hand into her chest. I reveled in the sound of the bones breaking, of her flesh, muscle and veins tearing as my nails ripped through her.

I found what I sought after with ease. That smirk was never faltering, never fading. Her light blue eyes stared at me, widened in fear and disbelief as I pulled her still beating heart from her chest. “See? I told you, you would give me your heart.” However, I didn’t really want the thing. I tossed it to the side, leaving it there for any animal to eat if they wanted it.

Crying. The babe. I knew that’s what it was. Still, footsteps grew closer to me, making their way through the flames. I wanted that child for myself. Not to raise. Oh no. I generally hated children and saw them to be a waste of flesh, and if I could put an end to another child’s life, then I believed myself to have served my purpose. My keen senses came in handy at that time. They did their job well in helping me find the child, hidden amongst debris all the while still wrapped in a partially blood soaked blanket of some kind.

I lifted the child up as if it was a disease ridden creature or perhaps some foreign being from the pits of hell, then again, I knew the pits of hell too well as it was. The child’s crying was shrill and painful to my ears. I had to end it. That blanket fell away from it. Still, untainted blood. It called to me like a haunting, unseen siren in the night. There they were. The fangs again. The overly elongated fangs. I bent my head to the child’s stomach, quickly sinking my fangs into the infant’s flesh. It cried out loudly, annoying me more so at that moment than it had before I picked it up. I pulled back just as quickly as I sank them into the child, tearing away flesh. Poor child didn’t stand a chance as I ate it, literally at the raw flesh, drinking the blood along the way.

That’s when I was seized from behind. Two men had grabbed my arms, pulling me away from the dead bodies and causing me to drop the already dead child. Blood was smeared on my face, around my mouth. It was running down my chin and throat. My hands were soaked, and my clothes stained. I don’t remember much after that, except waking up in a room made of stone. The wailings here at night are unbearable, maddening even. If someone was falsely accused of being insane and locked away here, they surely would be driven to the brink of insanity by the wailings of the other patients.

Nothing is left here anymore. All sanity and common sense have been aborted. I wish I could write more, but the doctors are coming.

~Satavia also known as Patient number 13.

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Entry Two, 1357
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