Tattered Ribbons

The wooden door swung open revealing an array of torn paper and cut up ribbons. The floor, the bed, the benches were littered with it all. My heart nearly stopped from the shock. What I saw around me was the gift I had spent hours folding, starting over, folding and starting over several more times. I had decorated it with black and purple ribbons, that had been carefully placed to produce a stunning flourish of colour when the origami structure shifted forms. The product of 16 hours of work was given to Rosalie on her birthday this year, and it now lay shredded before me. As I stepped into the room, I spied a note laying on the bed. It boasted a single dreadful word.
Goodbye.

I couldn’t believe it. James gentle, comforting hand on my shoulder was like a train pounding into me. His words were buzzing mosquitoes in my ears. I broke out in sobs, as tears began rolling down my cheek. The screen door downstairs clattered, signaling the return of Rosalie’s parents, and Liz. They were shattered too. They couldn’t even issue a search; we aren’t citizens of a country and the last thing we needed was media attention.

The distraught atmosphere thickened when Arthur, Jack and Peter returned. It hurt more realizing I was the last to know my best friend had run away in the night. Not to mention this was my fault. The arguments of late revolving around Lisa and Courtney had only piled on to the regular pain she suffered, mostly due to her parents. She was gone.

Will she come back? Did she have to destroy my creation? That gift showed how important she was to me, and in defiance, she destroyed it. So many questions are running through my head right now. I can’t believe I did this to her, and didn’t see it coming.
I want my cushion back.
I want my best friend back.
I want my Rosie back…

Colder At The Edge

The lake smelt fetid, tainting the beautiful atmosphere created by the cloudless, moonless night. I stepped into the water, frigid about my ankles. The lake was always colder at the edge. I continued walking amongst the shallows, before reaching the possum that had lost its way. I had seen it fall from an overhanging branch only minutes ago, during a tussel with a neighbouring possum. It struggled for a moment, but quickly drowned. Now it lay here in front of me. I reached down and drew it out of the water. I quickly tore a patch of skin off and began sucking what little blood I could out of the creature. Even this shortly after death, I could feel the blood beginning to coagulate. It did not feel like I was feeding. It felt like I was drinking death. Unfortunatly, this was what I had been forced into. Running low on blood at home, and unable to purchase blood from the butcher due to punishment, I was forced to scurry up what I could.

I turned, tossing the creature back into the shallows, and walked towards shore. Two headlights appeared at the top of the hill leading to the lake. I quickly fled into the nearby bushes. A group of teenagers pulled up and began preparing fishing rods, laughing, teasing. One of the younger ones, Matt, was the target of most of there foul language. I could see, even in that light, that this boy didn't want to be there. He was the younger brother of one of the other people there. I assumed he was there out of obligation. I could have left then, gone home, but I watched curious.

I'll feel guilty for that for the rest of my life. Jack showed up, wondering what was keeping me. Matt walked off into the bushes, just for a walk, to escape the verbal siege. Jack couldn't resist the oppurtunity. I wish I had the courage to stand up to him, or alert the humans. I didn't. Jack followed the child off into the bushes. I followed too, whispering pleas to Jack. He shushed me, as Matt began returning, walking in our direction. I could hear him mumbling to himself, as he kicked small rocks along the floor. Jack stealthily approached, and hid behind a tree in Matts path. My mind began screaming at me, pleading me to help the boy. I put my own safety first; Jack never liked missing a meal. He shot out from the tree, and plunged a heavily serrated knife into Matts throat, cutting off his vocal chords. The knife was ripped out, and Jack immediatley placed his lips over the wound. It was done with such skill, it horrfied me. It still haunts me. Although very rarely, I still see Matts face in my dreams. From sadness, to shock, to a blank expression.

It was useless arguing with Jack, I should have let him go. Matt wouldn't remain in my memory. Or had I left after my feed... I could have saved him.

Incisions

I've been out for a while. Understandable. James found my blog thanks to browser history. He wasn't happy at all, and I've got the cuts to prove it. Fortunatley, he had enough sense not to tell Arthur, otherwise my jaw would probably be on a pedestal as a warning to anyone who thought they could spill our existence. He makes me sick. I havent called him 'dad' in almost 13 years. He concieved me, but he is no father of mine. What he did? Probably something that seemed reasonable to him. Maybe it was the right thing to do. But I'll never forget it.

Unfortunatley, there will be no story of my past to explain this. Not for several months anyway. The story won't come until the 13th anniversary of me calling him Arthur.

Anyway, back onto the discovery of the blog, Rosalie knows as well curtesy of James. She knows about all the posts involving Lisa. She's even more angry at me than before. After a fair amount of explaining, I managed to convince Rosalie and James the blogs wouldn't amount to any harm. There convinced, though that wasnt until after James got dirty and carved a stunning array of incisions into my back. Its nothing I can't handle. I'll just have a few more scars to add to those littered around my back.

Frodo the Vampire Slayer

Now i think the world is out to get me. Lisa's way of saying thank you for being there for her was more than mere words. She gave me her ring; silver with hands holding a heart with a crown. The hands symbolize friendship, crown loyalty, and the heart love. I had an urge to ask if I could pick the ones relating to me, but I imagine that would've torn her up even worse. Is there no way around this?

Now for the ironic factor; the ring is from the "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" series (Someone supposedly gives it to Buffy). She didn't tell me this on the spot, but rather over a text message. She was supposedly too embarrassed to admit she grew up obsessing over the show, and has every box set in her bedroom. Good thing she didn't tell me in person, I wouldn't know how to react. However, looking at this situation from the other side, Buffy Vampires are evil (hence the need for slaying). If Lisa knew what I was, she would be afraid of me, which I may be able to use to my advantage. In other words, pretend to be Vampire out to drain any human senseless enough to get within arms distance of me. Then she won't be hurt from not being with me, and I wouldn't have to risk killing her. Although if she found out Arthur would probably kill her. And me for being an informant.

As for Rosalie at the moment, we managed to keep things cool by ordering a round of pizzas to go under the name of Frodo Baggins. Somehow that's extremely amusing for us.

Rarity

The soft splashing of water under my feet accompanied the choir of birds in the trees. I could feel the frigid water begin to soak through my shoes as I pushed the dense foliage out of my path. I emerged on the hilltop. A large, cubic stone sat just off-centre of the highest point on the hill. I sat down on it, cross legged and observed. Herds of cattle stood around, almost lifeless as the sun approached its final hour. A small group of wild pigs, black as coal, emerged from the river a few kilometres away and tore at the ground for a late meal. Kangaroos still bounded across the landscape, free as the wind.

This was my most recent home. It was beautiful. I spent 12 years here, on these thousands of acres, learning aspects of the natural world. Many evenings, when my mind was troubled, I would climb the hill, more so a mountain, and watch the sun set, mull things over. The mountainous region, nature in all its beauty, had been tainted by power cabling. Enormous towers, constructed by man. If I turned around I could watch the commoners drive by, or a coal train on its routine trip to the power station.

Now, thousands of acres has turned to 7. I can no longer observe the kangaroos, cattle and pigs. I now lean against my chimney, and observe the rabbits as they emerge at dusk. But it is still beautiful, even after 3 years. One day, I plan to watch the sunset here, on this very rooftop with my beloved. Then, we will pack our bags, and travel out to my old home. We will watch it from the stone on that mountain, and I will recount all the times I walked out here, just to think about factors of my life, what decisions to make.

The only question; will I ever have a beloved? Rosalie and Lily are the only vampires I know that are within my age margin...Though Lily won't qualify as within my age margin for another 5 years or so.

Thus ensues the problem. I'm the only male Vampire within Rosalie's age margin that she has met. I can't believe how stupid I have been. Rosalie's discomfort when driving me to the hospital, it all makes sense. She was jelous of my feelings for Lisa. James filled me in on that this afternoon. Rosalie is my best friend... I don't think we're supposed to be together, I want to be able to be there for her forever, but as a friend. I have a feeling I'll be viewing alot more sunsets before this gets straightened out.

November 1678, England

My dear Grandmother Joan, whom died long before I was born, always had a story to tell. Unfortunately, one of those stories inspired a vendetta in Arthur.

England , 1678, Joan, 7 years old, was expecting a sibling. Rarely does a child vampire feel the joy of a similar aged sibling, but Joan was no different. With all the suspicion and witch hunts at the time, she didnt stand a chance. Her mother had been pregnant for over two years now, which did not go unnoticed by certain members of the public. Rising early in the morning, Joan couldn't help but notice the fog was glowing in the distance. Waking her mother and father to show her the strange phenomenon brought horror upon the family.

Her father walked outside, and stopped dead in his tracks.
"Get some shoes on, where leaving!" He commanded, his eyes revealing his worried state.
The family each grabbed shoes, and Joan was dragged out the door by her father. The pretty glowing in the distance was brighter. Closer. As the trio fled, Joan oblivious to what was coming, the angry mob came upon the house. The house was joined by the glow, and althought the fog was thick, Joan knew the house was aflame. 7 small glowing spheres broke off from the house, spreading around the area with extreme speed.

The speed of the horses was far superior to the fleeing vampires, especially with one being pregnant, and soon one of the spheres revealed the prescence of a horseman, who caught sight of the family. A horn sounded, and the other glowing spheres changed direction, directing themselves to the horseman. Joan knew what was happening now. Her mothers worried sobs had given away her fate.
"I'll distract them." Were her fathers only words, as he unexpectedly changed direction.
There was no time to call him back.

They reached the thick woods now. That would not save them. The other horseman wre approaching, and Joan was hurriedly hidden in a bush.
"Don't move. Don't make a sound. If anyone asks, I was going to kill you." Her mother said, binding Joan in her concealed spot, gagging her.
As she moved away from the spot, the horsemen finally caught her, there torches burning the morning fog. Joan watched from her position as her mother was caught.

Before long, a large mob surrounded her mother, her father brought forth. They were tied to a young, dead tree. The mob threw down logs at there feet, to the sound of her fathers screams.
"Give her a trial!" he screamed.
Then, Joans mother said something noone expected.
"Its no use, they'll find our breakfast before we get a chance to flee," she spoke, admission of her fate laced through her delicate voice.
"HERE!" A man cried from the crowd, bringing forth Joan, taking off the gag.
Outrage poured from the crowd, cries of cannabalism and witchcraft.
"You deserve no trial," a horsman stated, issuing silence. "You will burn."
Joan was shocked at how plain the mans voice was. Tears streaming down her face, which the mob mistook for fright of the witches, Joan watched the flames come to life.

Joan watched as her parents were consumed by the fire, as her parents murderer cooed softly to her, attempting to comfort her.
"It'll be alright, their gone now." The man whispered.


Joan, raising Arthur almost 200 years later, she taught him her morals. She passed down her hate for humans to him, which he attempted to pass down to me. Fortunatley my mother was on an alternate side. She somewhat quelled his hate for the species while she was alive. But thats another story. One I'm not up to disclosing.

(Events as described by Arthur)

A little bit more Truth

This is mainly directed at Pandora, but also anyone else who is a bit confused. Firstly, I'm not supernatural. Im a result of evolution; completely normal. We have enzymes that are specifically designed to work with blood. Our life expectancy is about 200 years, not that much more than a human. If a turtoise can live for 300 years, why cant we? Also, in case you think my name is really Chase, its not. Seriously guys, a 150 year old guy named Arthur has a son and calls him Chase? And the last name Bloodmere is a little suspicious right? See, this is what we call language techniques. Its a play on words; Chasing Blood, Chase Bloodmere, see a connection? I thought it was creative. Human names on my blogs are real, and Rosalie is her real name, but the rest are fake, so if someone I know finds this, they won't know its me. These blogs arent even posted from my own computer. I don't even directly post these blogs. Every forum post, and every blog or comment is copied and pasted by a trusted human. The display picture isnt me, its that trusted human, with fake blood, edited with photoshop. That way, theres no way for some genious hacker to trace me.

Sorry if this post came across rude or demeaning, I'm just a little flustered at the moment. Nothing personal Pandora.