Disclaimer: No tengo los libros deTwilight. Tengo mi cabeza y mi computadora, pero yo soy una niña en el EstadosUnidos, y donde de Florida, y tengo ccatorce años.

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April 19, 1995

You have seen me, I know. Hundreds have, always before dying. I'm not that type of person that most would expect to be a...there is no escaping what I am – a murderer, a soulless demon. Vampire. But some of my kind still believe in me, still think there is good in me. I don't know what compels them to think that I, of all people, am good, humane.

I try to stay away from humans; it never ends well. But the bloodlust is overpowering after weeks, and I give in. Most of my kind think that it's no big deal, that the humans are prey for the taking. But I know better. The humans have souls, they have lives, and even though they aren't as intelligent, not as fast, not a blood drinker, they are still just a lesser, mortal form of us.

Avoidance doesn't work, because some human always wanders off, to whatever place I am in. The last thing they see is glinting white teeth, glowing crimson eyes, and then I am there, left with the guilt.

My adoptive family doesn't know what to make of me. They try to encourage me, try to make me go with them to the dreaded purgatory that is high school, and most of the time, I can last. Then one human will cross the line, and I'll end up killing them. And we have to leave, again.

Is it possible for a vampire, an immortal, to get arrested? There's no way we can stay there long. We have to be bailed out quickly by someone…because when a man who looks to be 20 goes to jail in say, 1995, and by 2001 he still looks the same way he did when he was arrested, that's going to raise suspicion. Or a mental hospital – what would happen if one of us were placed in there? But seeing as the humans there don't notice if someone leaves or not.

But there is no way a human could be worse than us. Even after what just happened in Oklahoma City, just hours ago. That was one man…it will never happen again. I swear on my life.

September 11, 2001

Today is a normal day, blue skies, no clouds; the type of weather those in air traffic control think is perfect. There is no turbulence. It's about 8:40 A.M.. I am in a studio apartment in downtown Manhattan with my family. Alice, the only one I trust, is drawing some new fashion design. My adoptive father, Carlisle, is working at the hospital, and his wife, Esme, is in the office, writing or something. Rosalie, Emmett, and Edward, siblings to me in every respect, are in their various rooms across the house. From this couch you can clearly see the World Trade Center, glittering in the sun. Nonchalantly I glance at the calendar. Tuesday, September 11. I've been with my family for 50 years now, give or take. It all seems normal.

Alice gasps, her eyes going blank, dropping the sketch pad. Everybody rushes into the living room at once. I jump up at once, mostly due to her sudden panic and fear.

"What is it?" the various voices fill the room, everybody looking towards her amber eyes for reassurance.

The look on Edward's face right afterwards is the single most terrifying thing I have ever seen. He and Alice simply point out the window, to the Twin Towers. A small passenger plane is heading straight for the north tower. At 8:46 A.M., it strikes. The smoke and flame that fill the air are horrific, that's all I can say. Emotions start pouring from the streets and the buildings; panic, fear, anguish, shock, horror, and my only thought is how it could have happened in the first place.

Esme has enough common sense to turn on the news, where reports of hijacked planes and of the destruction of the North Tower are running rampant. Theories are filling the room from every single one of us; pilot error, malfunctioning plane, and from Edward, of course, terrorists.

I want to run out there, to rescue all of the people I can, but it would be a giveaway, and most likely lethal. If the flames and smoke didn't kill me, the fact that I would start shining like a supernova the moment I step outside will set the Volturi on us. But there is one way I could head out there without drawing attention. Edward shakes his head to tell me not to go. There isn't any way to help them.

At 9:03, a second plane strikes the South Tower, this one much larger than the previous. The agony of not being able to save anybody is going to tear me into shreds, which considering all the people dying, I would gladly accept. Numerous times I try to leave the room, to go to, but somebody always stops me. All of those innocent people dying…

Half an hour later, the news stations start talking about an attack at the Pentagon. I finally give in, rushing into my room to pull on a sweatshirt and jeans, Converse, sunglasses. Without a second thought, with nobody stopping me, I rush out of the room, and run all the way to the towers. Some insane humans have actually begun to jump out of the windows, and right as I get to the building, a woman of about 25, obviously panicked, jumps out of a 50th story window.

With a stroke of luck that I wouldn't have believed possible, I manage to catch her, to place her back on the ground before she realizes who has saved her. The fact that she has managed to survive is a tiny bit of hope that others can and will live. Taking my last breath of clean oxygen, I run into the building, and go to the first place I can think of – the elevator shafts. In the panic to get out, there must be dozens trapped in the elevators. But the doors will not open, so I throw myself at the first set of metal doors, actually breaking through. There is an elevator, stuck above, but no way to get it down. And for some reason, I actually start striking the walls to attempt to make it fall. It starts to descend.

As I panic to get the few people I can out of the building, I start to feel it tremble; structural collapse. I push the last person outside and manage to rush out myself just as the entire building implodes. Dust starts filling through the streets and I take the time to run back to my home. As I run up the back staircase, I hear the screams from below. Seconds later, I burst through the door, where my family rushes to scold me and calm me down. I take off the dust-covered jacket and sunglasses, letting the cold air from the AC pierce my skin. Shaking, I fall to my knees, in total denial of what I have just done.

"I couldn't save them all." I stutter, rocking back and forth.

"You saved all that you could." Esme whispers. Alice bends down to embrace me, in shock herself.

At 5:20 P.M., the last of the damaged World Trade Center buildings collapses, 7 World Trade Center. The next day, they finally tell me how many died; 2,377 in Lower Manhattan alone.

April 27, 2009

I never believed it possible, but there are humans worse than us. I only saved a few, and I never let them see my face. 2,974 identified civilians, dead. There's a war now to fight those murderers, the War on Terrorism, and millions have died from that. And I am still here, alive, and it seems unfair that I remain living when so many died.

That's why I know you've seen me. Because for just a second, they caught a glimpse of me on their news camera. And they have never found out who I am.

So here I am, Jasper Whitlock Hale. And I finally know that people can be as bad as vampires. Even to ones as young as Alice's friend was.

Two months ago, a patient at the mental hospital Alice was volunteering at killed herself, seconds after Alice arrived at the hospital. Her name was Roatan Micah Rosse. And she did it to free herself from torment by others. Alice honestly was her only friend. My poor pixie hasn't recovered yet from the shock.

But in the end, nobody will survive.

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A/N: I had to write this. It was eating me alive. It held me down and would not let me go until I wrote it. So here it is.