I do not own Twilight.
All of this filth, this trash. The world is utterly drowned in the disgusting leavings of evolution.
Homo-Sapiens, they call themselves. Descendants of Neanderthals and children of the earth. Humans.
Despicable.
Terribly, deeply so.
Another falls and is left bleeding. The thick blood that fuels them has very little hold on me now.
Who next?
Jaws, they call me in their petty newspapers. Journalists compete for a chance to report on the newest set of jagged wounds left by my teeth.
A pleasure killer. How laughable.
I do none of this for pleasure. I would have been a burning pyre in the Volterra main square decades ago if I hadn't realized in time.
If I hadn't heard that boy's thoughts.
"Well, at least she's not with Edward anymore."
Mike Newton was the first.
No logic would have stopped me in those first few months. No plea or cry for help would dissuade me from cleaning up the scum that litters the surface of the earth. My charitable disposal of those foul creatures, who dared to exist when she could not, began in Forks.
That small, rainy town is renown now as the birthing ground of the worst criminal of the twenty-first century.
No, no reason would have dissuaded me from continuing. The knowledge that Mike Newton was ignorant of the reasons behind Bella's swift departure from Forks –from our plane of existence-, does not deter me, even now. I am rather grateful to that confused – now rotting – school boy.
For if it wasn't for that misguided thought, my eyes would have remained closed to the disaster that was humanity.
It's hunting season in Washington.