You can never tell where the lines of humanity and brutality blur, when things become hasty, when you black out and can't remember. But Damon could, he definitely could. It was when the world started to spin, when surroundings blurred, when everything seemed louder than it actually was, when people got too close, when he began to transform, veins appearing under his eyes, teeth replaced with deadly fangs, when blood took over.
21 January 1899
Damon wandered the streets of Seattle mindlessly, as far away from the crowds as possible, memories playing like a montage in his head. Katherine, in all her beauty, playing croquet with his father. Teaching Stefan how to play football. Chasing Katherine through the orchard. Escorting Katherine to the Miss Mystic Falls court. The battle of Willow Creek. Katherine being chained into the back of a carriage. Watching the church burn to the ground. Waking up at the depot. Being forced to feed by Stefan. Damon pushed all the memories of 1864, good and bad, to the back of his mind. With nothing else to do, nowhere else to go, no one to love him and not one friend in the world he continued walking along the street until he came to the hospital. Damon came to a sudden halt and everything stopped and focused on the brick building in front of him .People were bustling in and out, in need of assistance. Damon could smell the blood, and his features threatened to change. The world began to spin slowly, even though Damon stood still. He felt light headed and overwhelmed, like he'd just run a marathon. A thick fog spread over the landscape, as Damon slipped into the haze. He awoke from the trance sitting on the sidewalk, as a man in a suit bumped into him. "Sorry," he mumbled, as he rushed into the hospital. As Damon got up, a huge crowd of people came rushing around the corner. He listened intently, his vampire hearing focusing on the group. "Get her inside, or she'll bleed out," said one man. "Bleed out," Damon whispered to himself. As the crowd got closer, Damon stumbled backwards, the smell of blood overwhelming him. The fog clouded his surroundings as he stepped inside the hospital doors.
When he awoke, he found himself sitting in a storage cupboard, surrounded by shelves lined with bottles of medication. As he stood up, red stains on his fingers caught his eye. His raised them slowly, the smell of blood filling the room as the walls began to close in. Damon kicked the hundreds of drained blood bags underneath a pile of linen, as the room got smaller. He needed to get out of there. Stumbling out into the corridor, the haze threatened to take over again. He continued down the crowded hallway as fast as he could without drawing too much attention to himself. The cloud became thicker as Damon saw a blood bag hanging from a metal stand through an open door. He stumbled inside the small room where a small girl, about 14 or 15 was laying, lifeless and a depiction of death itself. The card sitting above her head read: Summer Heartfield - 17/8/1885 - Orphan - Spanish Influenza. Medicine in these times was basic, and Summer had a certain death approaching.
Her blond hair framed her face perfectly, and she reminded Damon of Katherine, even though they looked nothing alike. The way she laid so peacefully, hands resting on her heart, made Damon remember his days as a human, the happiness he felt, and the montage of memories began rolling again. He reached out for her hand, and as they touched, her heart rate spiked. The happiness he felt when he looked at her, he just couldn't let it go. "There is a way," Damon whispered to her, as his vampire features appeared.
You can never tell where the lines of humanity and brutality blur, when things become hasty, when you black out and can't remember. But Damon could, he definitely could. It was when the world started to spin, when surroundings blurred, when everything seemed louder than it actually was, when people got too close, when he began to transform, veins appearing under his eyes, teeth replaced with deadly fangs, when blood took over.
22 January 1899
Damon felt his head hit the cobblestones as he struggled to open his eyes. He was lying in the floor of his basement, recognizable by the constantly growing pile of drained blood bags in the corner and the framed picture of Katherine on the table. The small rectangular vent in to corner provided enough light to see inside the small basement, and Damon spotted the small figure lying in the corner. She looked pale and very much dead. Damon tried to remember the events of the previous night as he searched her lifeless body for bite marks. The last thing he could remember was holding her hand in the hospital, and then darkness. She had no signs of being drained of any blood, she was just dead. Damon stayed next to her, for almost an hour, holding her hand, the montage of 1864 memories rolling through his head.
Damon got up, tears rolling down his face as the scene of the burning church played in his head, details exact, like a film. He looked at Summer, while vowing never to return to Mystic Falls, as he noticed her hand twitch.
