Wowo, people...

This fanfic's been through a dipsy-do of a ride. It all started, way back when, in the first week of school. My teacher told us to write a short story with the theme of "fear", and lo, I wrote something I was half-way proud of for once. Only, it wasn't about James, as it is here. It was narrated by Death. So, a few weeks pass, and I show it to Miriam. She takes a fancy to it, and decides that it is fanfic-worthy. A few bowls of popcorn and some furious typing later, it is done.

I promise that all characters are not mine (except the random guy about to die).

Such wonderful atrocities.

The sin and squalor of this place, too intangible to perceive with weak human senses, shriek from the very walls, bidding me to bring upon the inhabitants horrors that they've never imagined. And yet, I have deigned myself to be here for one human alone. For, tonight, it has been willed by me that his life shall end. I am Death and all are mortal in my eyes.

I draw in a deep breath, unneeded in this invincible form. And with it, I can sense the fear, oh the delicious fear. They, all these squirming, sinning humans, feel terror like no other species can. It pervades their thoughts, their actions, until their very souls are wrought into something misshapen and cowering. They find horror in the night, as they should, for who knows what could be lurking in those shadows? And especially, their hearts accelerate and their minds panic at the thought of my kind.

Of course, not always specifically me, as I would most like. More often, it is that secret fear, residual from a childhood filled with sadistic siblings telling of the vampires that come get naughty children. A fear they never speak of, for surely they will be laughed at. Vampires can't exist, they tell themselves. Not in a rational world.

And it's true. What rational world would give birth to a super-predator, with nothing to stand against them? What sense would it make to give this predator the powers and appearance of a god, and then unleash it upon the simple-minded folk as delicate as paper angels? Give this hunter all of eternity to hone its abilities, and it almost seems that nature is willing my kind to have its fun, to stalk the inferior little humans. So, for the past 60 years, I have. And with each kill, I dare myself to find a victim that will present a greater challenge, a bigger thrill. Drug lords, heads of state. The blood of innocents and the corrupted alike. In the end, they all succumb. There was only ever one that was able to get away. I think back on her pale, frightened face, her achingly sweet blood, and hiss ever so slightly. Such a waste...

But this man. Oh, this clever human. He has managed to elude me for the better part of 7 months, and the chase has been ...extraordinary. It was his blood at first that called to me, singing potently through his veins. Realizing quickly what he had attracted, he had sought out another coven. How on earth had he known that this coven was one of the few who had a vendetta against me? How was it possible? Nevertheless, they had led me off track, on a wild goose-chase that, looking back now, was just slightly embarrassing. But even they couldn't have kept me from this human forever. I can smell him, the scent so tangible I can almost feel my fingers reaching out to break his neck. With burning throat and itching fingers, I proceed.

I stand on the front step of his house now, and almost feel it as the little hairs on the nape of his neck rise. A humans subconscious is so very perceptive, yet they never listen to it. It shall forever be their downfall.

Pushing back the door (simple locks are almost a comical thing to my kind), the long-rusty hinges suddenly noiseless under my hand. Adrenaline is awash through him, buzzing angrily at this pathetic human to stand, to run, all the things that will not save him from me. He simply believes himself to be paranoid. And he is, but apparently not to the extent to save his worthless life.

He cannot see me, standing in the gloom of the stairwell. But I see him just fine, and a small smile spreads across my face at the terror brimming in his eyes. A step forward, and then another, my pale white forearm visible as it reaches towards his heart. It passes through his flesh, his bone and body, to his still-beating heart, as he gasps and crumples sickeningly to the floor. He spasms violently, those wide, human eyes seeking the source of his sudden pain. When he is finally discovered, days, maybe weeks later, the cause of his death will be a baffling mystery, I'm sure. Though I don't think I'll stick around long enough to see...

From then on, everything is blurred, an usual sensation for those like me. The animalistic side of ourselves is brought out in times such as these, the human facade shoved viciously back, forgotten at the sight of the coursing, red liquid before me now.

Blood...

Blood!

I bite down, and begin to drink with a giddy pleasure. This ambrosia, this nectar that I have so craved, seeps down my parched throat. While it is not the sweetest blood I have ever tasted, it is filling. Satisfying. It tastes like victory.

Taking my last drought, I notice the light has left his eyes completely. Dead. Yet, if I were to ignore the bite wounds on his neck and the gaping wound through his chest, the spattered blood dotting his cheek, he could almost be...sleeping. There is no terror on his face, no remnants from his last instants on this earth. It is only slack, the eyes glassy.

And though I am completely sated from this kill, though I have finally won this game of chase, I'm empty. This man at my feet had been my purpose for a surprising amount of time, and now...nothing.

Get a grip, James. I mentally slap away the melancholy. I have to get back to Victoria, and the newest addition to our pack, Laurent. They've been more than patient with me, and perhaps they'll have an idea for a new target. I turn on my heel, away from the body (not a man anymore, just a body) running out the door. Into the night.

*is secretly hoping for reviews* Please? That little blue-ish button?