Hey everyone! Now, if you're a fan of my other work, one thank you XD and two sorry for the unexpeceted hiatus. A few months ago, my old desktop (yes, I know, I'm behind on the times XD ) died on me. I have yet had the chance to recover everything on it - a.k.a. my stories. If that wasn't bad enough, I've had major writting block. But, I think it's going away... For good I hope.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Little Vampire, all rights go to... New Line Home Entertainment? That sound right? Oh well, it's not mine, that's all I need to say. I only own my character, whose name is undetermined at the moment...

Without further aidue, I introduce to you my new story, dedicated to all those lovers of the Little Vampire, and the sexy teenage vampier in it.

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Chapter 1: Confused yet? Lost? Need help?

How in the world am I related to this man? I scoffed at that idea. He is no man. Nothing close. He is a worthless piece of shit. He is insane as well. And sadly he is my Uncle. When I first found this out I couldn't believe it – still don't in fact. My mom and him are nothing alike. My mom was a respected woman and was kind and caring. She was beautiful and smart. She was everything I wanted to grow up to be. My Uncle, on the other hand, was a dirty slime bag. Dirt was caked on his entire body. He was uneducated and his grammar was atrocious.

I can't be related to him. I just can't. And neither can my mom. But sadly, we can't pick our family. If so, I would be Angelina Jolie's sister. But I'm getting off track, aren't I? And you're probably horribly confused right about now, right? Why do I keep asking you questions? It's not like you can respond. You're just reading what I'm leaving behind, right? Opps, there I go again.

What were we talking about again? Ah yes, family. No matter how much I deteste this idea, an idea thought up by stupid, greedy, assholes – who we normally call lawyers and the sort – I can't do anything about it. Maybe, a little background information will be helpful.

June 23rd, 2010

A normal day. That's how it started out. Like any other summer day. My mother and I were enjoying the warm sun that shone brightly above us. We were sprawled out on our wooden deck in only bikinis. Unlike other teenage girls my age, I was not ashamed, or embarrassed to see my mom in a bikini. She had a lean body. She didn't look her age. Only a few wrinkles had set in, and her brown hair that reached her shoulders, showed no sign of gray. Then again, she could be dying her hair. Oh well. There we were, enjoying sun bathing when a loud, and annoying ring went off. It was my mom's cell phone. I knew what that mean. We wouldn't be enjoying the rest of the day together.

My mom, Christiana, was an on-call registered emergency nurse. The two of us shared a sigh as I watched her sit up and look at me. A disappointed look crossed her face, and I assumed a very similar one was whipped on my own face. Looking away, my mom stood up and walked inside so she could change. I decided then to go inside as well. Act like a true teenager I suppose. Lounge about, eat chips, and watch T.V., not hang out with my mom. Pfft. Who was I kidding? I loved hanging with my mom, even if she was crazy, in the goofy weird way.

My mom came back down stairs in her scrubs and gave me a hug, "I'll see you later sweetie. Lock up, don't talk to strangers, you know the routine," she finished with a small smile as she placed her pager in the waist line of her pants.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I will. See you later, have fun at work" I waved to her retreating form as she walked out of our house.

I didn't know it then, but my mom would never get to work. And I would never have a fun day with her again. I would never see her again. For she had died that day. At 3:17 pm. An impatient driver ran a red stop light and plowed square into my moms three-door Ford Focus. A textbook T-bone accident. When paramedics arrived she was pronounced dead at the scene. The driver of the car that killed my mother only had a concussion and a few scratches and bruises.

I was now alone in the world. I never had a father, but that's okay, I grew up fine without him. But what about now? A foster home? Well apparently not. My mom had a brother. A brother she failed to tell me about. He lived in Scotland and after a few weeks of contact he has agreed to take me in.

With that set in stone, I had packed my things while only leaving out a black dress and a change of clothes for after the funeral. The funeral was very odd for me. I was the only family member there. The rest of the men and women clad in black were either friends or colleagues of Christiana. But as odd as it was, it was a nice and beautiful service. Many of the women came up to me, patted me on the back, and gave me their condolences.

At the end of the ceremony, after all my tears had been spent, I walked away from my mother's final resting spot and over to a black SUV. A tall, dark skinned woman with her hands clasped together hanging just below her stomach, stood waiting for me. I knew who she was. She was a child service worker – Diana, I think her name was – she was going to take me to my house and then to the airport. The ride to my house isn't really anything to talk about. No words were exchanged between me and the older woman. I spent the entire ride with my elbow propped on the window sill, chin in hand, staring out to the world. Everything was a blur, but somehow it brought me a form of stability. I can't explain that feeling though, so don't ask me to.

When I arrived at my house, for the last time – why is it those simple words can pain the heart more so then anything? But saying it in a different manner takes away the pain? I believe it is because adding 'last' to anything makes it so final, so definite – I numbly got out of the car. I vaguely remember the woman saying she would be waiting outside. Paying no mind to her, I walked through the front door, and it felt, even if only for a moment, that nothing had changed. That my mom would pop out from around the corner, some form of food on her cheek and ask if I was ready for dinner, or how my day was. But, as a few minutes passed, with me standing with my back to the now closed front door, and no other movement, I realized that everything had changed. It would never be the same.

I breathed in deeply through my nose, holding back the tears the best I could, standing up tall with my chin held high, I quickly made my way up the stairs of our, my, no one's house towards what used to be my room. Opening the white painted door, I revealed a bleak and boxed up room. At one point in time a twin sized bed sat in the middle adorned in blue sheets and a matching comforter, off to the far right corner was a glass and black metal desk and shelf combo that held by printer and laptop, on the right wall, a dresser that reached an inch below my shoulder packed to the brim with clothes in a hap-hazard manner, and a vanity on the left wall with various little knick knacks stacked up high. Now, the bed was stripped, leaving only the mattress, the desk was bare, the dresser was empty, and the vanity was clear. It was no longer my room.

The only things that seemed out of place now were the suitcases and what not on the floor, and a change of clothes on the mattress. I quickly changed, not wanting to miss my flight, even though I was in no mood to move to Scotland. Dusting off the clothes once they adorned my body, I checked myself in the mirror on the vanity – like old times. I sported a pair of old jeans, holes in the knees, and various things written on them. Blame my friends. A red camisole could be seen under and dark purple and black plaid, button down shirt with a few hints of red in the shirt. On my feet, was nothing special, just a pair of DC's whose name I couldn't remember. Sighing once more, I shoved the black dress into my carry on bag, and pulled on my leather jacket. It was a wonderfully, beautiful jacket my mom had picked out for a theme for my class' homecoming theme during spirit week. It was music, and my class had Rock n' Roll.

I pushed those thoughts to the back of my mind and slung my carry on bag on top of one of the suitcases, the strap wrapped around the handle; this prevented the thing from falling off. Picking up a case on the ground – it too had a strap – I slung that over my shoulder. It was my tenor saxophone case and I was not going to place it on top of anything like a suitcase while it was in motion, or even while it wasn't. Each of my hands wrapped around a suitcase and I rolled them out of my room. I turned around and looked at everything for the last time. As though I was in some movie, I could see old memories play out in front of me. Most were with my mom. This brought a sad smile to my face, before I turned around and closed the door.

Managing, miraculously, to get down the steps with so much luggage, I rolled them to the front entrance. I opened the front door and I could see the woman still there, in her black SUV, still at the wheel. I glanced over my shoulder before I closed the front door. I let a tear roll down my cheek, and then another. So many memories. I was leaving them all. I know you might argue that they will always be with me, and I agree, but the house itself held so many. It was my home. No matter where I go, it will always be that to me.

"Goodbye mom," I remember murmuring, as I closed the door before walking over to the SUV to load all my stuff and prepare for the relatively short ride to the airport.

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Okay, I know, short chapter. But I needed to get it out there. It seemed like the right spot to end it anyway. I wonder if anyone knows who her Uncle is... any guesses? But, as always, please REVIEW. I also want to know if I should continue this story in first person or third person. I knew for certain I was going to write the first chapter in first person, but not after that. Oh well, working on chapter two anyway. REVIEW!