It's funny how disaster has always possessed the ability to draw in more eyes than any other attraction. Two people could be having sex in the middle of the street and still, one would be more likely to stare at the ten man brawl going on in the opposite direction. No, it's not because that one is overly morbid, or cynical, it is the simple fact that pain is beautiful. The way a face can contort into such visions of anguish and loss, the way a body can writhe and toss as a heart struggles to beat one last time. Of course, these are all terrible things, and yet they draw the eye like flies to honey.
Maybe that's why I stopped that morning in the woods when I should have just kept walking, but that was me, always in the wrong place at the wrong time. I knew I should have just ignored the sweet, succulent scent of blood in the air and continued on my way, but it was too much for me and I lost control. That's saying a lot since I've never lost control once in my life. Ever since childhood, I've always had perfect control over my shifting and muscle function, as well as my attitude though sometimes I'm a little brutal with my sarcasm. But I had to be that way, because I grew up alone. Always living on the fringes of society, never having a family or friends. Don't get me wrong, I love my life, but sometimes I just wish that for whatever reason my family left me… That they hadn't… But that's the past and there's no use in wishing for something that will never come true. Better to move on and forget, always moving forward never back.
That was my motto, until the day I saw his face and then everything changed. The world could have stopped turning or collapsed in on itself and I wouldn't have notice, that's how completely he captured my attention. It was as if there had been a spell thrown over me from which I couldn't escape, but for some reason I didn't want to. Whether or not I was right or foolishly, foolishly wrong then I can't say for sure. All I knew was that I had to get closer to him; I had to touch him and feel the rolling twist of his muscles under my hand. Since the day I turned twenty, since the day I saw his face, this had been my goal. To meet him, to talk to him, and someday to make him love me if only a fraction of the amount that I loved him. If only I could have known the disasters I would entice, the beautiful agony I would place on the visage I loved so absolutely. If only there could have been some warning before I destroyed his heart and mine along with it. But no, I was doomed from the start… Utterly, wholly, and marvelously doomed.