I do not own Twilight. This is just something I quickly wrote and haven't even read through. It's based of the Biology part of the Twilight books. It's my new take on it. Please leave a comment it means the world to me and if you can find my shout out to Edgar Allen Poe.
How far will it consume me. To the point where my head boils and my instincts to breath are taken away from me. When I cease to be a human?
He sensed it and I couldn't do it and my back straightened and my hands were damp in-between my fingers. I felt the flesh of my lips between my teeth and rolled my bottom lip and then kept the two parts to my lips tightened in a pout of sorts and I felt the used pages of the book. It was like sandpaper but also like skin and I didn't want to feel that way. It was like I couldn't control it. Everything seemed different to me as if I had just wakened up. I could I understand as if I wanted to hear something that would tell me it was okay but, I knew it wasn't okay to feel this way. I knew there was something very wrong.
There were times when I would let myself go and I would sit there and feel my heartbeat and feel the breathing of the person whose presence had became before me but, I loved the feeling. The feeling of danger and the feeling of distrust and I couldn't stand the idea that he would be leaving me shortly. That this would cease and It would be as if nothing had happened that I never heard this.
"Bella."
I looked up from my translucent haze.
Was it his eyes. The eyes of a vulture that would make me feel as if a heartbeat would come form the walls of the small construction of the building and he lingered like a classic perfume of an noble lady. I could feel it within me. The idea of reaching out and touching the long, bloodless fingers which held around the hinges of the microscope. They were perfect. Like a circle which was created by something which has no humanly will. Something like a taunting devil that would seduce the will of a saint. I wanted to touch the hands of this unholy, unrighteous character. Yet with the one human instinct which held me the ground bid me not to grasp the hands.
And he breathed in and out as if he were hallow. As if he were dead.
And he slowly pushed the microscope towards me.
And I pushed my darkly colored thick hair from the damp nape of my neck and looked in the eye of the microscope.
Was I mad? Was this disease which consumed me take my soul. It seemed that it's eyes were sucking the life- the day, the stars.
It's the like the flecks of gold were the lives he had taken. I knew he was a killer. I knew he wanted to kill me.
He wanted to strangle my neck with his perfect finger and suck my blood with his perfect teeth.