AN: This is my first 'official' story. Don't kill me.

Oh, and what in the hell happened to the 'Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter' Category? I was all ready to add this story there.

Rated M because of Violence, Obscenity, a maybe later lemon, and all that yummy Anita-type stuff.

(Note, this is the revamped version, which was made in 2010.)

Disclaimer: I own nothing, except for maybe my own pathetic attempts at making an OC.

Saccharine Nights

Prologue

I don't believe in fairy tales. Neither do I pray with the masses, or wish for a happy ending. Those kinds of things have and always will be out of reach for me. Some of the things, like praying, seem much like a waste of time, a supposed, and untrue, salvation. The only thing I would pray in would be humans, and even then, we aren't really worth any prayer. I sound melodramatic, don't I? Like a soppy comic book character or deranged pioneer, blathering about truth and righteousness. I hope, with a heavy heart, that what I believe in is right. Yet I continue to contradict myself. And again, hope is for fools. I know that. It can save a life, yet it can also be poisonous. The sickly sweet red of an apple before it goes bad, decaying from the inside out.

I suppose I am a fool. Yet how can I be a fool if I realize that I'm one? An insane person usually doesn't know that they're insane. An idiot doesn't know that they are an idiot. I know that I'm a fool. I've got to be. I make too many mistakes for it to be brushed off as plain crass. I think too hard, sometimes. Like right now. At this dreary state of my life, I am alone. Being alone isn't so bad. It's depressing, but I've got no one to blame for myself. I'm in my own sort of solitary confinement. I can beat my head against the wall as many times as I fancy, but that's not going to keep my life from going onward. As I stare at the wall in question, my feet hanging loosely off my grey, conventional mattress, I think about life, and the predicaments which led me to where I am now. I've devoured the works or Shakespeare, Dante, Plato and Aristotle, among others. But I have not yet found the correct amount of words to explain how I act, why I do this, and why I do that.

Enough of philosophy, I determined. I was blathering on, and anyways, I can get depressed easily, if I think about shit like that too much. My black rimmed eyelids finally cracked open, and my heavy, insomnia afflicted body turned to look at the floor length window to the right. My muscles complained, but personally, I continued to stay silent. I study my room, saving the window for last. My eyes strain over the sheer amount of books in the tiny room. Books and books and piles of books are scattered everywhere, a couple open ones thrown carelessly on the ground for later consumption. I reach over to a half finished book near my head. I ignore the dark stain on my hand and turn it over, squinting at the title.

Sun Tzu's 'The Art Of War.'

Not that I don't have enough of that in my life already. I violently throw it across my room and immediately regret it. I had liked that book, and I childishly damaged it. And along with that, I lost my page number. Sighing, I continue studying my room. The ceiling is leaking again. Well, enough of that. My eyes move and finally rest on my dusty, old window. Being very large and very… open, I normally have it covered to some extent, but last night I was simply too tired to shut the makeshift quilt, AKA. Heavy curtains. The window reaches from the ceiling to the floor, and I loved it, however absurd it was. It was very easy window to see into, and anyone could have seen me in my room. It didn't matter- I didn't have anything of value for robbers and the sort. This wasn't a great neighbourhood- you can tell, by the dank flavour of drugs and musk that resided in the air, and of the frequent glimpses of graffiti and litter. A burst of light makes me squint repeatedly and swear, I did not know it was sunrise time yet. My eyes adjust, and I watch as the early rays of an autumn morning peek in from behind a row of skid roe townhouses across from my cheap-ass apartment. Aside from the state of my urban environment and grungy room, the sky is beautiful.

The tangy scent of iron attacks my nostrils as I enjoy the view, and I look down at the state of my clothes in horror. They shouldn't be called clothing, seeing as it was pretty much shreds on my body. Shred s dripped in blood. I sat up, a jolting movement, and stared at my hands, a look of unadulterated fear crossing my face. This was not the time to be brave. My hands… no, not just my hands, my whole body had been splattered, drenched, with, now dried, blood. The whole effect was somewhat like I'd stood in front of a dirge of butchering, the blood splatter, in itself, like a work of modern art. I could-would not believe what was happening. I found myself wishing everything would go away. Oh, please…I'm so scared… And hoping… Oh, no, now, hoping is for idiots and fools, remember, Jacqueline? I just have to..I can't... I can't freak out. The thought sprang up and out of my subconscious, halting my would-be panic attack. It would be alright. (It wouldn't, but who was I to judge?) If I could just... forget about what happened last night. Forget everything.

I can't believe they tracked me down. Of course, who was I kidding, they were vampires. But I dropped everything, kept moving, lived in shit holes for nine straight months. The only thing that stayed with me were my books. A split second decision to pack them into the rusty trunk of my impala, carrying them from crappy apartments, to shitty motels, to musky basement suites. I was so careful. And yet...

The sun arose slowly, oblivious to my terror. Striking colours of orange and red lit the sky. I forgot, if only for a moment, what had happened last night. Flashes of phantom memory and skin, tearing, blood everywhere…The sky itself is still beautiful, even with the horror that the blood on my clothes and my skin, and now on my mattress, came from more than one person, and those people will never again see a beautiful autumn morning as I am.

Sorry for the short beginning. Review, please! The chapters will come out much faster if you do. And please don't be afraid to give me constructive criticism.