My story is one of many without a happy ending. I don't remember much about my human life.
My name was Jenson Fitzgerald. I am forever thirteen years old and I was betrayed by my family.
It was hard in Italy a famine you could, say people worked extra hard just to make a living in this small world of ours.
Some turned to drastic measures some, so graphic I can't stand to think of it today. My father was a simple man. He married my mother sixteen years before the famine. When I was only eight years old he was involved in a massacre that took many peoples lives he was one of the unlucky survivors.
But little did we know what he had survived from and the consequences of this survival. He was in a coma for three days, three long days. He said his wrist was on fire that he was being burned at the stake. Then the pain ceased and he was a new man, a new species, a new person.
When he opened his eyes they were a scarlet river of red. We thought that it might be because they were blood-shot but we didn't know how wrong we were. He didn't eat much but he went out more often. When he got back he smelled faintly of rust and salt, my interpretation for blood. I didn't question him though, I left him be.
On my thirteenth birthday he was very agitated, he grabbed my wrist and dragged me out onto the lane.
"Do you know how long it's been since I've fed!?" He snarled, "Cause you're smell is intoxicating right now."
He lifted me up by my shoulders and bit my ear, my neck my jaw line, I now knew what he'd meant by fire I had been submerged in gasoline and thrown in hades fiery pit. I was totally unaware of my surroundings when I was thrown to the floor.
"Get off of him you sick fiend!" It sounded like wind chimes.
I heard something snap like a large branch, I heard something rip like a piece of parchment I smelt smoke and then the fire enveloped me.
I don't remember how many times the angel apologized. She stroked my hair as I winced and screamed wishing for death.
She told me what she was what I was becoming, and why she saved me, "You are now the most dangerous predator in existence," she cooed.
"We are meant to kill but we don't have to," She sighed, "I've heard of covens, covens who call themselves, vegetarians, who don't feed on human flesh. This is your choice, your craving. I won't decide for you..."
The burning subsided and I whispered four words, "What is your name?"
"Jane..." was her response.
She was gone in an instant, and I sat alone in the middle of a cold wet cobble street, broken, and twisted.