People say that when you die a painful death, the afterlife is that of blissful joy and happiness. They say that, once the pain has all disappeared, you will be welcomed into Gods arms with love and kindness. I used to believe that. All throughout my life, I had always believed that when I died, I would go to heaven. The people that said that would happen; they were, and still are, fools. In the end, all happiness is gone and has disappeared in life. I know this from experience.
There were always ways to escape the dreadful light of day. At least, I thought there was, until my mother and father forced me to return to school, despite my arguments. You see, I have a problem with my body. Whenever I come into contact with sunlight, my skin tingles and my bones feel like they turn to jello. It's extremely odd, and no doctor had been able to identify the cause of this, nor what the disease was called in general. I was an odd case, one of those types of cases that you would see on Ripley's Believe It Or Not, or whatever. Since the day I had been adopted into my family, they had been trying to help find a cure for it. I didn't really mind the disease, to be honest, what annoyed me was the fact that my 'parents' were always trying to fix it, without asking if I wanted to be fix. So, altogether, I'm pretty much a night owl, I hate going to school, and I most definitely despise the daytime and summer.
I suppose that's what probably landed me where I am right now.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
I shot an annoyed, blue eyed gaze at the clock. Could it shut up for one minute? I had enough trouble dealing with the annoying chatter of my classmates without having the added sound of the annoying clock ticking away the seconds we had until school ended.
I sat in the corner of the room, the darkest part of it, with my head lowered over my notebook and my long auburn hair brushing over the book. My pencil was scribbling across the paper, and I began to lose myself in my own little world as Mr. Jameson rambled on and on about subject verb conjugation or something like that. I never really paid attention in his class. I mean, have you ever had a teacher that tried to be funny but totally wasn't and lectures were extremely boring? Don't get me wrong, Mr. Jameson is really nice and I love English, but I'd rather be surrounded by a mob of sharks than be sitting in his class at this moment.
Brrrrrriiinnnggg!
I snapped my notebook closed, tossed my pencil in my pencil bag, zipped it shut, stacked my notebook, pencil bag, binder, and textbook together, swooped them into my arms, and quickly walked from the room.
As I was walking down the hall, I could hear their dreadful whispers.
"I hear that girl's a vampire. Do you think it's true?" I heard one girl whisper.
"Nah, I heard that vampires, fledglings, whatever, couldn't be away from the adult vampires for long or they'd die. I hear she just has this skin problem where she can't go in the sunlight for long." The boy the girl had whispered to whispered back.
"Oh, I see. Poor girl; and she doesn't have any friends either," the girl said.
"I know, it must suck. Oh well, it's not our problem. Besides, if we tried to be her friend, we'd become social outcasts too." The boy said, and they both looked at me, catching my eyes on them. Their eyes widened, they paled, and they both turned and walked quickly away.
I looked down. Sometimes, the things people said about and did to me made me sad. I was normally strong about my problem. But those types of people, that pitied me, either annoyed the crap out of me, or made me extremely sad. With a soft sigh, I turned away from the spot the two had been standing at, and walked to my locker.
15-37-11 I scrolled into my locker. My combination had been the same each year, partly because I had kept the same locker over the two years of my high school that I've been in. People avoided me and my locker as though it were the plague, which used to bother me, but no longer did so. Of course, there was no way for them to comprehend what went through my mind. People were unnecessarily cruel to me because they thought it was funny and that I actually cared. I didn't. I used to, but after a while of having to deal with their disgusted looks, their awful words, the way they bullied me in general, it had hardened my heart to being hurt by anything anymore.
Looking into my locker, which was accessorized by only a picture that hung in the back of it, of me with my adoptive parents and my new baby brother and sister, whom were twins, I smiled a little. That was the only thing that ever brought a smile to my face in my life; my family. Despite how annoyed they make me because of how much my parents tried to cure me, I still loved them. Even though they weren't my blood parents, I still thought of them as so, seeing as my actual parents had given me up. They'd placed me on the steps of a police station in a basket, wrapped in a blanket that had the name Talia on it. My blood parents had wished my name to be Talia, although they wouldn't keep me, but my adoptive parents decided on the name Genevieve. Ugh, it made me want to puke. I hated that name so much. If I did ever actually become a vampire, or fledgling, or whatever they were called, I'd be changing my name to Talia.
I let out a breath as I grabbed my homework from my locker and tossed it into my backpack. Zipping it closed, I brought one strap over my shoulder, before shutting my locker. Turning, I brought my backpack in front of me to fumble with it in an attempt to pull my phone from it, as the shrill ring of it was heard. It was obviously my parents. I finally got it out and flipped it open.
"I'll be a little late picking you up, Genevieve. Don't worry. Just stay inside, okay?" Came my mother's voice. I sighed. She was always late. Whatever, though, I was used to it.
"Okay, I'll-" I was suddenly cut off when I heard a voice behind me. I whipped around, almost tripping in the process, and let my eyes fall on the person who had spoken.
He was tall, with dark, wavy black hair that fell into his midnight black eyes. His skin was pale, and he had a muscled body. There was no mistaking the sapphire crescent moon that rested in the center of his forehead. He lifted his hand, his long, pianist finger pointing at me. It was only than his words registered in my dulled mind.
"Genevieve Latila! Night has chosen thee; thy death will be thy birth. Night calls to thee; hearken to Her sweet voice. Your destiny awaits you at the House of Night!" A white light appeared at his finger, but it quickly faded, and, the next thing I knew, my world had exploded into pain. Someone screamed.
I felt my phone slip from my numb fingers as I slumped to the floor, my knees landing painfully against the tile. "Genevieve? Genevieve? Genevieve!" I barely registered my mother's voice coming through the phone, before my whole world faded to black.