Disclaimer: Mitchell belongs to the BBC.
Set before Mitchell went "clean".
In the dark I hear her heart, her breath, and oh sweetheart didn't your mother ever tell you not to talk to strangers?
The streets are ours, open and raw. What she won't give I'll tear through, and I can feel the dizzying emptiness, the trees, the stars above. They're afraid of me. They won't come out and play.
But love, my love. What was your name again? When my teeth grazed her neck it only ever was she and I wasn't it? Doesn't matter about my past, doesn't matter about all the little human ties that make her who she is. I am a comet, I am the best and worst of both worlds and perhaps the end of whatever fragile equilibrium keeps our little world upon its axis.
Doesn't matter.
Come on, you can go faster than that.
A feint and a slide to the right and she tumbles over like a puppy dog in the autumn leaves. My laugh comes easy, the running comes easier. The city has a rhythm at rest, but my bare feet pound a different beat and it's the bloodlust running for me now and I can almost stand back and watch. I can hear the drumming of her shoes upon the pavement and when I turn into the graveyard and vault the gate I feel her panic, smell her blood. It's a mistake on her part that lets me grab her by the waist and I roll over so that my body cushions her fall.
Ever the gentleman - some habits die hard.
And then there's nothing but her. Fragile, familiar - when the blood starts flowing they're all the same, all silky skin upon steel and eyes over bright in the darkness. And the blood. Sticky sweet, hot and heavy as delirium.
Dawn always comes too quickly and when the clean up crew arrives all the magic is gone. Nameless vampires load up the nameless girl into an ambulance with false plates and that's the end of it.
Until the next time.
There's a bracelet of amber beads in the crushed grass and I almost leave it there. When I pick it up I mean to throw it in the trash but I don't. It fits on my wrist well enough to see me through the next forty years, and when the chain finally breaks it is regret that I throw it away and feel guilty that I am more saddened by the loss of a trinket than taking the life of the nameless girl who had once worn it.