So. I re-read my earlier work, in 'Jez and Morgead: Memories' and realised just how bad it was.

Very. My brother could have written better. And that is saying something bad about my writing. Therefore, I decided to re-write everything. I'm gonna keep all the earlier stuff on the same story, but just edit them very thoroughly. And I promise that I will write MUCH better stuff that won't be so badly thought out.

Anyway, this is my revamped... 'First Sight'. Cue applause...

First Sight

It was the darkest he'd ever seen it when he went outside.

Not completely dark, though. Never completely dark. The moon shot a small beam of light, and there were the distant lights from the Golden Gate Bridge which he could just about see, but there were no lights whatsoever coming from his street.

Unlike a normal almost-six-year-old, it didn't scare him. In fact, it comforted him. In the darkness, he could blend into the shadows, and there would be no well-meaning yet annoying adults glancing worriedly at the strange child who never had anyone with him. He didn't need their so-called protection.

It wasn't long before he came to his own house, a rundown bungalow with a concrete front garden and a peeling, green door which stuck whenever anyone tried to open it.

He kicked some dead, drying leaves out of the way and took his hands out of his pockets to reach up to the door handle, having to stand up on his tiptoes to do so. It didn't open, so he pushed against it with his entire body weight. It still didn't budge.

Crouching down, he looked through the cat flap. He hadn't been able to fit through it for a couple of years now, but he could still just about see through the gloom. Two coats were on the floor, next to a handbag. One of the coats and the handbag was his mother's, but the other coat he didn't recognise. He could hear some voices near the back of the house, so he straightened up. He'd grown quite a bit in the past few months, so when he jumped up he could just about reach the buzzer. The voices stopped, but no-one came to open the door for him, even when he pressed it again.

Turning back, he tried to think where he could go. There were two options, the docks or the playpark a couple of blocks away.

The docks, he thought to himself. But instead of turning left, he turned right towards the playpark. Something compelled him to turn right and wouldn't let him turn back.

The park was very basic and simple, but the gates were easy to climb over. He kicked at the ground as he walked to the swing set. The park was deserted, as he'd expected. He stayed in the darkest parts, out of habit.

Something sharp poked him in the back and heard someone say 'en garde' behind him. He froze, before just turning his head.

A girl a bit smaller than him was standing sideways-on towards him, one hand behind her back and the other holding a wooden stick about the same size as him. She was smiling brilliantly, silver-blue eyes sparkling in amusement. He narrowed his eyes and pushed the stick away from his body. She immediately lost the smile and pointed the stick at him again determinedly.

"Why are you pointing that at me?" he asked.

She flipped back her hair, which reminded him of fire, then poked him with the stick. He felt a snarl rip through his throat and opened his mouth slightly, feeling his fangs extend to intent his lower lip.

She didn't run away screaming, as he had expected. Instead, she squared her shoulders and showed her own pearly white fangs to him. They stayed completely still for a few seconds, until he looked away from the penetrating gaze from her eyes.

She poked him again with the stick.

Suddenly, he felt completely and utterly exasperated and annoyed at her. Before he'd even consciously told his body to, he'd thrown himself at her and knocked her to the ground. She let out a quick, high-pitched sound before twisting the stick and swinging it round at him, sweeping his legs out so that he fell to the floor with a painful 'thump'. She didn't let him get up, either. She straightened up quickly and jumped on top of him, sitting on his chest.

"Yield!" she yelled at him, pushing against his throat with her small hands. Some kind of heat filled him and he growled at her angrily.

"No," he said firmly.

She hit him and picked up the stick again. "Fine, then," she said. "Don't yield, and I'll cut you into little pieces12

He could see a steely determination in her eyes as she watched him carefully. "What's your name?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Na-ha," she said. "You tell me your name first."

He blinked. "Morgead Blackthorn."

"Can I call you Morgy?"

"No."

"Okay, Morgy. I'm Jez Redfern."

He shifted under her weight. "Can you get off me now?"

"Not yet, Morgy. Not until you yield." She gave a wide smile. "You're my prisoner until you yield."

He rolled over quickly, dumping her to the ground, and scooted away from her. She laughed and turned to face him, sitting cross-legged. "Fair enough," she said, pulling her hair over to one side. She flashed her dimples at him, and Morgead's breath caught in his throat. Why, he had no idea.

"I've never met a vampire my age before," she said.

"Me neither. I bet I'm older than you," he answered.

She crossed her arms and stared him down. "I'm five."

"I'm almost six."

"When?"

"15th December."

"Then your birthday's in three days."

He nodded.

"I was five last month. November 22nd. Do you want to be friends?" she said matter-of-factly.

Morgead put his head to one side. "Okay."

She dropped the wooden stick and grabbed hold of his hand, pulling him up with impressive strength and dragging him over to the double swing. "Come on then, Morgy," she shouted.

Morgead raised his eyebrows before letting her pull him along.