Disclaimer: The disclaimer of the Prologue applies.
Well, I was born –I mean, dead- on November 19, 1918. The Spanish Influenza had come in and I was caught with it. My mother was devastated, and the doctor, this great man from Washington, he was supposed to be the best, had told my mother there was no hope and asked if he could prepare the body, as it would be too harsh for her. She was so overcome by the idea of shutting my lifeless body in a box with her own hands that she acquiesced.
Then, Carlisle, for it was he, made me a vampire. You know the details; I won't bore you with them. So there I was, in Chicago, writhing in pain.
And then I awakened. I was aware of everything, everything, but nothing still. Carlyle had gone to comfort my mother, not anticipating that my recovery would be so quick (comparatively; it was a few hours).
She had been stumbling blindly through the streets, not even wearing a face-mask, as was recommended in those dangerous times. When it was clear to her that the disease, if contracted, would not kill her quickly enough, she had tried to kill herself with knives but then found her resolve insufficient. Finally, Carlisle found her and comforted her, and it was then that I recovered and then that I interrupted their conversation.
My senses were taking me into overdrive, you know? And I just, I couldn't think. I had just gone through a torture I could not understand, and my sense of identity was nonexistent. I was animal, through sense and thought and action, and I wanted blood.
I smelled it, I craved it, I wanted it beyond anything else –so I took it. I gorged myself on it; I sucked and sucked until there was only a paper doll in my arms, broken and warm from the blood that had run through just moments before.
My only consolation, even now, was that she had wanted to die… and that consolation is too small. Carlisle said she would've killed herself anyway, and that if not the influenza would have gotten her. He said that it was painless, this way.
Empty words…
The woman who would have given up everything for me did lose everything, at my own hands.
I was disgusted with myself. Utterly and inconsolably disgusted. My matted hair hung in front of my eyes, its color reminding me of her, unbearable. I ripped it out, reveling the pain, while running for all that I could (obviously, as a vampire, I was nothing more than a white blur to passersby).
Running. After my moment of realization, I became even more animal. I had murdered the only person that mattered… what could be worse?
What did any body that I devoured matter, compared to that first and worst act of cruelty?
For seven months, I ravaged not only Illinois but the surrounding states. Countless bodies, meaningless cruelties. The only similarity was that they were all sick. Their deaths could be passed off as influenza-caused. I didn't care what was happening at the time, but that was the only thing that kept me from being caught, and that kept the Volturi off of me.
Other than that, I had no boundaries. Kill, kill, KILL. Satisfying my thirst was the only thing I knew of that could take my mind off of what I was doing to satisfy my thirst.
It was the only thing that distracted from me from the fact that I was a monster.
A/N: Review, of course. I know the chapters are short for a fanfic, but think of it this way: Screens of computers are much wider than that of a book. They have no margins. Books due. Most books, in fact, are half-pages. So by the definition of a book, the chapters aren't that bad. The shortness is really why I can update so fast. So don't complain.
Did I mention review?
