Death's POV

The man left afterwards he didn't find me with the fire covering up my scent. I still didn't want to take a step away from my hiding place not until the sun finally rose. My mother had a pool of crimson blood surrounding her and I could not bear to look. She was now pale and motionless. The only thing I could think of was the blood. How good it looked and how soothingly it seemed. Before I could stop myself I was lapping it up with my tongue and when it was all gone I went to search for more. That day I found myself drinking 57 different types of blood. It stayed this way until my forth birthday.

A man came in he had a group of children all tied up in cages. Half of them were passed out but still alive. He stopped the wagon and bent down so his face ways inches away from mine." What are you doing here boy, don't you realize you are in the Village of the Dead." I nodded trying not to let the scent of his blood into my nostrils." Then why are you here, where is your mother and father." "My mother is dead and my father is…well I don't really know do you?" "I wouldn't be asking if I did but since you are orphaned I'll take you in." A wicked smile flashed as he reached for a sack to put me in. The only thing that kept me alive that day was that I gasped inhaling the scent of blood. I jumped and bit the side of his neck letting the blood seep down my throat. It was sweet with the taste of wine, vodka, and rum. But I drank too much and a few minutes later he lay limp and pale on the floor. The children who had been awake now watched me with big frightful eyes. The man had left his keys on the seat of the wagon they sparkled like silver in the sunlight and attracted to shiny objects I snatched them. The children franticly begged to be released. Being lonely I promised to let them go if they stayed and followed me whatever the cost. They all agreed and with that I let them free of their cages and ropes." So what is your name?" A boy older than me asked. "Death," was my simple reply. Over the months the boys learned to hunt and the girls to cook and clean. Most were older except for Mira who was my age. She had been the best friend I could ask for: she was kind, helpful and friendly. No one knew me better than she did. The only down side is that the older children had to teach the younger. I was taught how to read, write. And hunt.

The months turned to years and I found myself surrounded by 22, 23, and 24 year olds. They had restored the village and filled their homes with their own children. I was 14 now and knew my place in society here. To others who did not live in the village I was a child, but to the ones who did I was king. They had said because I had saved them I was now leader of their village.