I know there is a place where I must die. When you live on the streets, your more primal urges return. The need for shelter and food overcome the everything-else about life. Your senses improve and instinctual code begins to rein over your life. The same happens to all those on your street. Subway grates are marked, the best garbage cans are controlled, and the dead are sent out to die. Our own down-trodden society living within the walls of Los Angels. Oh course, it was never always this way for us.
I haven't thought back to my old life until this day. The pain in my leg brings me back to that of my youth. Classical conditioning, if you associate physical pain with home then on your death bed the only thought in your mind will be the place you left behind. From the cradle to grave they'll always control you in someway. I don't regret leaving; I never will. There are worst things than finding your food in someone's trash.
How I ended-up in my state doesn't matter. These people with their heighten senses can see dead lurching behind me, slowly moving closer. They avoid and shun me, hoping the dark beast won't take them right after me. It's not so bad. It has been done in so many cultures so many times long before we started to cradle our dead.
I leave the warm grates and safe alleys of the living and start my final journey. A path leading to my death, it's a time to reflect and figure where it all went wrong. I'm trying not to think about the pain in leg, in my past, and in my present. I entertain the idea that at seventeen I'm too young to die, but I know that with my life I'm too old to continue.
On my bleeding and tried legs I finally arrived at my spot. I had passed it a thousand times before. It was tall building, a hotel once upon a time. Beautiful soft looking light colored brown bricks, tall doorways, beautiful brass work glittering in the night's false glow, it had that sense of nostalgia that only a few in the consistently changing world of Lala-Land seem to hold onto. Nostalgia or not it currently stood dead on the rainy night, unfazed like a soldier. At one time it had been filled with life, and now it sat quietly with its few visitors coming in and out at all hours. What can I say; I've always had a thing for symbolism.
I walked up the steps letting my blood leave a rusty trail behind me. I curled up in the strong corner made of the large wooden door and cool concrete blocks. I pulled my shirt over my arms. It was never that cold in LA but the wind and rain had turn the winter night chiller than I was prepared for, but I knew I was colder from lost of blood than the weather. I pulled the shirt over my now freezing nose and fingers. What did my third grade teacher say? Something about how blood goes to main appendages when it gets cold. It got much colder than this in Iowa. I got treated a lot worst. The world suddenly got very dark as one of my walls collapsed inward. I wonder if they'll call a doctor.
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A strong dark figure stood hunched over a dusty volume. Tall stacks of the volume's disregarded brethren threatened to tumble. Great shadows battled on the ceilings and floors unnoticed. The battles continued as the man had forgotten to turn on the light. It seemed the vampire had forgotten all his practiced human habits. It was easy to forget that which you didn't need. Light was one of these. Sunlight stood apart, of course. Sunlight was impossible to forget. You only miss things when you'll never see them again.
Angel flipped the page and another cloud of dust burst from the novel. He had forced the others home hours ago. An unreal sigh come from dead lungs. The empty hall echoed the vampire frustration. Before the others had left they had searching for their answer for six hours; Angel had continued by himself for three more. Hundreds of dusty pages had still to yield any information. Some of the books as old as Angel, antiques by any standard, seemed to be worthless.
Angel paused, running a hand over the yellow and worn pages. Everything in the room displayed it age, except for him. The vampire tried to ward away his thoughts. It was damaging to sit and think about one's existence. No own knows the meaning of life, but no one knows this. The soul is a fickle creature. If it doesn't have a purpose, then what's the point? Suddenly you release how much you really miss the sunlight. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to see it one last time.
Angel tried to push the thoughts away as a warm air drifted in. The vampire suddenly lost his train of thought. Angel tilted his head. There was a familiar scent in the air, sweet and tangy. It was like a memory from childhood. Something you sensed everyday but had long since forgotten. The vampire stood still almost enjoying the aroma when it hit him. The sweet scent was human blood.
The vampire felt his entire body go tense. It was a long time since he had smelled fresh human blood. The smell wasn't entirely unwelcome. Angel tried to scold himself for his near craving as he followed the scent to the front doors. The skill of his undead nose told him the source was on the other side. Grabbing the polished handles, the vampire pulled the double doors open, apprehension grabbing at his stomach. The fear of what or who he would find crystallized for the dark avenger as the craved doors swung open.
There was a small thud at his feet.
