Chapter II

The strong force pulled through my body. I played with my chocolaty brown hair like a child plays with a new toy; almost obsessive over my loose curls. I couldn't contain myself, I tried thinking things through, I'd just become too greedy.

I took one step forward from the astonishing Victorian gate into the glistening moonlit brick road. The deep red finish on the bricks reminded me of my last meal.

I ate so much, it was a ghost town by the time I decided to run. . .

Only this time, the urge was far stronger. My black painted nails grew into a tight fist held up tightly against my torso. I started, looking down.

Passing by the clock tower, I saw a man sleeping on an old, wood bench with an antique finish. His eyes were tired, and his beard hadn't been shaved for quite some time. He gripped his heavy coat to his heart as he held up a hearty, lazy snore.

I walked over to the bench and further examined his facial features. I snapped my fingers in front of his face several times. I attempted whistling unsuccessfully. I tried to shake him. The only difference my actions made was that he snored even more loudly than he previously was.

By one point I figured that I couldn't do much; he was deep in his sleep, much like a coma. He couldn't be waked, no matter how hard I tried. I decided I would move on, he wouldn't notice if the world crashed down onto another unknown surface and the sun came down on top of the earth. He'd still be noisily carried off into some other universe.

I walked along the grand Victorian homes, admiring every elegant accent that was neatly placed to the house with care. My eyes flickered up and down, like candle light. I folded my arms; this moonlit road made for a chilly evening. A house arose that was to my satisfaction. I sneaked around to the rear of the house, examining the tightly locked heptagonal windows. My eyes followed the windows till the right side of the home, then I saw a rope at the corner of my very observant eye. A foot, then a leg, then a whole torso. His legs were swinging wildly, he was hanging on for his dear life on the weakly dangled rope.

"Who are you?" I wondered, loudly. My dangerous black eyes suddenly darkened. . .

You smell good. Why are you here? Hehe!

He stared at me, dumbfounded, while I pursed my lips, rudely, waiting for a reply.

This isn't a game, and I'm not in third grade, either.

The person's legs stopped dangling wildly. His body became still, and he very calmly let go of the rope. The man landed perfectly on his two feet. No stumble, no hesitation to stand upright. Almost as if he floated down to the floor.

He smiled a charming smile, one that could lure any girl right into his toned arms. His short, choppy black hair was messy with gel, and his walk was like he was striding with ease on air.

I saw two triangles peeking out of the bottom of his top lip.

I was no longer hungry.

I no longer cared if he replied to my question or not.

I just wanted to stare.

There we both stood; him showing the same enthusiasm for me.

Of course, I've heard that there was more of my type almost everywhere, but never have I met one face-to-face. I knew what ...or who... he was. I knew what he was here for.

I was starting to think he knew the same things about me.