• It'll soon be a daily routine for me. To be idolized, to be demonized, to be provoked mentally and physically by these women of delectable tastes and cajolery. I've marveled at their rich curves by daylight, soaking in their breadth of their personalities by clinging on to the filthy walls of the alleyways they've passed on their way to work, a restaurant, a store, or a date. I've smelled their perfumed hair without so much of their notice; pinched at the soft fabrics of their regal clothing without so much as an inkling of a change of thought.

    These poor women were blind, deaf flies flying into the web of a hungry spider. And I, being the monster that I was, that I cling onto with the utmost respect and fear like a babe to its mother, enjoyed this type of power. I could had easily ripped the throats out of these women in an alleyway, fed til the fill of their stenching life energy until their flesh ran cold and the gates of Hell opened for another premature soul. I found being in control of these beautiful mindless bags of meat and bone as perpetually enlightening-----I felt as if I have become a god through this. Immortalized immortal----Though I can die, I can age, I can suffer disease just as those who I preyed upon day and night. Mortally damned, immortalized as well as revered. Things I liked. Things that became somewhat sexualized over the years as I stalked the streets of Charlotte with my deep, almost empty brown eyes.

    Neither male or female.

    Neither mortal or beast.

    Just something else entirely. Wanting to die yet I am too weary of death itself, wanting to fall into the bosom of Death yet fearing the icy touch of her lips as a chick may fear a soaring hawk in the sky. I was not something to be feared. I was something to be pitied. I was something to be thrown on and raped by the high-tech of modern man-----Pricked and prodded by the long, cold, titanium stems of painful pinchers, relentless lights, and the exaggerated inquisitivity of a cliched scientist. That should be my fate. However I feel as if Atropos has yet again along with Clotho convinced the keeper of Life to promote this habitual parasitic lifestyle further. I have wondered if I had became their star attraction, their Freak of the Tour, prized pig at the state carnival, their entertainment.

    Entertainment.

    If I could cut off my tongue, sever my head, or perhaps just become emaciated while sharing a casket with a corpse, I would. But I'm scared. And I'm always will be scared as I seduce and murder in the city of Charlotte. And I will keep the newscasters, the conspiracy-weavers, the folklorists, the police, the town council, the public always on their toes-----Keep their imaginations theories at a proliferating demographic and legend for I am a monster. Not a vampire, not a human, not a demon, not an alien, not a spirit.

    But a monster. And I shall keep the blood pouring until I am legend, and like all legends, die as well.