You all know how much of a writer I am. I've got a bunch of story ideas. For some odd reason, however, I love to write the endings of the story, and then build up to that dramatic ending. One of my ideas is how a teenage boy becomes a werewolf, expecting to start a new life.
He was wrong.
He killed a vampire, not knowing it was the Vampire Prince, and now they want revenge. They can't harm him, for he kills the Vampire Queen and becomes immune to them. But they can harm the ones he loves most.
Never the Same
....Until I killed that vampire.
I didn't mean to; he provoked me. And, years later, after a maddening chase across the world, this is the aftermath. These are the scars. These are the memories that I will never be able to wipe away.
And it's all my fault.
To those of you who stayed with me these past few years, to those of you who tried to answer my pleas for help: These are my last words before I disappear off the face of the earth, never to be heard of again.
It has been a while since I wrote in this journal. Two years, in fact. When my pack and I had to flee our home from the vampires, we had little to no time to collect our valuables. I was unable to take my journal with me. Luckily for you, such events and experiences I went through are not easy to forget. Unluckily for me, I'm scarred. For life.
Truth be told, I've been living in the Wolfsford's home for the past year now. Not only did it take me a year to find my way back and raise some money, but also to build up enough courage to approach the place. For all I know, it could have been crawling with vampires or dissected by those blasted werewolf hunters. I guess a home in the mountains isn't such a bad thing after all.
The second year I spent before returning to this journal grieving. Grieving over the loss of family, both new and old, werewolf and human. Grieving for the possible future I had as a human. Grieving over my lost Kate. Every time I picked up the pen to write, tears began flowing uncontrollably, and sobs shook my hand so violently that I would not comprehend my own handwriting. Words cannot describe the hole those damned, blood-sucking demons punched through my chest. They tore my heart out - before my own eyes - and then they couldn't turn on me and finish the job, for their Queen was already dead. I wish I was, too. It was a living nightmare, a hell on earth, to watch Kate die before my very eyes, and I wasn't able to do a thing. To those of you who have lot a loved one, feel the pain I am currently bearing. Now multiply that. Times ten. One for each of the five members of my pack. Five for Kate.
Even as I am writing these final words, an aching sorrow stabs through my chest, constricting my heart and barely allowing me to breath. I didn't shed a single tear, not a single drop. I guess I finally cried myself dry after the long, melancholy year spent in mournful nostalgia.
Can you imagine living like I am? In the home of the ones who took me in when I changed? Their ghosts continuously haunt me; not only do I see them in my dreams and nightmares, but in my waking moments as heart-breaking hallucinations and unforgettable apparitions. I can feel myself bordering on madness, standing at the edge of sanity, but somehow I hold on to reality. Maybe because I know that they would want me to, my pack and Kate, for my own sake if not theirs.
Kate and I were about to break off from the pack and start our own. After all, her parents approved of me, and mine wouldn't have known; I haven't talked to them in over five years. We could have lived peacefully, Kate and I, happily together, but fate, destiny, life itself hates me. They all tore her away from me, leaving me hollow and empty, never to be refilled with the glory life had once been to me. There's only one thing I regret not doing with Kate before she was....before she left.
We never decided on a name for our unborn child.
You can try to stop me, try to save me, but there's no going back. I don't need saving. Nor do I want it.