Isles Skylander

Today, exactly two years ago, it happened. On a cold December night, a few days before Christmas. I still remember it like it happened just yesterday.

A little while ago, I came home from a pre-Christmas party with friends and some cute boys. Our last year together and we really wanted to do it again. I was in our garden, as we had two entrances to our property, and tried as best I could to contain my intoxication with the icy water of the bird bath. It helped exactly ... nothing at all. In the end I sat on the snowy garden floor, trembling to the bone and turning my head, feeling for my fallen hood. Maybe I had left it in the bar where we celebrated? Who knew that today? In any case, it happened the moment I sat up again, was he or she standing in front of me? I couldn't remember any faces or body shapes. Anyway, that bastard just bit me in the neck and left me to die a few minutes later. Probably it should have looked like I was frozen to death, because the bastard, or at least that's what I've called my creator since then, opened my jacket and stole my scarf. However, shortly after midnight, my parents found me and took me to a hospital. I had to stay there for two weeks because of severe frostbite. However, it was less because of the frostbite, but more because of my lack of blood and my sudden paralysis that I had to stay so long.

And today? Today, two years later, I celebrated my second vampire birthday. Yes! A vampire. I was made a cursed vampire. How? Why? Those are the millions of questions. Just like the questions> Which came first? The hen or the egg? <Or better still, "What's the point of life?"

Yes damn it, I hate my life. More than anyone could imagine. On the other hand, this kind of "life" was more or less advantageous. I no longer need sleep. I haven't slept in exactly two years! It may sound boring to some, but never feeling tired as a seventeen-year-old teenager? That had something.

The next thing was that I didn't have to eat anything. I could still be alive to keep it up, but I didn't need to. The only thing I needed, and one of the biggest drawbacks, was blood. Disgusting blood that smells of iron! Unfortunately, I haven't been the type of person who could see blood, at least not my own. However, since I was made a vampire, I've been drawn to it hypnotically. Not my own tenacity, of course, but the fresh and pulsating one in the human body. That electricity that ran through me every time I touched someone human ... it's just ... overwhelming. For the first six months, I pretty much jumped at anyone who touched me and had blood flowing in their veins, but gradually, I managed to control myself.

I started going to school again, and I've been studying medicine for almost nine months, even though my parents had always wanted me to be an architect like my father. Uh ... there was nothing more boring. However, living with the constant urge to jump at others' throats reminded me every second of what a monster I am. It told me that I needed these people that I was trying to save here. They were my source of life, which should never run dry. And with the respect I could muster, and which was more than just theirs, I drew no more than half a liter of blood from anyone. For that I even got myself my own instruments. Sterile needles, lots of blood bags, syringes if necessary. I almost felt like a pincushion walking. Or maybe I was the needle after all?

Rolling my eyes at the shit the drunk next to me was talking about, I dumped the rest of my coffee and stumbled to the toilet, drunk, acting. Of course not without whispering another allusion in his ear.

In the men's room, I locked myself in a cubicle and waited impatiently for my victim to finally come. Less than two minutes later, he knocked on my cabin. "Sky?"

I unlocked and smiled seductively. "Hello, honey." I purred and pulled the forty-year-old into my cabin. The pervert was actually into younger girls, but I often found them in this bar. Not that they were a threat to me because I always pretended to be sixteen and they believed me.

"Let's see what kind of cute body you're wearing under these clothes." He slurred and played around with the button of my pants.

"But be careful ... I haven't done something like that ... yet, so often ..." I lied, playing shyly, and locked the door behind him so that no one accidentally disturbs us. After all, normal people couldn't take it gracefully when they saw me sink my teeth into someone's veins. Who could I blame for that?

"Sit down." I asked and licked my lips seductively. I gently stroked my victim's shoulder. As ordered, the man sat on the toilet bowl and I took a seat over him. His haunted thing, already pressing impatiently on my hip, which would almost make the food pop up if I'd eaten in the past few days. However, when I learned how I was around such people, I seduced him to offer me his throat so that I could actually caress him, but my interest was not his pleasure, but rather mine.

My canine teeth pinched my upper lip urgently. As if I hadn't already noticed the burning thirst in my throat.

Sighing, I pricked the thick, pulsating vein, which accelerated immediately when my victim became frightened, but the moment I sank my teeth, my saliva released a chemical that made him feel carefree. I didn't know exactly how this all worked. I didn't care as long as she was helping me, my victims, to numb for the next few minutes.

Five minutes later, I walked out of the men's room and ordered another drink to wash away the disgusting taste of his arousal and blood. The bartender looked at me as if I had just done something wrong. Well, yes, he must have thought that, for some money that I always took from my victims, I did it in the men's bathroom with older men.

"You know that a pretty young girl like you doesn't have to do something like that?" His haunted dark eyes fixed me, as if by doing so he could force his will on me to stop what he thought I was it did. His hair, which was always shaggy, he brushed back when he noticed that there was no point arguing with me and I stuck my tongue out emphatically to show him what interested me in his opinion. Shaking his head, he turned away as if he were disappointed in today's youth. He didn't seem much older than me either. Maybe twenty-four? Twenty five?

What did I care? I rushed my tequila and left the place.

My home, where I now lived alone, was in the eighth largest city, the island of Iceland. Selfloss is located in the southwest of the country and had just one, five thousand and a few more crushed inhabitants. More or less at least. In any case, this city was big enough to hide me and at the same time not too overcrowded, so that I constantly had to fear being discovered by accident. It's a quiet city and because I'm too drawn, my roots are of course not here. My mother was a bird watcher when she was alive and moved here with us from England when I was just five.

My father thought that as an architect he could help the economy a little with new buildings, but he was never considered big. They both died in a car accident shortly after I was transformed, but one of the advantages of my new life was having next to no feelings. Not that I wasn't crying, watching sad movies, or laughing, watching funny videos, but these feelings just seemed to show up when I got hungry. As soon as I was full, I felt nothing at all, like blood was a numbness of emotions or something like that.

When I got home, the first thing I did was to take a hot shower to wash away the disgusting feeling this man had created in me. Then I put a blood bag from the freezer in the fridge so that it thawed overnight and served me as breakfast tomorrow.

However, I did not go to sleep like normal people, but sat in front of the computer to do research or watch the late night program. Depending on what I felt like doing. Around six I drained my blood bag and burned it so no one could accidentally trip over it. It would be strange if the garbage disposal only found blood bags in my bags, wouldn't it? A quarter of an hour later, I was freshly dressed and, of course, less childishly styled, in my comfortable little Suzuki Jimny and drove my almost forty-five minutes to Reykjavik, the capital of Iceland,