The need to feed

 

March 15, 2013

 

I don’t drink blood because I liked the taste, drawing life out of each victim along with her virginity.

I’m not Christ looking for converts or Satan looking to steal souls.

I’m just hungry. And I need to feed.

I can’t afford to think too much about what happens next. Eternity comes in small sips, daily fixes and the host of souls I leave bloodless behind me.

I can’t afford to feel for them or think of them as human, when I know they are.

Blood is blood, and it is all I see when I look in their eyes or when I bite into their necks, life force oozing out of them and into me, spurting into my mouth with the metallic taste. The scent of it fills my nostrils. Their breath fills my lungs.

My need is great and I rarely leave a lick of it behind, or think any more of them than what it takes to feed me.