The feeling was indescribable, like a thousand knives scraped away at the walls of my throat, but all I could feel was pleasure. The warm, soft liquid shot down my throat almost as easily as a shot of tequila did; it burned and I winced at the heat that I suddenly felt, but something kept me going back for more. Maybe it was the way it made me feel – stronger, faster – or the amount of power I had, but I kept drinking that blood like the human I crouched upon was the last being I could ever drink dry.
At first the woman had screamed and fought against me, not begging for death at the sight of me like my other victims. She was a pretty girl, not seventeen but older than fifteen, and her blonde hair stuck, matted in blood, to her face as I messily ripped her throat to pieces, peeling her soft skin of with my teeth and vacuuming every bit of her warm blood I could possibly swallow. She tasted sweet, though her regret – the familiar rusty flavour I’d come across in many human beings – came in the last bits of my meal. But aside from little mistakes she’d made in her life, which I could distinguish, the girl was innocent. Those kinds of people made the best dinners.
When lumpy bits of her started filling my mouth, temporarily taking away my hunger, I wrenched my teeth from her throat and licked around the punctured teeth, sopping up every last bit of blood I could before tomorrow, when I would hunt again. The girl, my victim, was long gone dead, her eyes wide open in shock and her lips slightly parted, drops of blood staining her lips from when I’d reeled back at the start to stop her screaming. Her teeth were covered in darker blood, old blood, and I couldn’t hear her heart any more.
I wriggled off her and shot up to my feet in a sixteenth of a second, kicking her corpse around with little effort. I glanced down at her, smirking at my mess, and rolled her deeper into the forest, forcing her under and amongst some bushes where the maggots and feral kittens could get at her. I was covering my tracks.
I wiped my face with the back of my hand and ran my tongue over my sticky lips, enjoying the last essence of blood before a night and day of burning hell. In my mouth, I fought the urge to nip the inside of my cheek for a little more blood, just one more sip, but the idea of drinking myself made me feel sick. I knew Sara did it, my blood-crazed vampire sister, and she claimed it made her stronger, but I think it was just so she didn’t hurt anyone else. I wouldn’t be surprised if her addiction to her own blood killed her.
I climbed into the car, started it up and then killed the engine. I wanted more blood. I wanted more suffering, more death and less of the burn in my throat. I raised a hand and gripped my throat, as if it would stop the fire, but made it hard to breathe. My feet, slammed down on the accelerator pedal, trembling, but the car didn’t move. My whole body twitched, losing control without any blood.
I leant my head up against the window, watching cars fly by and the humans inside. When they sped by - over or under the speed limit, it didn’t matter – everything went in slow motion. Every car that caught my eye dropped to basically two kilometres an hour, enabling me to analyse the people in the car. The number of people ranged from one passenger to seven and their age ranged from an infant to a person too old to be driving. The last car my slow-motion vision showed me was of an old man, barely able to drive. Seeing him made my stomach turn. Old people tasted the worst; closest to the flavour of murderers or other kinds of criminals, despite how much or how little regret they felt.
I jammed my keys into the car and roared, screaming at the burn in my throat. I bashed my head against my headrest and punched the steering wheel, tearing it from its hinges. The whole wheel fell to my knees and sparks flew about the car, setting the seats on fire. Soon, the car would blow up and the freeway would be mania, cars flying about the road, trying to avoid the explosion. But all it meant to me was how my throat wouldn’t be the only thing burning anymore.
I relaxed against the seat, adjusting it into an almost horizontal position as if it were more comfortable. My only thoughts were of if I got closer to the bottom of the car, closer to where the petrol was kept, I would feel the heat quicker. Closing my eyes, I swallowed and wished that my temporary death would carry me all through tomorrow and to the beginning of the night where I could begin my hunt once more.