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Life of a Dead Girl	By : LunaTic Category: +S through Z > Vampire the Masquerade Views: 2399 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is an artistic retelling of a Larp character from the World of Darkness franchise, from the realm of Vampire: the Requiem. I make no profit from this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Prologue
- 2-An eternity in a moment
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Authors note: This is my first attempt time sharing any of my writting, so I am quite keen for peoples opinions. Please post reviews :)
My head is pounding. A deep thudding that wakes me from my sleep. I can barely open my eyes, I’m so tired. I can see vague hints of sunlight peeking through the window. I must be up pretty early. I feel ruined, not to mention starving. Must’ve had a pretty good night last night. As I open my eyes, I see my clothes strewn across the floor, the bed is dishevelled and there are condom wrappers on the bedside table. I smile to myself. A very good night indeed. I can’t see or hear anyone else. Whoever it was must’ve crept out already. Oh well. Hope he enjoyed himself. I close my eyes to go back to sleep, then I hear the thudding again. A voice shouts angrily from the hall.
“It’s long past check out. Pay up or get out! I have other people waiting.”
The motel manager? The sun is barely up. Who the hell kicks patrons out at sunrise? I check my watch and…holy crap! 6:30pm?! I slept the whole frickin day! No wonder he is pissed. I get up and throw on my underwear. Sure, he’ll get an eyeful, but what the hell, he’s in a hurry. I go to answer the door, and I freeze. I don’t want to open it. Something is wrong, like a shiver running up my spine.
“Listen lady, I’ve been calling for hours. It’s time to go” he screeches again.
I steal myself. “I’m coming. Hold your horses.”
I grab the handle and, pushing past my nerves, I open the door. The manager is red in the face, and I am temporarily blinded by the last remnants of sunlight shining from behind him. Suddenly, I hear a horrible screaming. An agonized, dreadful scream and I realise it is coming from me. I throw myself back into the room, away from the light. Everything hurts. I can hear my skin sizzling, smell my own meat cooking.
My world is enveloped in pain. Only a few things creep through it. The look of concern on the manager’s face. The moment that looked turned to intense fear. A warm heat running down my throat. A ravenous hunger, as though I am eating for the first time in my life. I have no idea what it is, but I gorge myself as though it were a lifeline. It feels like an eternity. The light has gone from outside, and night has finally fallen.
When I finally regain my senses, I am lying on the ground, staring at the ceiling. My skin is tender, but no longer burns. I feel a delightful sensation coursing through my whole body. Whatever I was devouring was better than anything I’d ever had before, and I’d had enough exploration of the finer chemicals to make a decent comparison. I could lie here forever, just feeling this way. But memories started coming back. A face contorted in pain. A screaming that wasn’t mine.
With a growing dread, I draw my eyes down and finally look to the room. Oh god, I wish I hadn’t. He’s there on the ground, crumpled in a heap. His face still twisted in pain and fear. His eyes wide and staring at nothing. His neck has been horribly ripped open and blood covered his shirt. He wasn’t moving at all. Nothing. In a panic I reached for him and saw my hands were covered in blood. It was covering my chest, my face, it was everywhere. The worst thing was the smell. I enjoyed it. It horrified me so much. Blood was everywhere and all I wanted to do was lick it up. I couldn’t think on that. The manager was hurt. Bad. I had to do something. I tried to remember my CPR. I rolled him into his back and started compressions. Every time I went to breath for him, I had to keep from being overwhelmed by the taste of the blood. I craved it deeply.
I kept performing CPR for longer than I could think. I knew it was no good. He was just a slab of meat. There was nothing else to him. That spark of energy under the skin that goes unnoticed is so very noticeable when it no longer exists. But I couldn’t bring myself to stop. If he truly was…dead…it was my fault. I killed him. I murdered him. Not only that, but I enjoyed it. I drained the life out of him and felt ecstasy the whole time.
Tears were pouring down my face. I saw them as they fell. They were deep red. My whole world had become covered in blood. What had happened to me? What causes someone to be a blood starved murderer? I swear I was normal yesterday. Last night. I can’t remember anything about last night. I was with someone, I know that. Did he do something to me? Then a worse thought occurred. Did I do something to him? There was no sign of him. Could I have hurt another person? I had to get out of here. I couldn’t let anyone find me like this.
I ran to the shower and scrubbed myself clean. The underwear couldn’t be saved, so I threw them in my bag. I’d find somewhere to dispose of them. I looked in the mirror to make sure I was properly clean. I looked so pale, like all the life had been drained out of me. Funny what killing someone will do to you. Then I noticed something. That small spark of life that lies under the skin. I didn’t have it. I was moving and alive, but my body felt like dead meat, just as much as the man in the other room. Maybe I’m dead, and this is my hell. I knew I would be there at some point.
I put on my clothes and scoured the room for any other sign that I was here. I went to make a break for it, but I looked back to the manager one last time. That look of horror and pain. I know the look well. I have worn it many times. I never in my life would have wished to inflict that look on another person. That’s what made me certain. I was in hell. I reached down and closed his eyes and mouth. If it weren’t for the blood and wound, it could look like he was sleeping. I examined every inch of his face and carved it into my memory. He had a name tag. I hadn’t seen it before. His name was Bernie. I would never forget Bernie. I would never forget his face. It was all I could do for him now. I left, praying that no one could see me.
The man from last night. I had to find him. I didn’t know what I would find. A man, a corpse, a monster? He was all I had to go on. I needed answers. I hoped to retrace my steps and find something. Whether I had something else to atone for, or if someone had to pay for corrupting me.
My whole life I’d been told I was a monster. I guess they were right about me.
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Life of a Dead Girl