I was right.
When I was seven I ran away from Angelo into the woods that surrounded our home. He didn�t try to find me. He didn�t care that I was gone. Three days later I came home, cold. My face was pale; white. They found two small bites on the side of my neck. Mother fainted.
I am a vampire.
It�s his fault. His fault that I�m cursed, his fault that I feed on blood, his fault that I�m no longer human. His fault I�m� this. I hate him. I hate him.
I am fourteen years old.
I prefer the dark. It�s more peaceful. Less� dramatic. I have no reason to fear the dark. But I don�t pretend to be brave.
I don�t have a reflection. It�s easy to hide, even when surrounded by people. Nobody knows my secret.
I used to pretend that my father, my real father, had just gone on a holiday. One of his business trips perhaps. I fooled myself into believing that he�d come home, that the man who was in my mother�s room, where my father used to sleep, was just a bad dream. That when Father came home he�d just go away. That I�d be real again.
I was stupid.
Now I�m just afraid. I�m afraid that my secret will come out and that everyone will be afraid of me. I take pride in the fact that I�m hardly friendless, but my friends, like me, are shallow. Image is everything. Reputation is a must. If they knew what I am, they would leave and never come back.
Just like my father.
Angelo. �Messenger of destruction�; �Bringer of Mortality�; �Angel of Death.�
Sadistic. Mean. Cruel.
A vampire�s blood is almost like ice. It runs slowly through the body, feeding it, drop by drop. If I weren�t a vampire, my skin would be pink. I wouldn�t have to wear so many layers of clothes. Instead, my skin is colourless. To add insult to injury, this� disease makes me look like my stepfather. Pale. Cold. Most people assume he is a biological parent. They couldn�t be more wrong.
Angelo is cold blooded by choice.
He doesn�t love anyone and has probably never tried. He says that passion is a weakness. That hate gives you power. That love is an illusion.
He�s right. Hate gives you power. Hate gives you reason. Hate gives you purpose. Hate gives you revenge.
It hurts to think about my father. A hollow ache deep down inside that never goes away. He was a good person and a good father. He taught me how to love people.
Vampires can�t cry. When I think about my father I miss him so much that I feel sick. I haven�t cried a single tear since the day I was bitten. The day I turned into a monster. The day I discovered hatred.
Unlike them, I admit that I�m weak.
But only to myself.
Waking. Sleeping. It doesn�t matter. Every day is the same. I am always dreaming. Barely aware of what is happening around me.
I spend my time alone.
Angelo. The man who destroyed my life, who let me become something so unbearably vile. I�ll never forget what he�s done to me. It fills my mind, floods my thoughts and overflows my dreams.
Six years of torture. Six years of death. Six years of unhappiness. Six years of hate so deep it�s all I know. Nine years of unbearable loneliness. Nine years of pain so deep it will never go away.
Six years without myself. Nine years without my father. A lifetime of sadness. And it�s all Angelo�s fault.
My name is Damien.
This is my story.
