Joshua Uptike III
08-24-08, 07:48 AM
The stench of death was unmistakable in the forest that night. It wafted through trees, swamps, ditches, though no one source could be found, many corpses scattered throughout the area, drained of blood as Joshua had his fill.
His skin grew pinker, ironically more human-like, his stare slightly softer, dreamier, almost more beautiful if such a thing were possible for someone who was already not a stranger amongst angels.
The crimson fluid trickled between his pale and slender fingers, through his hands and matted the hair of his arms, leaving a trail similar to a blood stream, before dripping into the disturbed earth of the forest floor by his feet. His green eyes hidden as he drank, planting his eternal kiss on the sleeping victim who he cradelled almost lovingly in his arms, before laying them, much like a ragdoll, on the ground, smearing dirt across their neck to hide their wounds.
This was one of the rare occasions Joshua chose to feed. Although he was indeed a vampire, he was not of pure ancestry and therefore did not find it a necessity to living, but rather a pleasure he had chosen to indulge. Feeding only when it was a full moon, he had remembered, rather cleverly, that this was the night the werewolves also roamed, which meant disorientated humans stole away to the forest for their transformation, where he would often kill them before this took effect. This was safer, it also meant more blood with less of a struggle. Joshua did not enjoy the fight between predator and prey, the cat and mouse game he so often witnessed with others. He formed relationships with those he fed from, tended to them as he drained them of their blood. More loving than parasitic.
Growling from both the pleasure and energy the blood gave him, he could feel it pumping through his veins, his dead heart beating against his chest. Everything felt more real, more defined as he cried out, soon on his knees, his hands buried in the dirt which stuck to his skin, under his fingernails. Strands of blonde hair flying about his face, clinging to his now damp forehead as he panted, reaching the peak of the rush.
Blood was his addiction and like any addiction, it was both deadly and destructive. He needed more.
His skin grew pinker, ironically more human-like, his stare slightly softer, dreamier, almost more beautiful if such a thing were possible for someone who was already not a stranger amongst angels.
The crimson fluid trickled between his pale and slender fingers, through his hands and matted the hair of his arms, leaving a trail similar to a blood stream, before dripping into the disturbed earth of the forest floor by his feet. His green eyes hidden as he drank, planting his eternal kiss on the sleeping victim who he cradelled almost lovingly in his arms, before laying them, much like a ragdoll, on the ground, smearing dirt across their neck to hide their wounds.
This was one of the rare occasions Joshua chose to feed. Although he was indeed a vampire, he was not of pure ancestry and therefore did not find it a necessity to living, but rather a pleasure he had chosen to indulge. Feeding only when it was a full moon, he had remembered, rather cleverly, that this was the night the werewolves also roamed, which meant disorientated humans stole away to the forest for their transformation, where he would often kill them before this took effect. This was safer, it also meant more blood with less of a struggle. Joshua did not enjoy the fight between predator and prey, the cat and mouse game he so often witnessed with others. He formed relationships with those he fed from, tended to them as he drained them of their blood. More loving than parasitic.
Growling from both the pleasure and energy the blood gave him, he could feel it pumping through his veins, his dead heart beating against his chest. Everything felt more real, more defined as he cried out, soon on his knees, his hands buried in the dirt which stuck to his skin, under his fingernails. Strands of blonde hair flying about his face, clinging to his now damp forehead as he panted, reaching the peak of the rush.
Blood was his addiction and like any addiction, it was both deadly and destructive. He needed more.