Samatha's POVHunger. Thirst. Have to eat. Eat something good. You smell something. Something yummy. Salivating. Oh, man what's happening? Eat soup. Puke soup back. Eat fruit. Fruit comes back up. Person passes you. Person smells really good. What does that mean? Feel weak. Feel as if you were run down by a truck. As if truck passes over you, twice.
"Ma'am. Are you alright," asks a person in white. You rub your eyes with the back your hands. The person is a woman, a nurse.
"Uh, I don't know," your voice is a croak. The woman frowns, takes your hands and helps you up. She's so warm, and you're so cold. Cold is in your flesh, seeping into your bones. Makes you shiver and wrap your arms around yourself.
"What is your name, ma'am?" asks the woman. She has a slight Mexican accent and she's little and plum. She has dark hair. She smells like something you'd like to try and eat. You wonder what perfume she uses.
"Samantha. Samantha Reid," you answer. The nurs
Sweating corpses stinkBack in your apartment you drop onto your bed and sigh. You wonder how could you ever be attracted even the teeny tiniest bit to her. Yeah, sure the long legs and silky black hair and big brown eyes had something to do with it, but when you look more closely to her you can see insanity in her dead eyes. You think maybe being in a sect drove her crazy; they must fuck with your mind.
Now that you take time to look at your room, it's pretty sad. There's nothing personal, nothing tying you to it. You spend most of your time out, seducing your next meal. Now that you think of it, all your undead life is about how you're going to lure your next meal into the woods to eat them.
You think of everyone else and how they have friends, and go out to party for fun. Parties where someone like you comes along, targets the one that leaves the group and seduces the kid. And finally, you kill them. They get killed because they go out to have fun.
You decided that for
The training of a soldierI drank in the sight of her. She wasn't quite beautiful, really. I have seen beautiful women in my life, but nothing like her. Never. She stood there, lonely in the darkness and shadows, her dirty blond hair like a veil in front of her face, the flash of green eyes looking through the muddy strands. And if I met her eyes: there was distrust in those beautiful emerald eyes. When she looked at me, my world caved in and only she existed in this world of fire and heat and explosion. Huddled in her corner, trying not to be seen, tears were running down her cheeks and leaving strikes on her skin, washing away the dirt and grime. As tiny as she was she looked braver than anyone I've seen in my life.
The shouts and screams were everywhere- sounds of agony as our poisoned gifts came crashing down on the people's houses and heads, erasing everything in their explosion. The sound of metal on metal, of metal on bone resonated in my ears. Children and mothers running for cover as men in