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Personal Writing: Reality.

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Introduction

Personal Writing: Fiction Reality I do not live. I am a creature, a thing. There are some that have called me 'monster' without knowing the truth. Without wanting to know. They would not understand anyway; their little minds would shrink away from the awful reality of my existence. I do not live, I just am. Forget what you think you know about me and my kind. The legends and myths were created by those that were the first, and kept alive by those that came after. We are not murderers. We do not live, but we do feed. On blood, as you might suspect. But only when what we call the Hunger takes us. Other times, we eat as you mortals do, the breads and meats of Mother Earth. But when the Hunger takes us, then we are hunters. And you humans are sheep. We allow our chosen prey to know we are coming, and what we are. The knowing causes the fear to grow, and the blood becomes sweeter. Warmer. When we take our prey, it is almost hot, so hot that it eases the pain and the coldness within us that is the Hunger. Blood, though, is only a part of what we feed on. We feed upon the moment of death that releases of energy that is the soul. Oh, yes. Souls do exist. So does God. ...read more.

Middle

There are always more to take the place of the ones I and those with me feed upon. Always. I sit in my place, a table in the rear of the club, which sits on a short platform overlooking the dance floor and bar, and from there I can watch you mortals enter. And I smile as I see you come, dressed in 'fashion' and giggling to each other. Trying to look important as you come through my doors. Trying to look powerful, you know nothing of power. All your money and contacts are meaningless when I come for you. I can not be bought, and who you know does not scare me. I scare you. And I feed on you. I ramble. This thing, this feeling, this presence suddenly engulfed me, swallowed me and took me captive for then I knew it had begun. The very next night I went in search for it. What? I here you cry. But, you wouldn't believe me even if I did tell you. I left my club and emerged into the outside world, which I have grown to hate and despise. The trees, the pavement covered with black marks of gum and many different sticky delights, the black sky which constantly seems to be covered in clouds and then the roads on which my sheep arrive the cars, the buses, the taxes and endless noises of running engines and sounded horns. ...read more.

Conclusion

"You didn't know that", "you were probably born there". By this time I was confused, dizzy and just plain sick. I fell to the floor out of breath and gasping for air, well I thought it was air. When I awoke I was in a world that had no star and no moon. The place was bright yet black, burning but not smoky. No buildings no structures just nothing, it was empty the only thing that gave of light was torch of the now demonic presence without a body which was looking after me. "What is this place?" I asked. He replied in an almost screaming pitch "where do you think you are?" "I thought I was in our world but this seems more like hell", "your right it is hell" came the reply. So, you see why I do not live. Because I have been to hell and back. That means that I posses a soul of so little value that even the place for the evilest of souls doesn't want mine. For the ultimate meaning of hell is the soul trap. This curse means that I myself do not live, for living is having a soul of worth. This means I am the walking death, when the hunger is felt a soul will be released and go to the place that suits it best. Where would you go if I got the hunger for you? Andrew Gidney Centre 18301 Candidate 10053 Document3 27/04/07 ...read more.

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