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“It’s too loud!”
“What?”
“I said it’s too damn loud!”
“That’s how it’s supposed to be!”
Leave it to Christa to drag me here. We’re smashed into people, tossed about, and groped numerously, and all of this is what to be expected of a rave, or so I’m told. Her sparkle-covered hand grabs hold of mine as I am lead through the orgy of bodies sliding up and down one another, exchanging sweat and other raunchy bodily fluids; not exactly my cup of tea, but I guess to each his own. Senior graduation wasn’t good enough that the seniors now had to throw a rave in the middle of a corn field, giving the chance for us juniors to sneak in and party hard, but so far all the juniors that I had seen were Christa and me, that and the popular juniors who were part of the senior popular crowd. Christa then releases my hand and starts moving in rhythm with the monotonous techno music, leaving me standing only a foot from her, not quite sure what to do.
“Ember, you look like a nark!” she yells, just audible enough for me to catch what she says. Well, with a name like Ember, I’m bound to stick out of a crowd; mom trying to be all unique and instead of spelling ‘Amber’ normally, let’s switch the ‘a’ to an ‘e’. I should be home baby-sitting my brother and baby sister right now, but instead I told my mother that I would be going over a friend’s house for the night; yes, I had managed to get to Christa’s house, but she had other plans for the night. Oh, don’t get me wrong; I’m a teen, I love to party, it’s in my nature to do so, but there’s a large difference between going over a kid’s house and breaking into the liquor cabinet, all the while hanging with your friends, and a rave in the middle of a cornfield with god-only-knows who partying along side you.
“Ember!” Christa yells at me again. I almost unwillingly join in the dancing, trying to have a good time, her body and five others smacking into mine with every motion, and this too is part of what is supposed to make a rave fun. She begins to yell and cheer, waving her arms about almost as if she were crazy, but you’d think so too if you saw your friend dancing like that in a neon pink wig, sparkles, and about fifteen glow stick necklaces. Cue the next song, and she drags me off to the side, where we’re handed to cups of unknown liquids, but the fact of not knowing what they contain doesn’t bother Christa as she fills her mouth with the contents of the cup, soon finishing it off. I stare at the liquid, trying to decipher what it may be, but the colored and strobe lights going off everywhere don’t exactly provide the best lighting for me to do so. Christa practically shoves the plastic cup into my face, screaming at me to drink it, so reluctantly I follow her orders; it’s some third-rate alcohol, but it’s good enough for me to get down without trouble. She then grabs the cup from my hands and tosses it behind her, shouting something else to me that at this time I can’t recall what. Before I’m able to ask her what she said, she takes off in some direction, leaving me caught in the midst of twenty bodies on either side of me, none of which do I know who they are. I look around to each side of me, hoping that Christa’s momentary escape from me will soon end, but someone else had something different in mind. I begin to feel slightly dizzy, lightheaded almost, and suddenly everything feels so good and all I want to do is join in and dance; of course, it was the ecstasy tablets slipped into my drink by the unknown third party talking, and I realize this, but I’m feeling all too good at this point to do anything about it… damn drugs.
I practically throw myself into the mass of teenagers and begin to move in tune with the techno music, letting my body slide across everyone else. Oh so nice, this feeling, and it only gets better when I feel another person’s body right against mine. The guy supports me as I grind and move along his body, me being half ready to fall over and pass out. He holds my waist as I wiggle and shake my lower body against him, as he whispers some muted words into my ear. Naturally, I want to know who I seem to be virtually raping, so I turn in his grasp to face him, never stopping my dance at any given point, and am star-struck by emerald green eyes; look them over again, yes, those beautiful jade-colored eyes that seem impossible for people to have. And his long flowing auburn hair blows in the wind, gently touching my face; talk about the true Sampson hair, and I but Delilah wanting to cut it off and keep for myself. The guy had to be at least twenty, but the ecstasy only tells me how indescribably attractive he is, but believe me, you really don’t need a drug to tell you how good looking he is. He smirks at me as he notices I’m looking him over, but I soon realize he is doing the same to me. I smile back at him and continue to dance for him, almost as if I’m trying to impress the stranger; I look, and my mission is accomplished. He stares at me as I dance for a moment longer, then takes my hand and pulls me toward his face. The music seems to fade into the background and I can hear his words perfectly.
“Be mine…” he says, “Come with me, and be mine…” and with that, he kisses my lips, the soft touch of them against mine, and I do not hesitate in kissing them back; I introduce my tongue to his mouth, and he follows suit with doing the same.
But there is something odd about this kiss. I feel a small liquid go into my mouth, the warmth and smoothness pleasures my mouth much more than his tongue. I swallow the liquid, and felt more enter my mouth, so I take that down as well; it is only then that I discover that the entrancing fluid is coming from his tongue, so I begin to suck on it, craving more of the unknown liquid. This taste gives me more of a high and more of a pleasurable haze than the ecstasy tablets, and I feel so calm and serine. In my state of mind, how can I refuse such an offer of being with this man, he who makes me feel so good, and gives me kisses of his liquid love? I nod my head as I break free of his lips finally, the drugs still playing with my mind, and he takes my hand, leading me out of the crowd, never bumping into one person on the way out. He leads me past the bodies, past the rave, and past the cornfield; the drugs have now started to take their toll. I begin to feel even more light headed and faint, my heart still racing and beating against my rib cage. I want to stop walking, but the man has my hand, leading me even further away. I try pulling my hand out of his, and tell him that I don’t feel well, but I feel even fainter. I begin to breathe heavily, and in one last vain attempt, I try to tell him that I don’t feel well, but my words never reach his ear. My eyes roll into the back of my head and I feel my body begin to fall downwards as my mind goes into the realm of the unconscious. I never feel my body hit the ground, however; arms catch my body and soft words are spoken to me.
“Rest, my dear…” is all I hear.


"Wake up, my child."
Darkness and silence.
"Wake up, my child." It says again.
I am ignoring the voice, half hoping I could tune it and sink deep into the satin sheets that I rested upon, and half hoping that I would find the strength in me to get up and face the voice.
I open my eyes, and saw the stone ceiling; a rather gloomy-looking ceiling, if there is such a thing. I stare at it for some time, then push myself up and prop myself up on the pillows; satin too, nice. I gaze around the room, trying to familiarize myself with the surroundings. At the edge of the bed, sits a man. His long auburn hair flows down to his shoulders; the hair had to be as soft as the satin the sheets were made of. His pale complexion is all the more vibrant against his bright green eyes. I look away from his eyes as if I would turn to stone by looking at them, but they were all too mesmerizing, and I look at them again; I begin to drown in the vast emerald abyss.
He smiles at me, his face glowing and radiant, but something is off about his appearance, though I couldn’t tell you what it was to save my life.
"You sleep like the dead," he says, still smiling, as he moves towards the large oak armoire placed in the corner.
Where am I, and why, for the love of God, can I not remember what happened? I think, panicking myself. A sting came from the side of my neck, and I grab at it.
"Please my child, God has nothing to do with this." he says turning around to face me for a moment, then turning back around towards the armoire, as he picks out a dress.
I become startled; he had heard what I thought!
"I can do more than that, my love." he says. He pulls out a white dress; casual, but still elegant.
"Get ready," he says, "We have so much to do tonight; the city waits for no one.". He places the dress on the bed where he had sat before.
"What do you mean? Where am I? And who the hell are you? I want to leave!" I scream, making my way off the bed and towards the door; the pain from my neck still stung and I felt weak and drained. I reach the door, when another sharp pain courses through my neck. I looked to my side, and saw his beautiful hair on my shoulder.
"Oh my God; he's got my neck! He's biting me!” the thoughts race through my mind.
"Again, God has no power here." he says, but his mouth was on my throat; how is that possible?
Weakness overpowers me, and I begin to slump down to the floor, my very ebb and flow being drawn out of my body and into this demon. More and more of my blood is stolen from me; I wanted to scream, but I cannot find the strength to.
As I lay on the stone floor, the stranger walks away from my weak body, drunk with my blood. He sits in a wooden chair, not 3 feet from me, just staring at the broken body on his floor.
Bits and pieces of my memory flash before my eyes, as darkness begins to engulf me. Childhood, school, laughter, friends, all flashing in front of me, followed by the memory of last night; I struggle to keep myself conscious. I remember last night; dancing, wild and drug-filled dancing, sweat and kisses exchanged between one another, and a man, the very same villain that had just taken my life, was there. Darkness swallows me more and more; the man was dancing with me, holding me close, whispering in my ear, I left with him...
"My dear," the voice comes again, so soothing. "My dear, open your mouth, and live."
What? I try to say, what do you mean.... I begin to give into the darkness.
"No, my love, you won’t die," the voice says. I want it to be over with, I want to let go. I have all but let myself fall into the darkness, when I am drawn back; a deus ex machina if you will, saves me. The stranger lifts me upwards.
"It's not time to die yet, my child." the voice says. He pulls down the collar of his shirt and exposes his marble-white neck.
"Such a beautiful and fragile girl doesn’t deserve to die this way. So I’ll give you another chance; a chance at life forever in your young years."
He raises his free hand to his bare neck, and scratches his throat; blood begins to drip from the wounds.
"Drink my love, and suffer no more. I have so much planned for the both of us." he says, almost pleading with me.
I am raised towards his neck, towards the wounds. I try with all of my might to refuse the temptation, but he draws me into himself closer and closer. I can stand it no more; the beauty of his white skin, the security I felt in his arms, and the blood flowing from his neck. I push my mouth against his neck, and feel the blood flow into my body. Liquid fires of Hell pour through my drained body, incinerating my bowels and veins; the burning magma forging its own path through my body. I begin to convulse from the pleasure of the fluid entering me, and yet I hold fast to his neck, taking in more and more.
My heart is in sync with his, my breathing overlaps his breath, and our body and souls become one. He lets out a soft sigh, almost a whimper, but lets me continue my feast. I twist even more, the heat spreading through my body, seeping out of every porous I have. I break free from his grasp, and lay on the floor once more, grabbing my stomach for dear life as it feels like it is being ripped out of me. Eternity seems to pass in this pain, as I hunch my back, laying in the fetal position, begging to be put out of my misery. My prayer is answered and my pain ceases; I am reborn, I am a vampire. Reading all too many fantasy novels and seeing all too many horror movies, this change is apparent to me; the world of darkness is now my home, the sun my bitter rival, and blood the necessity of it all.
I sit up, and examine my maker. His eyes, I had underestimated how bright they were, and his face is all the more smooth looking to me. I reach up to feel the porcelain face, and I begin to weep. I break down like a child in his arms; his beauty is all too much to take in. Yet he just sits there, holding to me and stroking my golden honey hair. The tears stain my shirt, and I cry all the more harder, and he holds onto me all the more securely. I look to his beauty again, and he wipes the blood tears away from my face. I love him like I love no other, though I had only just met him. He would become my teacher, my master, my lover, and I love him all the more for this.
"Come, my sweet; you are new to the Blood, and you must feed." he whispers in my ear. He stands me up, and takes the dress from the end of the bed and hands it to me. He goes to the armoire and picks out a new outfit for himself as well. He places his outfit next to mine on the bed and begins to strip off his now blood tear-soaked clothing, my tears no doubt, acting uninhibited and unembarrassed that I stand there and stare at his marble-like body.
It is way too obvious how I stand there, mouth practically hanging open, marveling at the body that should belong to Michelangelo’s David, and my maker makes it all the more obvious by stopping, turning his head to me, and smirking, almost as if to say ‘I know I’m beautiful…’. I turn from his gaze, wanting to blush from embarrassment, but I am a vampire now, and such things aren’t possible.
“Now that I am a…” I begin to ask, and I find myself unable to actually word that which I had become.
“A vampire?” he says, still staring at me with his piercing green eyes.
“Yes, a vampire… Can I read other people’s thoughts? Can I read yours?” I finish the question.
He smiles slightly, “No,” he answers, “we are too closely connected to the Blood, so you cannot read my thoughts, and I cannot read yours. Besides, even if you could, I don’t think you would want to read my thoughts.”. He smiles even more at his last comment, an inside joke that only he knows, I guess, the smile revealing his fangs to me, and I am able to get a real look at them. Seeing them shine in the light, the pearl-like qualities of them, makes me instinctively run my tongue over my teeth to see if I have them yet, and sure enough, I feel two sets of longer canines.
“But yes, you can read other people’s thoughts,” he continues with his sentence, “and as you grow older with the Blood, your ability to do so will increase, as well as the addition to other powers.”

((will finish later...))

well... ive gotten compliments on my writing before, but never anything this extreme...

Yes it is.

Brillient, shear briliance. Capivatng, very Rice eske, but still you have your wn voice. One thing thought, stupid I know, blonde hair green eyes, auburn hair is better with green eyes, and he's whereing dark blue whih also looks good on red heads. Just saying.

ill fix that; thanx... oh, Cameo, do you like my new signature?... its Daniel and Armand!

Its awesome, even though I wasnt asked.

see someone else agrees with us. You must write more.

stop trying to get the last word on me Inuyasha. I said her story was great and she should write more first.