Vampire: The Long Night - Hard Rain

[Noir]

You know, I watch our kind. A lot. It is what I do. And call it bitterness that comes with age or a general intolerance for bullshit, but there are certain truths that I feel many disregard.

So many of us try to hide what we are behind pretty names like "Canite" and "Kindred", trying to make themselves feel better instead of acknowledging their 'condition' as they like to call it, clinging to humanity. 

The Lupines have more colorful terms for us, like "Leech" and "Suckhead". And you know what? They got it more right that we do. 

You see, we're NOT human any more, and we don't have a 'condition. We are fucking monsters. We are one of the things that goes bump in the night. 

We are Vampires. 

And I mean REAL blood-drinking things of nightmares...

And we don't fucking sparkle! Let one of these teens girls have a look at me and their opinion will change REALLY fucking fast.

We are monsters.

We live off of blood. Most even try to hide that and call it "vitae". It's blood, plain and simple. The others try to call our bite when we feed pretty names like "The Kiss", but it does not change the facts. Our fangs pierce into the flesh of the living so we can lap up that warm, coppery blood. Draining.. stealing.. taking life from them in a rush of wet crimson. No matter the frilly name you try it give it, the fact remains that it's gruesome, savagely bestial act.

We all have 'The Beast' lurking inside. Regardless of Clan, or affiliations, the Beast within and the blood-splattered drive to sate our nature trickles through every aspect of our unlife. Whether you see your vampiric nature as a calling, a blessing, or a curse, your nature is what it is. You can choose how you deal with it, but you must face it. You must build your unlife as a vampire around it carefully, meticulously, or else the structures of society, culture and belief can come crashing down around you in a fucking, flaming heap.

The Beast runs it course. Its dark urge ebbs and flows, waxes and wanes. To control it, to use it, you must become familiar with it. You must learn the cycles of your hunger, how much blood is needed to quiet the Beast to where you can fucking think straight again, how to deal with the crash after the ecstasy of sinking your teeth into the flesh of your victim, and how to cope with the hunger creeping in again, threatening to shake the brief moment of peace you had. Exercise, habit, and rituals can focus the mind away, prolonging any one stage of the bestial cycle.

Yet everything you do leads you 'round and 'round, forever 'til your final night. Hunger. Hunt. Feed. Digest. You pull back from, or claw towards, these stages, trying to merge this aspect of your unlife with that you are forced to lead and survive. 

Popes and kings, empires and armies, all come and go. But at the end of the night, the hunger still remains...

Every evening you awake and you are hungry.

You roll the word “hungry” over in your mouth. It sticks there, like a word you knew, that you’re trying to translate into another language but can’t. Something is lost on the translation. It sticks in your throat.

Your mouth is dry. It is often dry.

"Hungry" is as close as you can get to describing the sensation. But your stomach never growls, not ever. YOU growl. An emptiness within you yawns. From within it, the growl comes. The Beast demands it's tribute. It shouts the price for your being, the desire of your unbeating heart. It shrieks.

Craving. Hmm... Perhaps “craving” is a more accurate word. Still, you hold on to the word “hunger.” Hungers can be sated. Hungers hold hope in being satisfied.

All you do is lie to yourself.

You ate yesterday. Your mouth wasn’t dry. It was wet, and sticky, and hot. You remembered in life, at the height of ecstasy, panting, shuddering, sweating. Now you never breathe. You never shiver. You never sweat. You feel hungry.

You gulped, licked, slurped, and sucked. Hot, rich blood filled your mouth, flooded your throat. The Hunger inside you melted away, dissolved by what you had greedily taken. Your greed sates it.

But that was yesterday. 

This is today.

Awake...

Hungry... 

 

My name is Olaf.

Welcome to The Unlife.

 

 

Spoiler

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