I’m moving through a jungle. I’m moving quicker and quicker through this urban jungle. I’m running from the horde of modern “vampire-hunters” following me in this heartless, concrete jungle. Well, rather my place to exist, and not my home. My home I lost a long time ago.
It was a hot day. Hot enough for the bricks to seem to start sweating, hot enough that as I looked down the road, I saw the air shimmering above the bumpy road, and form a mirage. The day was too hot for this town, and everything was moving sluggishly, with only a few exceptions. Clouds of midges formed near the burn, and we prepared to defend ourselves, and this home we had made ours so long ago.
I wince as I remember that painfully hot afternoon. So long ago, yet the memory still hit me so hard. She had been in town that day, and one of them must have followed her. Now these same people were following me, her mate.
The people were coming for her, but I would defend her. I knew they would come as a horde, but even then, I was not prepared for the sheer number of people who came. That the townsfolk were a superstitious lot I knew, but so many? I looked at her, memorising every line and curve of her face, so that when I died, the last thing I would see would be the face of my mate.
She was the one that they took then, and today they would come for me. And, as it was last time, a sunny day this time. They knew that the light hurt me, otherwise why would they do this to themselves? And why hunt me? I only took the weak, the sick, those who couldn’t return.
If they somehow got by me, I didn’t know what I’d do. I knew that I might just let them kill me so that they wouldn’t hurt her, my wonderful being. I wanted to run with her, but I knew that if we did, we could never return.
These memories wouldn’t help me now, I need my wits around me. I look around, hearing a sharp whistle, and feel something pierce my skin. I look down, at the short, barbed bolt, blinking red at its back. And a feeling of dread and also a strange calm surrounds me. The light changes, and the arrow explodes, blowing me backwards in a trail of long-dead entrails, fresh blood and hot shrapnel. Now the crowd is bearing upon me. I hear them, and begin to stand up again, knowing that I need to rest a night for my stomach to piece itself back together. But now my assailant steps out, and I gasp as I recognise her face.