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Sitting there, i was thinking about the time i was nearly killed. so long ago it seemed, so long ago that it felt as if my heart was being torn from my chest..



Looking around my room, thinking of the one who i cared for the most, the fever that over took him-then took him from me. I know the truth, yet it hurts to know. Realizing my hand was becoming warm and wet, i looked down and saw bright crimson blood runnling down my hand. "Why is this..." so hard? i thought to myself not able to finsh the sentence outloud.



Thinking to myself i felt that same heat that cascaded down his face in the past roll down my forehead to my toes. I wasn't completely sure what had happened that day other then crying, holding a dead corpse-then it moved and bit me, trying to drain me....what had happened after that was a blur. The last thing I remember is waking up on the couch in the den and holding my neck that was healed. Was is all a dream? Was he still alive with the fever that broke a sweat across his brow? No. a voice whispered in my head. No , it was all true. And now your what he is. Crying again i let the pink drops of blood and tears mixed with each other fall from my hands.