Post by Dominic Spencer on Jan 2, 2010 18:45:50 GMT 1
This was a school assignment that I used my good old Dominic for. I am well aware that dates are wrong, there are also details that need to be changed but as it's 4am too bad. I have been meaning to write more but for now have fun reading this terrible stuff until I add more.
1936
15th January, 1936.
I don’t know why I’m writing in this journal, I’m not really a journal type of person, I think I am doing this more for my sister Elizabeth, who gifted me this, than for myself. I don’t even know what on earth I am supposed to say so I guess I’ll start by introducing myself (feeling rather silly while doing it I might add). My name is Dominic Ezekiel Spencer, I am nineteen years of age, have several siblings –both older and younger- and hail from the Soho District of London England. There, now we are acquainted with one another journal I am out of things to write for now. At least Elizabeth will be happy, a smile from her means so much now as her life dwindles.
1st February, 1936.
I saw this journal today, collecting dust on my bookshelf and burst into a fit of sobbing. I got angry at myself for not using it more for Elizabeth’s sake while she was I alive. You see she died last month; the doctor said there was nothing we could have done to fight the Tuberculosis. Both my mother and father are still mourning for the youngest of us children. I can’t put into words how painful watching her die was and it seems I have become disenchanted with the world as mother puts it. She says this because all I do is go out every night, drink and chase women these days but they are the only things that dull the pain.
2nd February, 1936.
My father and I lost our jobs today. It seems not even factory workers are immune from the Depression’s cold grasp. When will misfortune stop targeting my family? I grow tired of its sick sense of humour.
13th March, 1936.
By neglecting this journal I feel I have neglected the memory of my sister but I have not written for awhile for good reason. A woman has come between my family and me but not in the way one would deem obvious. You see I do not remember a thing important about her other than she has blonde hair and is of a very short stature but even then I do not know that for sure. What I do know for sure is that she murdered me the night we met and I mean that in every literal sense of the word.
We met, went somewhere private and then she pinned my down, bit me, I blacked out and then died. How am I writing now? I’ll tell you; after I blacked out close to death, an acquaintance of the woman took pity on me and revived me the only he knew how to, by turning me into what both he and the woman are. I now have incredibly sharp canine teeth, a deathly pale pallor to my skin and have an aversion to sunlight. I am cursed to walk this earth forever as a child of the Devil, a Vampire.
I went to my family after the few days needed to fully change and never before have I seen such fear or hate in a person’s eyes than that in my mother’s. She called me a monster and brandished a crucifix at me. The action tore at my very soul (if I still have one that is) and as she cried, I too cried as I collected my things. Even as I write this my hand shakes with pent up emotion, so much so I fear I must stop for tonight as grief takes hold of me.
20th August, 1936.
It has suddenly hit me that I will look as though I am nineteen forever, and I will never be able to eat or drink anything that is not blood. Why has this happened to me? Is this God punishing me and my family? My poor mother and father have lost two children in the past three months, how is that fair? They are good honest people, was it my wicked ways that brought all the pain and suffering upon them? Maybe it is a good thing I am no longer welcome in their home. I am a monster. I am one who is cursed to the shadows, to be a hunter of humans. How I long to be one again. Even as my maker teaches me the ways of my new kind I find myself longing to be able to feel the sunlight on my skin again. To feel my own warmth on a cold day, to be able have children and grow old. These are simple things, human things that I will never again have the pleasure of feeling. Sometimes this thought makes me weep but then I tell myself I must accept the fate I have been given, if not for myself then for Elizabeth.
