The city looks different at night. It really does. It's been 6 months since that night. Six Months without a sun. Six months since the last time I felt the warm comfort of that celestial being. Six months since I lost all hope for my future, however long that may be.

            I'll remember that night for as long as I live. I was walking home from the corner store, complaining in my own mind about my distinct lack of transportation. I had lost my license for reckless endangerment, whatever the hell that was, and I longed for my car. It wasnt the most beautiful of rides, in all reality it was a beater, but that Toyota was my baby. No driving for a year, might as well have given me the chair. Why didn't I take the bus? After being hit on by the hairiest man who isn't Robin Williams, I wasn't getting near public transportation again. I mean, if the guy wasn't inhumanly hairy, or weighed less than 400 pounds, he might have been cute. Maybe. But no. That was another thorn in my side, no significant other for three years. It didnt make sense, I kept myself up, I bathed regularly, and I was as friendly as I could possibly be, but nothing happened. I sat and watched all my friends hook up while I sat trapped in the friend zone. I wanted to die, maybe thats why I wasn't at all surprised by what happened next. I was crossing Eastern Avenue, headed to my apartment on St. Joseph Street, when out of nowhere, or more accurately, the St. Pat's parking lot, a black figure leaped over the fence, landed in front of me, and quickly hit me in the head with a baseball bat.

            When I eventually woke up, I was in a house I didn't recognize. I was in a large bed, and was surprisingly comfortable. My head didn't even really hurt, more of an ice cream headache ::sigh:: something else I'll never have again. As I came to my senses I surveyed the situation. There was a man wearing a T-Shirt and jeans sitting over me. He dipped a cold rag in a bowl, lightly dabbing my forehead with it. He was cute, semi-long blonde hair, blue eyes, sort of a Nazi poster boy, but still cute. When he saw me open my eyes, he seemed relieved. He told me a story of fangs, resurrections and ash. The details are still kind of fuzzy, but from what I could make out, I had apparently encountered what he called a vampire. Now, dont get me wrong, I know what a vampire is, but they dont really exist, do they? Well apparently they do, because when I regained my senses, I felt hungry. My stomach ached, but I yearned for the strangest thing. It still terrifies me to this day, but for reasons I can't remember, I surged at the man, sunk my teeth into his neck and drank for all I was worth. By the time I had enough self-control to stop, it was too late. My savoir was dead. I never even knew his name. I ran. I ran for what felt like hours. I don't think Ive even really stopped running.

            I soon learned of my allergy to sunlight, and fire, so smoking was definitely out of the picture. I lost my job. My answering machine filled up, but I never went back home. They would be there. I have absolutely no idea who they are, but I've had what I can only call visions, of my death in my own home. I left town. I've been on the run for 6 months. I learned that there are more of us than most of us believe. I am a vampire. I should be this all-powerful terror of the night. I've seen my Kindred as were called, leap almost three stories straight up, smash brick walls with their bare hands and even conjure magical fire, I can run quickly, and only if I really, really try. In my travels I have heard of the Camarilla, which, technically, I'm a part of. They say my sire (Vampire talk for father, I guess), was a Malkavian, and that all of the Malkavians are complete nut jobs. Funny, I don't feel crazy. Ive also heard the word Caitiff thrown around. Maybe thats what I am. The Caitiff are outcasts, kind of like me. If French class serves me correctly, Caitiff means a lowly or cowardly person. I've seen some Caitiff who were braver than some of the older vampires I've met. I don't know where the name originated, nor do I really care. I've tracked down my lineage and found my sire. I'm going to get some questions answered. If you don't hear from me for a while, don't worry; this world will have been rid of one more burden on its resources. I've met a group of travelers who I think may be able to help me. They claim to be nomads, called Ravnos. They run a carnival, and they're heading home. Time to make a house call.

                                                                                                            Truly,