“And I’ll pull your crooked teeth;
You’ll be perfect just like me.”
- Smashing Pumpkins, “Ava Adore”

I.

The strangest thing is that I don’t even remember it happening. The single most important event in my life, and only two things remain in my mind about it: the first, a pair of deep blue eyes that captivated me in a way no man ever had – in a way my girlish fantasies had always looked forward to – in a way that I had condemned as a child’s wish as I grew into womanhood. I remember nothing more about him: simply the eyes that seemed to know all the secrets of centuries past, that begged to know my own secrets.

The second thing I remember is unconnected, or seemed so at first: waking up in a dark place, shivering with cold, and covered with a sticky substance that I somehow instantly knew was my own blood. I waited for the nightmare to end, but the throbbing pains that grew in my neck, my head, and my stomach told me it was as real as anything that had ever happened to me. And before long, I learned the implications of the two puncture marks on my neck, and I realized I was no longer the same as I used to be.

The craving for blood is a strange thing – I’ve often wondered if it’s similar to learning to eat solid food as a toddler. You realize you’re hungry for something new, and what you used to consume no longer satisfies you.

Then you try it once, but you’re not sure why. It must be instinct, because your mind screams at you how wrong it is. But then…. Everything feels right. It’s as if this was the way things were meant to be, and every part of your body is doing exactly what it’s supposed to do. Your teeth pierce soft neck-skin, and that in itself is a release. You draw blood and swirl it around inside your mouth, tasting the subtleties of the victim’s ancestry, diet, and lifestyle. But whether acrid or sweet or exotic, it fulfills the craving, and for that you love it. It is simply life-blood: and what is life to you brings death to others.

And, before long, your mind accepts it. It cannot do anything but. It is the natural order of things.

II.

There are only some to whom I give the gift of immortality – only some I allow to drink my blood in return and thus be born again.

The first was simply a man I passed on the street. He was well dressed, his expensive suit draping over a muscular frame. I wanted his blood and I wanted to feel his muscles helpless under my strength, but I wanted more than that. I wanted someone to join me in my feasting and my adventures. I wanted to taste of his blood every day and I wanted him to taste of mine.

I let him meet my eyes as he passed, and I enjoyed the way he missed a step when he saw my smile. I walked on until a number of people were between us, then turned and followed him to his home.

He walked till he reached an upscale apartment building, and went into a flat on the seventh floor. I waited down the hall from his door, smoking three cigarettes before I made a move. I walked to his door and knocked three times.

A minute later, the door was open and his eyes were on me, confused but happy. “Hey. Can I help you?”

I had rehearsed it: “Yeah… um… I live several doors down, and my phone’s not working. Is yours down also, or is it just me?”

He smiled: “I didn’t know I had a new neighbor. C’mon in, I’ll check for you.” He moved from the door and I walked in as any human might.

Then he turned his back and me, and I tackled him to the floor. He struggled, but the strength I had gained upon my turning held him down as I knew it would. I sank my teeth into him and drank deeply. And as he laid afterward, nearly drained, I scraped my fingernail across my collarbone, drawing blood. I held his head to me, then: “Drink.”

And drink he did. When he woke again, he would be as me, craving the same things I did. I went to his couch and waited for him to awake.

III.

There have been many more since him. I have given up on a lifetime mate; after a few decades a man’s blood becomes boring. You no longer thirst it, and he ceases to bring you gifts of fat children simply to see your face light up. You move on. It’s only natural.

There are few perils to this immortal life; fewer and fewer even acknowledge our existence as their “enlightenment” increases. Few seek us out to clear our kind from the earth, as they once wished to. The law rarely reaches us, and when it does, none know how to really kill us. A brief time of discomfort, and we crawl out of the grave – hungry but as healthy as ever.

The only thing we must fear, then, is the sun. And one quickly grows used to avoiding it. After a few lifetimes, you can get used to anything.

IV.

And what of the Grand Scheme of Things? What of the Great Master, who controls all things?

A fig for Him. I am sick of the human’s appeals to His mercy. I am sick of His fickle gaze – His combination of malevolence to some and blessings rained down upon others. Where is your God of love? Where is the great goodness you speak of?

He is there, but His interest is fleeting and inconsistent. It pains me simply to touch the symbols He calls His own - where is the mercy in that? And where is His power and grace as I devour those who call themselves His children? Answer me! I defy Him, for He does not concern Himself with me. I do as I will, I kill as I will, and I will not die by His hand.

Do you want a god? Worship me, for I hold your life in my hands. As you feel my teeth sink into you, ask yourself: will you live forever with me? Or will you trust your fate to God, who allows this to happen?

But it is too late; the choice is no longer yours. You are mine, and in you I taste God, and become a god myself.