FicWad

(C)CopyRight 2008

Grass was everywhere, burning and becoming ash before my very eyes. I tried to run but my legs wouldn’t listen, they stayed limp.

Before I landed in this strange place I remembered closing my eyes, but this didn’t feel like a dream. No. It felt more like hell, if their even was a place. I could smell earth after it had rained, my own mouth tasted clear as if I’d been drinking spring water for a thousand years. I no longer felt the core of my body radiating heat; it was like the bellows of my soul where shut down.

The fires around me died down and from the coal black ash emerald green erupted. A beautiful forest encased me in a warm moist womb. For a while I felt this was going to be my home forever.

That was until I heard Spencer’s voice.

Far off in the distance, at first it was faint only holding mutters of in coherent words. And as I ran towards it the words formed into screams of defeat. I kept running harder and harder but the screaming deafened and fog pulled my legs and arms.

In the distance I heard crying, somehow I knew it was Spencer. The world I now sat in grew dark and the fog became black and as I was swallowed into it I could only hear myself crying.

“Spencer,” I croaked out.

At first everything grew still and my eyelids burned red.

“Emma?”

I slowly opened my eyes to Patrick who held a light into my green orbs, only somehow I knew they had grown to a dark navy blue. Patrick clicked the light and scribbled something down. I rolled over watching my world follow with slight lag.

“Can you leave now?” I asked, my voice holding no sound of hope, “I’d like to be alone.”

Patrick placed a bag of blood on my food tray; he pulled my blanket higher on my arms and left.

My throat as if sandpaper had been dragged across it. The amount of times I had tried to solve the caked skin of my oesophagus by swallowing seem infinite. I knew as well as any new Vampire that I needed blood to quench my thirst. My poseur took it’s time collecting me. I sat up in my bed and with one shaky arm and hand I took the bag of blood and sunk my teeth into it.

I gasped as I felt the liquid coat my throat, I no longer felt thirst or hunger. I felt greed, I wanted more blood. I threw the bag down and wiped my mouth; I licked the blood from my hand and slowly left my hospital bed.

I feel every space in the tiles that lined the floor; I could hear the air in the vents and I could even hear inside Patrick’s head. My vision was somewhat lost; I never had very good vision to begin with. What I did see was detail, but not great detail.

Patrick stepped out of his office and looked towards me.

“Spencer,” a voice whispered.

I looked at Patrick; I could feel my eyes grow to an orange as my curiosity grew.

“Tell me about Spencer?” a rich voice came from me that I almost didn’t recognize it.

The clipboard Patrick’s arms never seemed to be without fell from his grasp, clattering loudly on the floor. I cringed at the noise; I heard every atom of that clip board shutter from impact.

“Tell me about Spencer,” I spoke again, louder this time.

Patrick could form any words with his lips; his eyes had grown wide with fear. I floated towards him and grabbed Patrick roughly by the collar. He closed his eyes.

“Tell me about Spencer.”

“Don’t say a word Patrick,” Pete coaxed from behind me, “don’t say a word.”