Addict

Please, I beg, just one more.

The other person, he does not look back.

Just one more time, I plead.

In his sincerity, he turns around.

"Look, mate, I think you've had enough."

His words are a hot knife through my chest.

If he will not give it to me freely,

I shall take it then by force.

I pull out a knife of my own, and allow him to feel my pain.

"What... have you... done?" He asks.

That aroma, I am all too familiar to it.

You gave me no choice! I screamed.

The words leaving my mouth are not even my own.

I sit behind my pallor complexion, a silent observer.

I never wanted this, but I have no control.

The addiction takes over, and I am forced to watch.

As the beautiful man slumps to the ground,

I bend down, and start to feed on my cure.

The rush of the color, and the warmth on my cold skin excite me.

Then, in a moment, I am once again myself.

I step out from behind the mask, and sigh.

"Another mess to clean up" I say quietly.

I lifted his ensanguinated body up, and carry it to its new home.

"Had I the power to resist my addiction" I tell myself.

Yet, I knew the price when I joined the damned.

I had needed the power, regardless of the price.

I stopped to look in the mirror. Reflecting on who I am.

There, the sight met me, as always.

A body, floating midair, suspended by a force unseen.

I close my eyes and walk on. I feel the words of the darkness.

Thank you for this meal, I say. 

But in my heart there is no gratefulness.

There is only remorse, at the creature I have become.

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This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?

If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.