Hate by K.A Knight
My head droops uselessly against my chest, my once long hair cut and matted and greasy, hanging in shorn lumps across my oily and dirty face.
Pain is my constant, it is all I know.
My mouth is so dry, I feel my lips crack and bleed.
My body feels like a husk, all the water, all the liquid gone until I am nothing but a starving skeleton of what I once was.
That is what they want.
To deprive me of the very thing I need most and watch as I crumble into nothing but a monster for them to control. It’s the only way they can control me. Make me what they want me to be. I don’t know how long I have been here, but they should know one thing about me—I do nothing I do not want to.
This world has seen my anger before, the tales and stories told even today. So many names and so many works of fiction are based on me...and these men think starving me will make me break? How wrong they are. I will prove that to them before I rip their bodies apart and spike their heads to decorate my house.
I hear the door open once again, just as it does every day like clockwork. I no longer visibly react, not even to lift my weary head. Something is tossed inside, a someone, I should say. And then the door slams shut once again, trapping them in here with me.
I can’t help it, I sniff, inhaling the aromatic fragrance of their essence. The very thing I need. Next, I hear their heart slamming so hard in their chest from fear I’m surprised they haven’t died from it.
Human bodies are so frail, after all.
They breathe slowly to remain quiet and they don’t move, thinking it will save them. But I can hear every tiny inhale, each exhale, and every slight movement of their body. The blood thundering through their veins, calling to me.
Madness encroaches the recesses of my mind, a darkness I have given into more than once twisting around me until I finally lift my head and spot the tiny human. The living blood bag is kneeling against the door with her legs pulled to her fluttering chest. Her lips quiver and her eyes overflow as she stares at me.
My nose twitches and my mouth parts to reveal my huge fangs, which is what finally breaks her.
She screams, howls, and cries, battering her fists against the metal door to escape me and I laugh, throwing my head back and letting it flow from me.
They won’t break me today, or even tomorrow.
It was a good try though.
I let them hear my mocking guffaw, even as my arms are pulled up and chained, my legs spread and shackled to the walls.
Blood.
It coats the air, calling to me, telling me its story. How it could make me feel better, make my strength return, quench this never-ending thirst which was imposed on me many millenniums ago.
No one can.
