Mioara

I’ve given up. I don’t care anymore. What is there even to care about exactly? I’ve lived for over two hundred years. I’ve lived two life times. Isn’t that enough? That’s more than enough if you ask me. People are like oh I wish I could live for one thousand years that would be so cool it would be awesome! It’s not, it’s awful. I’ve lived through two world wars and a civil war. It’s not fucking fun, it’s miserable and horrific. It’s a living nightmare that you can’t escape from.

I was drafted into the French army during world war one because they were desperate for men and took me in because I looked close enough to one. I didn’t actually look very feminine back then but I sure as hell didn’t look like a man either. But close enough is close enough. I ended up in one of the trenches. I spent years “dying” over and over again.

I lost count of how many times. Just because I can’t die doesn’t mean I don’t feel immense pain. It doesn’t mean I don’t experience about the same level of torture a regular human would. Having bullets fill your body burns. It burns in a way like nothing else. It feels like someone shoved a hot knife into your body and twisted it and then instead of taking it out they just twist it again and shove the handle in there too. Just let it fester in your body as you experience pain like nothing else.

Adrenaline can only get you so far too. Get shot enough and even that wears off and all the pain comes rushing in at once. I was fortunate enough to get pumped up with morphine multiple times and that kept me going. You must be thinking, oh how does that work morphine shouldn’t work when your blood doesn’t flow. Don’t ask me, I don’t understand my body any better now than I did a hundred years ago when I tried actually figuring out how this thing ticks.

The trenches were a living nightmare alright. People you saw one day would be dead the next. People were starving to death, dying from dehydration, unable to even leave the trench lest they get filled to the brim with lead and die. I stopped trying to make friends at that point, because they just kept dying one after another. Everyone I got attached to was met with a gruesome end one way or another.

What’s worse than the trenches of world war one? Try being forced to be an SS officer in Nazi occupied Germany. I got drafted just because my hair was cut short and they actually mistook me for a man that time. I was too afraid to state otherwise less they torture me for wasting their time. That was somehow even worse. I wasn’t on the front lines; no I was forced to hunt Jews. I proved a little too awful at that since despite being able to tell exactly where they were by the smell of their blood I managed to turn up no one every time I searched. Only for a different officer to find them anyway after my check was through.

I failed so many times they shoved me in a camp to watch over the Jews there instead. I don’t give a shit about the Jews, but that doesn’t mean I enjoy killing people. It doesn’t mean I enjoy slaughtering them or watching them work themselves to death. Sometimes I would hear the screams of the furnace and wonder if I should just throw myself in there next time. Just slip in unnoticed and end this suffering. But no, I held on. I don’t know why I held on. It was disgusting.

I fled to Germany for a peaceful life, and of course Hitler seemed like a real great guy. He revitalized the economy, he gave the people hope. Too bad we didn’t know he would also rule like a tyrant and tell us to kill our fellow man just because he felt like it. Was it him or the Nazi party that really forced his hand? I don’t give a fuck. It was miserable either way. Politics don’t matter anyway; one way or another things will play out the way they’re supposed to. And by supposed to I mean the people at the top will move the pieces accordingly and things will go exactly how they like.

I tried to save as many people as I could. But honestly all I did was end up getting more killed. I had to shoot my fair share that were running way so as not to raise suspicion. Trying to feed was hard enough as it was in that situation, I thought I was gonna go insane from starving in the trenches but turns out people dying so often mean there was plenty of blood to spare no matter which way you looked.

It wasn’t the same in that camp. I was watched almost as much as the prisoners themselves. Everyone was always accounted for. If someone went missing it was a huge deal. Luckily enough, that really only applied to the officers. So yeah, I had my fair share of blood by putting some people out of their suffering I guess. That’s the nice way of saying I killed more people just to survive. I’m a monster, I know.

I don’t really care at this point. You know what the worst part is, I speak multiple languages fluently. German, Italian, French, English. Doesn’t do me much good and frankly I kind of regret knowing half of them. The only reason I can speak them so fluently is because I ate the brains of someone who could speak them fluently. Fucked up, I know. But that’s the fastest way to learn. I eat someone’s brain and I gain their knowledge and wisdom. Not their memories though, that stuff is stored in the soul. At least that’s my cope anyway, since unfortunately from gaining so much knowledge I’ve come to the conclusion that God is not only real and loved me at some point, but he now hates me.

You can’t stuff the holy spirit into a demonic vessel, it just doesn’t work. There’s no salvation for me, there’s no Jesus saves. There’s just hell awaiting me once I die. What a fucking nightmare. I deserve it, but at the same time that makes me scared to die. I want to die, I don’t want to be here anymore, but I don’t want to die either. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t is the literal state of my being. It’s why I’ve given up. There’s no hope left for me.

Everyone I come into contact just ends up dying sooner or later, either by an accident or by me killing them in one way or another. I try to feed on hobos at this point, keep the city clean I guess. Clean of what? People who just want to live like everyone else. People struggling, down on their luck. Those who have given up like me. I at least make sure they’re a sad sack who has no intention of trying to live before I tear into their flesh and drink their blood. Nothing for it, I need a lot to eat. There’s no shortage of people who don’t want to live anymore and I’m more than willing to just put them out of their misery It’s the least I can do what with me being too much of a coward to do the same.

What are my likes and dislikes? What is this, interview with a vampire? I don’t like much of anything really. I’m depressed, was that not clear yet at this point? Food just tastes like ash in my mouth, water tastes like sewage waste. The only thing that tastes good and I guess I enjoy is blood. But it’s more out of obligation that I eat than anything. Even if it tastes amazing, it’s bitter in my mouth at this point from the implication every time I drink it. I’m no bleeding heart, but I still don’t feel good about what I am.

I still don’t enjoy killing people. What do I hate? Fucking Nazis I guess. Sounds cliché, but guess what I don’t hate them because they’re assholes who are heartless. I hate them because they’re so full of themselves they make me want to puke. Every single one of those faggots was just so narcissistic. I hate people like that. Makes me want to tear out their throat just for talking to me. Go be melodramatic pompous pieces of shit somewhere else. Leave me alone and let me be.

Sometimes I wish the sun would just kill me. I mean it does don’t get me wrong, it just does it really fucking slowly. And that hurts like hell and is not fun. You would think it roasts me, well sort of but not really. You know a slow cooker? You know steaming your food? It’s kind of like that. I burn, just ever so slowly. It would take two days out in the sun in a row to really kill me I think. I say I think because I only lasted a day the last time I tried killing myself before I tapped out.

I’m too afraid to stuff a stake in my heart, that’s for sure. That’s horrifying, a sharp object just straight up impaling me on purpose, me holding the thing? No way, that won’t work. What do I look like? Juliet? That girl wasn’t even real, it’s easy enough to write someone stabbing themselves in the heart, but try doing it for real.

I even tried to tip off some vampire hunters to kill me, except I panicked when they actually showed up and killed them. I still feel bad about that. Like shit, what was the point. I used to be part of a large vampire clan, but the rest of them were wiped out in a fire. Yeah, fire can kill us. Well sort of. It makes us immobile long enough for the sun to finish us off anyway. I still have nightmares about it.

All it took was one forest fire raging out of control and poof, everyone I knew was dead. That was before world war one though, so I got used to being scared and alone and then it just got worse from there. I naturally assume anyone I meet just wants to use me or fuck me. I mean really, why would I assume otherwise? I’ve aged just enough to finally look properly feminine.

Yeah I do age, it’s just I age so insanely slow that at this rate I may actually live to be thousands of years old. I haven’t watched empire rise or fall or anything, unless you count corporate empires that is. My thoughts are such a jumble sometimes, I lose track of what I was saying, I veer off into tangents. Sometimes I wonder if I’m autistic or something, but frankly I couldn’t tell you and I don’t care enough to find out.

Even if someone approached me honestly and wanted to be nice to me, I would probably not be very appreciate. I’m just a piece of shit like that I guess. I don’t see a reason for anyone to waste their time on me, so doing it is almost insulting in a way. I’m a waste of space. I shouldn’t exist. If I could delete my existence I would.

I cycled through nihilism, self-worship, Buddhism, Shintoism, if the religion exists and is decently well known, you better believe your ass I tried it. It’s why at the end of the day I settled on God being real. I don’t know how much of Christianity is right, I just know that God probably does exist and like I said he hates me. Or maybe I’m not important enough to even hate. Maybe he just forgot about me at this point. Yeah, that checks out really. Left to my own devices I’ll self-destruct anyway, so why bother watching me.

I changed my mind, there is something other than blood I like. Rain. It’s like the sky is crying. I really feel that sky, I really do. I still cry sometimes. Remembering my old clan, remembering my friends from the trenches. Remembering all of those people I thought I could have a life with before I became this monster. This creature of the night called a vampire. What a pitiful existence. Some might argue, just find a new clan. That’s not how it works. If you aren’t one of the people turned by the head, then you can’t be a part of the clan. Even if they adopted me like I’m some unwanted orphan, they would naturally hate me. There would be no blood connection. It would just be them pitying me or hating me, there’s no real in-between as far as I know.

When was I turned? 200 years ago at least. I lost track of the year honestly. I don’t know the exact date. I don’t know the exact hour. All I remember is a friend wanted me to show me something secret, so I went with her. It was supposed to be surprised she said. It was turning me into a vampire like her, that was the surprise. Honestly, at the time I was elated. It felt amazing, it felt so good. It felt gratifying and freeing. I even had a new family to call my own.

My old family may have shunned me if they knew, but that wasn’t an issue. I was tired of them at the time anyway. They never approved of me chasing my dreams at the time, but my clan did. Fat lot of good that did anyway. Dreams of being an artist. The irony is that I sucked ass at painting, but after eating the brain of a French painter, I sure as hell can paint like no one else. And it only got better after the other brains I ate. I haven’t had that many, I’m not some brain eating parasite creature from hell. I was just desperate to be able to speak a language fluently in a new country. At least after the first time. The first time, I really did just want to get better at art so I did something horrible. My clan tried to justify it saying he deserved it. He was a horrible person anyway. No amount of excuses made me feel better.

I painted anyway, and as I said I kept getting better. Time and time again I painted throughout the years, making what some may consider masterpieces. But they all burned up in the same fire that killed my clan. I kept painting after that, but everything I painted while amazing was clearly filled with sadness and grief. There was no more fun, no more enjoyment, no more dream. Only a broken girl splattering her emotions upon the canvas. But I didn’t like it, it was ugly. It was disgusting. My emotions on display is not something I take pride in or want to have people admiring as a “masterpiece”. So I destroyed them myself. I haven’t painted in well over 30 years.

I don’t know how good I would be at this point. But like I said, I just don’t care anymore. What do I look like? Ugh I don’t know I haven’t looked in a mirror in a while. I mainly see my reflections in dreary puddles at this point. I’m homeless myself, so I don’t wear makeup. My eyes are sunken in from lack of sleep. Wait no, I don’t sleep to begin with. I guess it’s more like sunken in from depression and crying so much. My blonde hair is long and straight, but kind of a mess I suppose. I used to be told it was like golden silk, but that was a long time ago. It’s still pristine, probably. But I don’t take care of it, nor do I care.

My eyes are red. They’re kind of blatantly obviously not natural but at the same time people believe me when I just tell them I have a disorder that I was born with that makes them like that. I used to wear contacts to hide them but I stopped bothering ages ago. My clothes are worn and tattered. I don’t even know what I’m wearing honestly. Looks like a long sleeve full of holes, some tattered slacks and a torn up coat. Shoes? I don’t wear shoes, my feet are so calloused from walking everywhere that I just don’t need shoes. Of course I have fangs, I just don’t really show them obviously. Although anyone that sees them just assumes they’re fake so not like it matters much. My skin looks relatively normal, don’t ask me how.

I guess my entire life is just full of irony. Despite being mistaken for a boy twice in the past, I now have a full figure I guess you could say. Big ol’ titties as guys like to catcall me. That means I have big breasts for the non-perverts out there. My thighs are also a little on the heavy side. I mean I can crush a watermelon with them, but I’ve only done that once to prove a point. Frankly, the last time I looked in the mirror I mistook the girl in it for some bimbo.

Not exactly the way someone with the knowledge and wisdom of a masterpiece painter, two scholars and an English professor should see herself as, but what are you gonna do. Appearances are everything to most people. I don’t bother correcting people usually unless they piss me off. I’m too tired to act eloquent even if I can. I can pass off as an aristocrat, a politician, a professor, you name it. I could even pass for royalty if I wanted. I know all of the ins and outs and what not, I have the knowledge, I have the “experience”. But I just don’t care enough to do that. I don’t care enough to play a part and fake it anymore. So I just exist, homeless and tired.

I hunt at night and during the day I hide in the shade or abandoned buildings so I don’t slow cook. I don’t sleep, so I don’t dream. I used to sleep and dream, but after eating my first brain apparently I just lost the need for sleep so to sleep I would have to knock myself out with drugs or something. Not that most drugs even work on me these days. My days of pumping myself full of morphine to feel some semblance of good are long over.

I drink alcohol sometimes just as more of an inside joke to myself. It does jack shit to make me feel any better, all it does is make me act drunk and out of it because I’ve convinced myself as a cope that if I act drunk enough times surely one of these days I’ll feel it for real. What else is there to really say? I don’t know, I have a wealth of knowledge and wisdom in my noggin, I just don’t care to use it until I feel it’s necessary.

I primarily speak English these days since most people I meet don’t have need of the other languages usually. When people ask where I’m from, I just lie and say Romania. I don’t fucking know where I’m from at this point. I’ve forgotten all about my where my old home was. I just remember it being a little farm on the prairie.

That’s it, the rest of my old life is vague and just recollections at best. It’s not necessarily a lie I guess, my clan was in Romania. Ironically despite being there I can’t speak a lick of Romanian. I just passed with Italian at the time since it was close enough for them to get the gist of what I was saying. I didn’t feel like killing someone just to learn that language, felt way too pointless at the time. After world war two I left Germany and fled to America.

I say fled but it’s more like I casually snuck in with some cargo. Fuck I hate open water so much it makes me sick. I love how it looks, but being on it makes me want to die. Crosses don’t hurt me if you’re curious. I sometimes pray to God actually. Asking him why he hates me. I mean I know exactly but like shit I didn’t know I was signing up for such a messy life full of death and murder when I was turned. How was I supposed to know? Okay so some of the people I killed were for selfish reasons, but most of it is just survival. If you’re wondering, I don’t even know what love is at this point. I thought I knew at some point, but at this point I’m really not even sure myself.

There’s a lot of concepts that people take for granted that escape me at this point in terms of understanding. The more you know, the more complicated everything becomes. And the more complicated things become, the more likely confusion and misunderstandings set in. It’s like solving a fifty piece puzzle only to learn that it unlocks the true puzzle which is five hundred pieces. And so you solve that only for it to show you that no, that was actually just part of a three thousand piece puzzle and so on and so forth.

What sort of vampiric abilities do I have? Well other than aging extremely slowly, I can move really fast sometimes if I feel like it. I mean I don’t see a reason to usually but I can. I also have minor super strength? I say minor because I can’t like lift a fucking car or whatever but I can toss a grown man like he’s made of paper. I can’t turn into a bat, that’s a myth. Mind you I can jump really high so that’s about as close to flying as I get without a paraglide. I can’t turn into mist, I’m not weak to garlic though. Not that it tastes like anything else but ash to me like all other foods though.

I can hypnotize people with my eyes, but I usually reserve that for when someone really pisses me off and I want to humiliate them or make them suffer. Normally brainwashing anyone makes me feel pretty disgusted with myself so I don't bother.

What’s my name? I don’t even remember that at this point. My real name anyway. It used to be more androgynous, maybe even male sounding. I just got rid of it entirely so I’m never mistaken for a guy again. For now, I guess I’ll just go by Mioara. That was the name of someone I used to be close to in my old clan. She won’t mind me borrowing her name, she can’t mind anything since she’s been dead for well over a hundred years.

A timeline on how my life has gone? What am I a genie, I don’t know every single detail of my life. But fine, I’ll give a basic outline. I grew up on a small farm on the prairie in, don’t remember who was in my family really for the most part or where the farm was. I just remember them being kind and caring. But they didn’t approve of my dream of becoming an artist. They wanted me to marry a farmer and settle down. I wasn’t having it but what choice did I have. But then as aforementioned a friend gave me a surprise, the surprise was being turned into a vampire.

I took to it like a fish to water at the very least. It was gratifying and freeing. She then took me back to where the clan lives in Romania. In a dense forest in the middle of nowhere, all of us located in a large grounds where a massive mansion lied. What’s a vampire clan? How do I even describe it properly. It’s not something humans can understand. We’re all linked together by our blood. The head is the progenitor, the one who turned the first other human into a vampire and started the family.

From there, anyone the head turns or a vampire in the clan turns becomes a part of the family and is linked by the blood. We have a connection that goes beyond physical, it’s a concept that is far too hard to explain in words alone. The clan’s philosophy was something I could always agree with. We’re no better than humans, if anything we’re much the same as them.

The idea of the food chain and us being above them is just a cope by other vampires to excuse their wanton feeding and murders of humans. We’re not a different species, we’re just the same but with a different evolutionary path. We never disconnected from humanity, we just stepped sideways from it and still reside on the same level as them. But anyway, a massive forest fire broke out from a thunderstorm one day, and that was it. The mansion burned down, everyone was immobilized by the fire and the sun finished them off. I was the only survivor because I just happened to be trapped in the basement when it occurred.

By the time I dug my way out, everyone was already too far gone to help. Those of them that were left anyway. After losing everyone in my family, and my human family having long forgotten me by that point or dead. I decided to wander the country. Eventually finding myself in France where I was as mentioned unfortunately conscripted due to being mistaken for a man. You may ask, why not just leave in that case. But I couldn’t do that, I was too much of a coward. I wanted to belong, I guess. I wanted to help in my own way as well. Be a part of something bigger than myself, just like the clan was for me originally. But it never worked out that way.

It was just a nightmare. After World War One ended I fled to Germany to not have to deal with that nonsense anymore, I was sick of France and never wanted to step foot in it again. Much to my dismay, I was conscripted yet again. This time though, there was no just leaving without causing a blood bath. So I stuck around in an attempt to help in what ways I could. I’m not proud of what I did, and this is no excuse for the shit I did and helped do. But that’s just how things played out.

After that I realized the entire continent was just beyond fucked so I fled to America on a cargo ship. From there, I lived a relatively peaceful albeit miserable life right up until the civil war started anyway. For once, I was not a soldier. However I was caught in the crossfire multiple times. It was if no matter where I went, war followed me.

I couldn’t escape it, at least that’s what it felt like. After the civil war ended, peace was finally achieved in my life. But by then, I was already broken and had given up. I had toyed with the idea of creating my own clan a few times, but I realized it would be fruitless. Something would happen to them, the people I turned would die horrible deaths one way or another, just like everyone else. And now here I am, in the city, homeless and simply being. There’s not much else to say really, I’m just a tired woman who should be abandoned. I have a future, and it’s just more of the same.