I hunch over, hands on knees. My stake lays next to me, abandoned. Breaths come out in sharp larboard gasps. The vampire, Alistor Kirkland, sneers from above me. He crouches just out of my reach on a branch. "F-foul move Kirkland" I stutter, glowering at his milky face. "To bad for ye lass" he says, his tone is cruel. Hateful.
I guess he has reason to sound like he hates me. I am trying to murderer him. But for some reason, a cruel jester of fate, it strains my heart. He sends me one last heart wrenching sneer at me before disappearing into the dark night sky. Lost for another night.
This isn't going to look good on my permanent record. You see I, _______ (last name), am a slayer. Not just any type of slayer, either. I'm a high up official vampire slayer. But this one! He truly knows lots and lots of ways on how to slip right through a girls (or guys) fingers! This is my fifth failed attempt at trying to catch him.
If I fail again I may be put on restriction until they find it fitting to let me pressume my slaying.
A strangled sigh escapes my lips as I pick up my scattered tools. As soon as they're all packed up I begin to tread home.
Alistor's point of view:
I let my stunning green eyes glance back to where ______ stood. Why must I sound so hateful when I talk to her? Why does fate torture me by making her my enemy? Because I'm a vampire, I grimly think, a frown worming it's way to my face. My eyes turn to the horizon. Its approaching Dawn, I should return home. School starts again tomorrow.
I swiftly sprint home and fumble with the lock. My palms are sprinkled with sweat, making it hard to grasp the silver key. After a few failed attempts the key clicks in the lock, letting the door creak open to reveal a drab apartment. The smell of cigarettes and rum is heavy in the musty air. I breath in deeply, relieved to be home.
I change from my heavy brown coat, black jeans that pool around my feet, and damp green shirt. My shoes were lost somewhere along the way here. Shame, I liked those shoes.
________'s point of view:
I lay in my bed, earplugs blocking out the sound of crickets chirping on my windowsill. My deep (e/c) eyes stare up at the pale (f/c) roof, examining every crack and crevice. My eyelids start to become heavier and heavier by the second. In a matter of moments I am sound asleep, dreaming of a beautiful land where nothing but bliss lives.
Hours later at precisely 6:15 a.m. a shrill ring awakens me. Pillow over head, I feel around my table searching for the alarm clock. I locate it and set it on snooze.
Flinging the pillow to a corner, I get up and rub the sleep from my clouded (e/c) eyes. I set my mouth into a grim line and begin to hunt for my clothes.
Fifteen minutes later I'm showered, dressed, and groomed. Groaning I drag my pure black backpack to my bike. I hang it on a handle bar and run back inside to grab breakfast, a piece of toast with butter smeared on it. I stuff the toast in my mouth and clamp down. I search my pockets for my key, and once I find it I race to my bike after locking the door, of course.