Blood Prints (Part II) by WindEmpress

Chapter 1: Interrogation

I didn’t want to tell him and I didn’t want to talk to the dead people’s family because they created the people who caused me to fill with malice every time they said or even looked at me. I wish they would just leave me alone, something else they had caused me to do was become a loner even after I had a large group of friends, all of whom betrayed me for God only knows.

My mother and father came to visit me a few minutes after the idiot had tried to cross-examine me in the interrogation room. At first, they kept away from me as though I was going to jump up and bite their heads off but my mother came over and hugged me with a few snivels. “Oh, Kit, how could you do such a thing? Why did you do it such a thing anyway?” she asked in her maternal tone as any concerned mother would.

I broke away from her with an inhuman shove (which is nothing like myself in any way possible) to glare at her as I had with the interrogator: she backed up in fear while my father swathed his arms around her. I stared at them in incredulity, mother had never before looked at me like that and my father had never looked at me so fearful, almost as though I were some wild animal that had been let loose into a city but then again, but then again, I look like an animal.

You’ve probably seen rebels with their hair spiked up and dyed neon green but have you ever seen a girl with red orange hair tipped in white? No matter what we tried, my hair would stay the same; dying, cutting, crimping, straitening…nothing worked. My eyes were large and a golden-yellow, something you’d only think to see in a wolf. My body was thin (even before I became thinner), lissome, and very flexible not to mention pale as a ghost (I swear that there are parts of me that are actually white). If you think this sounds bizarre, what would you say to have fangs? Yes, I more serrated teeth than you probably do; when I was a child around the age of four to seven, I would scare all the children each time I smiled and they would make fun of me calling me vampire. I wish I had used those fangs on them . . .

My mother began to cry in my father’s arms and my father looked so upset and confused with the situation that he didn’t know whether or not to drop mom or to leave me alone. “Kit,” he said finally, “why didn’t you tell us about this?” He looked at my mother and kissed her cheek; how I wish I could have inherited some of their genetics instead of my wild animal ones.