Who: Lauren What: Cry for Help? Where: A residential street in LA When: 25th June - Mid Afternoon Rating: High, killing Status: Narrative, Complete.
It had been a few days in this bright sunny American City, a few days which had mostly consisted of Lauren wondering just why she wasn't dead. Why she was alive...well, relitively speaking because the bloodlust was still there. The reason she'd asked Mitchell to kill her, it was all still there.
She'd woken up on a street, sight blurring from the sun, she'd grabbed sunglasses from the face of a random passer by before she'd started hearing the accents, Americans, It wasn't Bristol anymore, she didn't even think it was England, England wasn't this warm, this bloody sunny. The next few days though had passed in a haze, she'd rather accidently ran into a vampire in an alley but got it had been so ugly, all yellow eyes and crumpled forhead, were American ones different? She hadn't known any American ones, but why would they be different? He'd tried to bite her so she'd flashed her eyes at him and he'd run before she could ask him about blood, about maybe his blood. He hadn't given her a chance.
What was she supposed to do now?. Give in, like they'd all told her she should. Or hope someone put her out of her misery again. Maybe someone would. Maybe that would just be better, because she couldn't fight it.
She prooved that a few nights after her arrival.
Bloodstained fingers found the keyboard as Lauren cried for help, Again. She'd heard of a message board where people that had arrived from other places and didn't know how, could ask for help. Seemed she always wound up doing that, to Herrick, Seth. And she'd cried out loudest of all to Mitchell, and bless him he'd tried, he really had, he'd tried to save her, tried to pull her back from the brink but it had been hard, It was so hard. He was stronger than anyone she'd ever known. How he could just walk away?
She looked around the room, the blood, so much blood, and the family, Mum, Dad, Teenage Daughter, The only thing she'd left alive was a yappy little dog that had fled in terror from her. And now, here she sat.
It might be best, she mused, thoughtfully licking at the blood on her hands. It might be best for everyone, if someone found her, and killed her. She was loosing herself, her memories of humanity, that girl she once had been, killing was hardly enough anymore, the time she felt good between growing shorter and shorter. She was becoming a monster. And she didn't have the willpower to stop.