“It was an act of mercy,” is what the Darkness tells me to think when I anger over my countless victims. “We took them out of their retched lives and set them free.”
I do not see it that way, no matter how hard I try. These people were the sons and daughters of someone. How could I pretend otherwise? I live to feed the hunger; there is nothing more of my life. I cannot find more meaning to my life than that.
I was happy in the ground. At least there, I did not chase after one victim to the next to feed the never filled hunger that burns in my gut. There I lay in mourning of my departed love; a life now so far away from what I am today. To reenter the labyrinth under the city is my greatest wish, but all the gates and entries are once again closed. Its depths of comforting darkness, I miss the most, lost to me. I cannot return. I cannot die. I cannot love. I cannot do anything but feed. The Darkness wishes me to put all other thoughts away but feeding. How can I do that? I am not the vermin it once nested in I am a man.
The woman I ran from, no more than two weeks ago, haunts me; the way she looks so much like Fine frightens and excites me. I stay, always, out of her sight. I do not wish her to see this sorry excuse for a man that can only bring her grief, but I watch her. Yes, I watch her. I know where she lives, whom she speaks with and where she works. I feel some sort of comfort in her and…hope.
Obviously, the Darkness says, “take her. Feed on her flesh. She can be part of you for eternity.” Then its howling laughter echoes in my head as it pushes me out of the shadows toward her.
“You,” she says not surprised at all to see me face to face but a statement of affirmation. “I’ve been looking for you, but you seem to vanish every time I chase after you.”
I am at loss for words. I feel the hunger shake my every nerve; it wants fed. The Darkness continues its insane laughter.
“Are you all right? You look pale.”
“I’m fine,” I fight back my instinctual growl that comes normally when I speak.
She extends her hand to me and says, “I’m F…”
I cannot take the sweet look she gives me any longer and most of all I cannot hear her name. I turn on my heel and run, again, from her.