Jan. 13th.

Potential.

I’m so fucking tired of hearing older bloodsuckers talk about my fucking “potential”. Like that’s supposed to make me feel good about this whole fucked up melodrama we call “The Kindred Condition”.

"I'd like you to be my Hound, Martinez," he says flatly.

At least the fucker doesn’t beat around the bush.

We talk about territory and ( Read more... )

Dec 31st:

It’s almost Midnight.

( Outside, the ball's about to drop )

“I’m sorry”But was she really ( Read more... )

I'm gonna kill her.

Lor' Jesus help me, I'm gonna fuckin' KILL her!

( Happy Father's Day,huh? )

Jan. ’08 :

Tim’s gripping his saw-ed off to his chest with a heady mix of fear and adrenaline I can practically smell off him. It’s dark in these cramped, dirty-ass hallways here in this ugly, run-down, crumbling apartment building in the Bronx. It’s almost like the only damn light up in this bitch is from the black lights set up in like every ( Read more... )

It's been an hour now ( Read more... )

It's late. And all's quiet save the ticking of the small silver alrm clock on my nightstand, and the sound of her breathing.

The weight of her head on my chest is comforting. As is the warmth of her body curled up beside my own.
( read more )

The rain keeps falling.
It's light, though, so it ain't no thing.
But I've been here so long I'm soaked.
Funny: when I was still breathing, I'd've never stayed out like this for this long. Let myself get this wet.
Wet to the point where my clothes stick to me and droplets of (no doubt dirty) water drip from the bill of my fitted.
( read more )