Would, but that I might describe it; the coppery, yet salty taste of it on my tongue, the warmth of it as it splashes onto my skin.  The gentle, hypnotic pulse of it coursing through the veins of my intended victim-calling me closer and closer-the gentle tug of it pulling at my soul, such things haunt my very dreams.

The maddening itch of it as it dries on my skin, each splatter of it that showered upon me now cooling on my chest and face.  Tiny rivulets of it cascade down my bare chest, trickling onto my stomach, the tiny rivers of red slowing and darkening as they thicken and dry.

According to my mood and consequentially the violence of my attack, there might be bits of gore mixed with it, small particles of tissue or veins, perhaps tendrils of hair or pieces of torn flesh.

Oh, but how it calls to me.  Oh, but how I yearn as it sings its song of seduction while coursing through purple veins, longing to turn crimson when freed by my tearing teeth.  Hunger overwhelms me.  Desire consummates my every thought; desperate need and longing consume my every action.

I hunger for the thrill of seeking my prey; I yearn for the sweet release of devouring what I most desire and consuming body along with soul.  The wait tortures me, time seems endless and I fear night will never come.

Lying here in the confines of my nest, I await the setting sun as I have these past 800 years.  A nicer nest than in the past, I lie in cool comfort surrounded by satin and gold.  My fingers twitch as my body awakens, feeling the call of the coming night.  My eyes slowly open as consciousness comes to me.

As I push to open the lid of my coffin, I can hear it calling to me from the evening shadows.  I can hear the rhythmic pulse of it as it sings to me. 

Your blood, I can hear it calling my name.
©2007 J.L. Day