It’s not just the fact I now think of myself as just a joke to God. Or the fact that I think ‘He’ isn’t everything ‘He’d’ like to believe ‘Himself’ to be. No, but it is a small part.
Is it that I want to live? Yes, that goes into this whole thing as well. But that’s not the only reason.
Maybe it’s a mix of all three, and many other things I have yet to find out for myself. I honestly don’t know. On the other hand, I do know that I want to. I’m just not sure quite how.
So here I sit, at this wooden desk, writing my many thoughts. Trying to figure out who I am, and what I want. I’m tired of telling bits of the truth, I have done that for so long, even to myself.
There are no windows in this room. No furniture except this desk. I'm given a blood when I ask, but it is never quite enough to sedate me. I have gone hungry in the past though, so I am not too worried about it. Vampire blood is something not easily gotten, and mortal blood is as tasty to me as a vegetable is to any carnivore.
Who am I? I’ve asked myself that for so many nights I can’t remember a number. And as many times as I ask that question, I can find no real answer. I can say I’m ‘good,’ but what is good? I can say I’m ‘human,’ but I’m beyond them. I can say I am a million different things, but none of them strike a chord. So who am I? Why do I desire what I do? I have no idea. But I know what I want, I just don’t yet know how to get it. Maybe this time alone will give me that chance…
