This is my last stop. I’ve lived a long life, and everyone is out for my blood. Being a vampire for over a thousand years can take a toll on any individual. No one else is like me and only the fanatics can recognize my face. I’m, unfortunately, surrounded by them. I’ve ran and hid for so long, every chance I get to feel the sunlight on my skin is stolen from me by those who want my head. I’m tired and hungry no matter how much I eat or sleep, I can’t be satisfied anymore. To always feel hungry or to pass out from exhaustion; I’m in my own personal hell.

Still, they chase and still I run, but why do I keep trying? If I can’t be satisfied by my normal everyday activities, then why do I bother? The thrill of living is dulled by the everyday activities. I want to slumber for another thousand years, yet they would find me and kill me. There would be no one else like me, I’m the last. Would that really be so bad? To be rid of a parasite that feeds on others? That can only be sustained by feeding on the everyday man? Most would consider me a parasite, and I’m starting to see myself as such.

To eat and discard someone once so beautiful and vibrant, someone with a promising future and life; perhaps I am a monster. A fiend, the devil incarnate, a demon, and whatever else I’ve been called over the centuries. I did not choose this life, but perhaps if I tried a little bit harder, I could have prevented this. I could have prevented my inevitable demise. But here I am in front of the place that was once my home.

The memories that once turned me into this beast have faded and are replaced by those who demolished my home and turned it into something more. Something I don’t recognize anymore. My grave was here, the bedroom over there and the backyard is replaced with stone and brick. Nothing of myself remains here. Everything I once knew is gone and there is no one to remember except myself. My own memories fail me.

Am I still myself, in the end? Or does it not matter anymore? At one point I thought I was doing good work for my own community. But the good I did was villainized by others. One by one, the community, the family I once knew, was reduced until I remained. Everything I hear from those who wish for my demise has convinced me over time that I was in the wrong. Despite my peers telling me otherwise before, I have no one now to tell me I did good work.

I know tonight is my last night here. I just wanted to see my home one last time. Be at the place where the rest of my friends met their fates and burned at the stake. I fully accept my fate. There was a time where I had a drive to run and find others. But I’m all out of drive, I have nothing left to fuel my determination. This is my last stop.