this is the last time ≫ writing prompt
counting the clicks with the living dead, my eyes are red.
Luke hated nothing more than what he was. What he had to do to survive, and the very thing he needed. He craved it even as it slid down his fingers, leaving trails of crimson. His own blood dripped on his tongue, burning and aching as he refused to swallow. Pain throbbed through his mouth, and he took shaky, deep breaths. His index finger and thumb were gripped tightly onto his protruding fang, and Luke used his new found strength to rip the roots out of his gums as best he could. More and more blood flowed from it, the metallic and addictive taste flooding his mouth. Just the sight of it had deep, dark veins run under his eyes. In the mirror, he looked like some deranged monster. With one last tug, he ripped the fang out of its place in his mouth. Sputtering blood out into the porcelain white sink, Luke felt sick to his stomach. He dropped the razor sharp tooth onto the floor, and didn't dare look at himself again. He couldn't stand what stared back. Fingers now moving to his right fang, he began ripping again. The pain was intense, more than he could imagine if he was pulling a different tooth out. These fangs... they were so deeply embedded. Even the idea of that made him feel tense, sick, and unbearable. Tearing the tooth from his mouth with more force than the last, his hands were lined with trails of blood. Slipping down to his wrists, and even making it so far as his arms. Some trails had dried more than others, and more blood was running over his lips, threatening to fall down his chin. Vampire blood wasn't nearly as good as human blood, especially not his own. This liquid, he wanted to choke on. He wanted the smell out of his nostrils, the taste out of his mouth. The second fang now torn from his top row of teeth, he set it shakily down on the bathroom counter. Blood continued to pour from his gums, his missing canine teeth leaving what might have been embarrassing gaps, if he cared enough. Hurrying to turn the sink on, his bloodied hands left stains on the faucet. Getting some water in his mouth, he rinsed several times, coughing, and spitting out reddened water. The pain had calmed down to a dull throb, and the blood wasn't so plentiful. He still felt sick, though. He always felt sick. Eying the bloody fang on the counter next to him, he wanted nothing more than to destroy it. But he'd tried so many times. Picking up both fangs, he opened a drawer in his bathroom, only to be presented with countless sets of partnered canines. Luke had lost track by now, as he threw in another set to join the rest. Rinsing his mouth out once more, he stepped clumsily backward until his back hit the wall behind him. With that defeat, he slumped down to the ground. How many times would he have to rip those godforsaken teeth out of his mouth before they stayed gone? Already he could feel it searing in his mouth. They were coming back. They always came back. It left him wondering why him? Why was he left here on Earth with this affliction? Why wasn't he just left to die? Whatever this was that he was living now certainly didn't feel like life. He hadn't aged a day since it happened, and because of that, only grew to despise what he saw in the mirror each and every day. Why couldn't he have just died? There must had been something he had done wrong, and this was his punishment. But for the life of him, he could not remember. Was that his curse? He was an abomination. A monster - someone.... something that people feared. Something that people hid from, that people hunted to destroy. Oh how he wished a hunter would destroy him. There was many a time that he'd tried to track one down, but he could never manage to find one. Luke wasn't stupid enough to go out of his way to attract attention, either. That required him to do something that he just couldn't. Feeding was already enough of a burden. Just the thought of it had Luke wiping his arm across his mouth, leaving a swipe of blood behind. The taste still lingered on his tongue, the cravings for the real thing had already begun hours ago. The constant war he was at with himself left him with nothing but self hatred. Maybe he could do it himself, he'd think. He would just have to sharpen up a piece of wood, and plunge it through his own heart. It would end his unnatural life, and save people the danger of crossing him. The only reason he hadn't so far was the ridiculous hope that there would be another way. That one day he'd wake up from this nightmare, or at least maybe find the solution to it. Could there be a cure for someone who is already dead? The idea left his chest feeling empty, and started an ache in his head. As every second passed by, the more he wished for blood. He could stop himself for now, being without fangs. He wasn't as much of a threat, even though Luke was very well aware of the fact that he could just rip someone apart with his hands and watch their blood flow out right before his eyes. He hated himself and what he was more than anything. If he had a heart that functioned, he knew it would be pounding in his chest. And that made him sick. Getting onto his knees, he used his bathroom counter as leverage to help himself get to his feet. The veins under his eyes had faded, but his own blood was still stained on his lips and chin, some droplets having ran down to his neck, as well. Cleaning himself up, as well as the blood stained counter, there was no longer any evidence after a few minutes. No blood. His mouth was rinsed out, and while he was hungrier than he thought possible, he could make it. He knew he could. Baring his teeth in the mirror, the gaps left him with a small feeling of contentment. The most important tools that made him the monster he was, they were gone. At least for now. Until the next time he would force himself to rip them out all over again, the same scene on repeat until the end of his time. Oh, how he wished it would come swiftly.
