A Vampire's Blood

By Anna Elizabeth

Sometimes it's a 'struggle' to make decisions in life.

I'm Jess. I carry a type of blood in my veins

that keeps me from ever loving anyone.

This is my tale of overcoming my own self.

The 'struggle' is there, and it must be dealt with.

Get wrapped into this epic tale of love, lust,

and mystery as

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jo Ann Gray
• Release date: Nov 17, 2022
• ISBN: 9781088076354

Book preview

1

A Vampire’s Blood

By: Anna Elizabeth

Table of contents:

A Vampire’s Blood (no chapters)

Short Story

Poems

She Walked Away.. Sample..

My name is Jess, short for Jessica Lynn. I’m far from a normal being. Brown eyes and wavy brown hair with pale skin, petite, would be considered normal in appearance. In my case, I’m a nineteen-year-old girl who is far from normal. You see, I carry vampire blood in my veins, but I am human, at least I was, at that present time. I would like to relate my story to you of this ‘struggle’ I’ve endured since my childhood. The choices I’ve had to make. This is my story…

I was raised in central Alabama along the wooded area of a small town. Oak trees went on for miles, with their hunter green leaves blowing in the soothing wind. Rabbits, deer, and other various creatures surviving within these secluded woods. Our home being in the center of all this greenery, browns of the tree trunks. The house was a cozy, peaceful structure having a wraparound porch, with a country-like style. White cedar posts connected to the roof, to support this lovely structure, that rested upon the dirty white banisters of the porch. Such a quiet, undisturbed place for one to dwell. A perfect location for a girl to grow up at. I used to love playing for hours here, running through the mysterious woods, talking to the squirrels in a make-believe way, as if they were my siblings. A wonderful habitation for my imagination to run wild, free. I always loved picking the wildflowers that grew along the edge of the yard near the grassy wood line. I constantly brought a handful of flowers, weeds, into the house, with mother putting them in a decorative vase with ice water, placing them on the kitchen table. I would smile every time I’d see mother making a big deal out of the beauty of these so-called flowers, I would bring her. Eventually, mother explained the difference between actual flowers and ragweed. She helped me to understand that these type of weeds I was picking was wild and caused allergies. That’s when she surprised me with roses, planting them all along the front porch. They were red as fire, deep crimson in color. They were beautiful and ran all across the porch banisters.

Living with just my mother; I never knew my father, only the tales my mother has told me about him. She would always say he was a very handsome man, well dressed and an exceptionally distinguished gentleman. She would assure me that he would’ve loved me unconditionally if he was still around. You see, mother explained to me when I was quite young that my father was killed just shortly after I was born. She constantly painted a beautiful picture of who he really was, never saying anything cruel of him. Mother, I believed, was truly in love with my father. Only question I would, repeatedly, ask her was how he got killed, but she continually changed the subject. It wasn’t until I was around twelve years of age that she finally answered this question.

During my childhood, mother unremittingly encouraged me to be who I was no matter the ridicule. Children from my school would make fun of me, calling me horrible names, all the while saying cruel gestures about my mother, making her out to be false things such as ‘witch’, or ‘possessed by the devil’. Rumors were shouted at me about how she killed her husband and gave him in a sacrifice to the devil himself. Speculations that would eventually make me cry. Mother, being her good-natured self, would assure me, comfort me, by telling me it wasn’t any truth to any of the lies they would speak of. She would continually say that we were just different, special, perfect, and those people, those kids in town were just jealous, confused. They couldn’t understand due to their closed, narrow minds; how wonderful our lives together actually was living out here in our private, little piece of paradise, our own small kingdom. It always made me feel better.

When I started my junior high days, the cruelty of my fellow students became harsher. They began to lash out at me more than before, all of it relating back to my mother. Calling me horrible names like, ‘witch’s daughter’, ‘spawn of the devil’, and ‘that weird girl’. That’s when mother decided to just home school me instead. I did finish my schooling and graduated with an advanced diploma. My mother was an excellent teacher. Mother also taught me to grow herbs and such. She would say it’s a good quality to know about herbal healing, our earth, and such like. I must admit, I truly enjoyed learning about nature, all the different herbs and plants that grow from the soil of earth’s ground. I thought it interesting how such herbs could make one’s body healthier.

As I grew into a teenager, I buried my emotions into painting, art. I fell in love with the trade immediately. Mother purchased a canvas and some paint, and it all started from there. I constantly spent my time in front of my canvas, expressing myself through the colors of the paint as they would reach the bare context. Roses were my favorite thing to design on my canvas, along with the scenery of the woods and the sky.

As I said, I was around twelve years old when mother noticed I was having issues about hungering for blood. Not quite understanding this urge, I thought I was going insane. Not really telling my mother anything about it; only running to my room, slamming my bedroom door when this unknown urge would arise inside my chest. I thought in my child-like brain that I was possibly dying. Mother recognized this. That’s when mother gently explained the entire reasoning for such impulses.

My mother was a beautiful, exquisite lady, with hair so bright and blonde and eyes that were blue as the sky. Her complexion was pale, porcelain white. Her voice soothing in nature even when angered. She always had a soft touch when it came to my discipline. I can honestly say I’ve never been spanked by my mother. She would talk to me instead, in a mild manner, loving way making me understand what it was I had done wrong. Her apparel was fascinating to me as a child, with her long gypsy-style skirts and her beaded necklaces made of turquoise that hung around her neck. She always wore a turquoise ring on her index finger with a dull silver finished band. She incessantly promised this gorgeous ring to me the day I turned sixteen; she even had a ceremony on my birthday presenting it to me. It was a cherished memory for me.

Mother revealed to me on that particular cloudy night, as we were resting comfortably on our front porch swing, that she was immortal, a vampire. Laughing, I thought she was teasing me, but I realized she was being serious. After thinking on this for a minute, I determined it to, possibly, be true. I remembered mother would only surface from her bedroom, with heavily draped curtains, after sundown. Never really eating any food when we would eat together. It seemed to make better sense now. Of course, mother did not sleep in a coffin. She had a lovely queen size bed in her well darkened room with nice bedding attire. I recalled having a ‘nanny’, but only vaguely. It wasn’t until I was able to care for myself that this ‘nanny’ went away. That explained why I had to tend to myself at the age of seven, awaiting my mother to wake up every day around dusk.

Anyway, mother had decided it was time I knew the truth about who I was, and what happened to her, as well as my father.

What I’m about to tell you, Jessica Lynn, will make everything clearer. Mother began her story. "I was a girl of only thirteen, living in the bayou of New Orleans with my aunt and my cousins. My parents had given me over to my aunt, so they could travel the world together. I never laid eyes on them since. One late evening, my cousins and I were playing around the firepit, dancing and singing childish songs as the boisterous fire blazed, when I was distracted at a noise I heard just inside the woods near the swamp. Casually slipping away, I adventured into these woods. Curious to see what the noise could have been, maybe a small animal, or something. Along the way between the vicious swamp and the shaded wood line, I followed this sound. As the evening grew darker with only the pale moonlight to see, I realized I had gone too far. In fear, I determined I was lost in this darkness with only the moon to guide me. Stumbling over a tree root along my path, I fell hitting my head hard on the dirty ground below. Passing out from such a blow to my