I am a vampire, and that is the truth. But the modern meaning the word vampire, the stories that have been told about creatures such as I, are not precisel true. I do not turn to ash in the sun, nor do I cringe when I see a crucifix. I wear a tiny gold cross now around my neck, but only because I like it. Although I can commad a pack of wolves or any animal in that matter.  As to blood-ah, blood the whole subject fascinates me. I do like that as well, warm and dripping, when I am thirsty. And I am often thirsty. My name, at present, is Kalona Stewart- just two words, something to last for a couple of decades. I am no more attached to them than to the sound of the wind. My hair is brown and silklike, my eyes like a angel shining golden light on me. My stature is slight by modern standards, 6'0 in sandals, but my arms and legs are muscled, although not unattractively so. Before I speak I appear to be only 20 years of age, but something in my voice-the coolness of my expressions, the echo of endless expirience-makes people think I am much older. But even I seldom think about when I was born, long before the pyramids erected beneath the pale moon. I was there, in that desert in those days, even though I am not originally from that part of the world. Am I truly immortal? I can easily answer that question but hold back. I awake after being freed from the in-between world and now am being carried by a boy. I read his mind and find out some crucial information; He is a lockwood and if you know me, they are true enemies of mine. I slowly transform, the outline of my eyes are black and the irises are gold, The vein's reach up to my eye and I smile as my large fang's grow out. My claws slowly scrape the box he is carrying me in. He becomes uneasy from the scratching noises, I grin and position myself so I can end this quickly. I slide to my left and wait. He opens the box unaware that I am awake and sits me against a tree. He stupidly turns around, I shove myself up with such force that I am momentarily airborne. My senses switch into a hyper-accelerated mode. Over the last few thousand years, whenever I am threatened, I have developed the ability to view events in extreme slow motion. But this does not mean that I slow down; quite the opposite. The boy sees nothing as he turns around but a blur flying toward him. He does not see that as I'm moving, I have cocked my leg to deliver a devestating blow.

My right foot lashes out. My heel catches him in the center of the breastbone. I hear the bones crack as he topples back-ward onto the floor, his head bouncing painfully off the floor. Although I moved toward him in a horizontal position.

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