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A Life Lost (standard:fantasy, 716 words)
Author: Virtual AdeptAdded: Nov 07 2000Views/Reads: 2052/6Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Quick piece I did for creative writing, this short story was supposed to deal with a flashback. Here, a Clan Gangrel vampire's supressed feelings come pouring out as he remembers his previous life.

The night wasn’t inviting. The wind added to the already low temperature
outside, and no one in his or her right mind would be out walking. 
Cassidy was. Something, some feeling, which he had long ago suppressed, 
was crawling its way up through his Vampiric soul. He felt the need to 
walk. He trudged silently on through the snow, staring down at his feet 
as he did. He rounded a cold, silent stone building and crossed the 
street into the park. Ignoring some strangers, he placed himself on a 
park bench, and leaned back. Some, ineffable sadness was overtaking 
him. He drifted off into a light sleep. 

... “Hey Dad! Check out this boulder.” Cassidy called. He skillfully
navigated his way over some wet rocks, and hopped onto the large, flat 
boulder in the river. His father looked up from behind a bush, and made 
his way over as well. Squinting his eyes, he scanned the area, as 
though he were looking off into the distance. “Let’s see...” His father 
made a spectacular cast, and the lure plopped into the lake some two 
hundred feet away. Cassidy and his father would spend the rest of the 
day, casting, but not really catching a few weeds and an old athletic 
sneaker. It wasn’t about the fish though; it was spending time with his 
father that he liked. He hadn’t done much of that It had begun to get 
late by the time they decided to pitch the tent. 

“Cassidy, could you go and get the pads?” His father asked while
apparently pondering the horribly complex tent instructions. Cassidy 
headed off to the pickup truck, where the pads would be waiting in the 
payload. The dark made it difficult to see, and he was careful not to 
trip over anything. As he leaned over the edge of the truck to grab the 
pads, he shivered. Instinctively, he froze. Something was watching him. 
He tried telling himself it was just an owl. Just his mind playing 
tricks on him. He picked up the bedrolls, and started back toward the 
campsite, admiring the sunrise as he walked. If he had known it would 
be his last sunrise, then he probably would have been paying more 

Suddenly, an all to familiar sound rang out across the forest. Birds
scattered in every direction. Cassidy dropped the bedrolls, and began 
running. Branches clawed at his face, adding blood to the tears of 
fear, but he didn’t care. Several figures were standing around the 
tent, laughing. One picked up what looked like a man and hurled it into 
the river with little effort. Cassidy bellowed with rage as he leaped 
at the men. 

Catching one of the men off guard, he whipped the bowie knife he usually
carried with him on camping trips out of his boot, and impaled it into 
the man’s skull. The others just turned and stared. The man with the 
6-inch blade protruding from his skull also blankly looked back. 

Cassidy did go through ROTC, and several martial arts. If nothing else,
he learned that when you stab a man in the head with a knife, he dies. 
But this wasn’t happening. He was now more curious than angry. The men 
advanced on him, and despite his best efforts, he was subdued easily. 
He quickly discovered the nature of his attackers, and what part he 
played in the whole ordeal. His father was just in the way. Had he gone 
to get the bedrolls, Cassidy would be the only one who died. He was 
dragged off to a nearby cabin, and given a sloppy embrace, the ritual 
transforming into a vampire. His captors left him there with little 
advice and guidance. He was a member of Clan Gangrel, whether or not he 
liked it. 

...Some fifty years later, Cassidy awoke on a bench just before sunrise,
with a tear down one cheek. Sobbing gently, he curled up on the bench. 
Remembering. All he once was, and was going to be. It had finally 
gotten to him. The piled up feelings all came welling up at once, and 
for the first time in over forty years, he cried. He huddled up on the 
bench, sniffling, like a scolded child. Nothing mattered anymore. He 
would get to see one last sunrise. 


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