Diary of a Vampire: Michele

Diary of a Vampire: Michele

By:  Summer Royston  Ongoing
Language: English
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Violet eyes with piercing sight. Mane of gold in pale moonlight. Skin so hard and lily white. Voice so soft, yet filled with might. He comes to me in the dark of night. Flash of teeth, smile so slight. There is no fear, no need to fight. In his embrace, I crave his bite. -S.R. Michele, or Shelly to those closest to her, is a typical 21 yr old, trying to find her way in life. She has good family, a close circle of friends. She's outgoing and friendly, and a bit reckless and impulsive sometimes. And she has certain gifts...when she touches things, she can see into the past, she can feel what was felt by others, and she can sense things before they happen. Ok, so maybe she's not so typical. An impromptu trip to New Orleans, a party on Bourbon Street, and an attempted assault in a dark alley lead her into a world she didn't know existed...but one she's not afraid of. She doesn't know if the violet-eyed stranger that comes to her rescue, and follows her home, is a friend or a foe - and honestly, she doesn't care. Once you've had a taste of the darkness, it's hard to pull away... **** This book was written in the late 1990's - early 2000's, and originally published in 2004, under the title: Diary of a Vampire by S.M. Royston. It was my first book, and it wasn't long until I came to hate it! (Please, don't look it up - I promise you, it's terrible) So here we are, years later, and I've decided to throw out my original work, and re-write it. Because I'm the author, and I can do that. The story, characters, and settings are the same - but the writing style is different, and in my opinion, much, much better. I hope you enjoy it. ****

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7 chapters
Chapter 1
I love New Orleans. I always have, and I probably always will. There’s something about the city, some indefinable allure, that draws people in like moths to a flame. I’ve come across nowhere else on earth like it…well, maybe Savannah, Georgia comes close; but it’s still no Big Easy.The pace of the city is somehow slower and faster all at once; it’s almost as if time moves differently there. It’s hard to describe, it’s something you must experience for yourself to truly understand.The story I’m going to tell you begins in New Orleans, on a warm summer evening, many, many years ago.The sun had just set, leaving the sky a luminous blue that only tropic skies ever become. There was a warm breeze blowing in off the river – there usually was – but those breezes didn’t typically reach very far into the Quarter. And in Jackson Square the air was humid and heavy; the floral notes of Queen’s Wreat
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Chapter 2
 Music spilled out into the air; a mixture of Creedence Clearwater and rock-n-roll mingled with jazz mingled with loud, electronic bass.Bright, neon lights and old-fashioned gas lamps pushed back against the darkness of the night.The flow of people moving up and down the street, in and out of the bars and clubs and shops, was nearly as endless as the flow of alcohol. Laughter and gleeful squeals and hundreds of conversations abounded. The never-ending party that is Bourbon Street was in full swing.Everything about New Orleans is just different; the sights, the sounds, the people, even the very air. It’s as if you’ve left behind the real world, and everything ordinary and mundane, and stepped right into your wildest fantasies. The atmosphere is intoxicating, it’s addicting. At times, it’s almost too much.Almost.But not that night. That night, I soaked it all in, loving every minute of it. In fact, the only thing tha
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Chapter 3
I should be running, maybe even screaming in terror right now. I mean, a normal person probably would be, right?But what was I doing? I was still sitting there, on a dirty New Orleans sidewalk, staring into a dark alley, oblivious to everything but the scene playing out before me.The guy I had kicked in the balls had apparently recovered enough to go for his dropped gun at the same time I’d been thrown out of the way – but instead of reaching his weapon, he now found himself dangling in the air, held high by his throat. I heard the squeak of his shoes as they frantically scraped against the ground, and my eyes searched the shadows in front of him, trying to figure out what the hell was happening.As if on cue, another man stepped from the darkness, his hand wrapped around my attacker’s throat. All I could really make out was long, nearly white hair, shining in the moonlight…one blink of my eyes, and the scene changed: And now it appear
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Chapter 4
I awoke to darkness sometime later. I sat bolt upright, disoriented and confused; my heart racing and my breathing heavy.And dammit, my head was killing me.It took a few minutes to realize that I was back at Michael’s apartment; this was his bedroom. I was laying on top of his comforter, a throw blanket wound around my legs. I kicked it off, as I sat up and swung my feet to the floor. The movement only intensified the pain in my head, and I stumbled through the dark towards his bathroom.The light was blinding when I hit the switch, and for a moment I wanted to gouge my eyes out; but I figured counting to ten and slowly cracking them open was the better option. I squinted as I searched the counter around Michael’s sink, finally spying what I was looking for. I popped the top off the tiny bottle of aspirin and downed two of them with some water from the tap.I leaned heavily against the wall next to me, as I willed my head to stop hurting. I
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Chapter 5
The trip home that next afternoon seemed to take entirely too long. It was 3 hours back to Natchez, and I was ready to bang my head against the dash by the time David turned down my driveway.Danni and Ben kept sneaking worried glances at me when they thought I wasn’t paying attention; Ross slept; and despite David’s valiant effort at lighthearted conversation, you could cut the tension with a knife. They all looked at me differently; it was subtle, but there was definitely a change…then, again, maybe I was just imagining it. Either way, I was more than ready to be home.Until I actually got home, and it dawned on me that I was going to have to explain all this to my parents. No way were they not going to notice my bruised face, or the fact that I wasn’t wearing the same clothes I left in.I did my best to finger-comb my messy hair, my stomach beginning to churn. I was getting sick and tired of rehashing everything over and over again. M
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Chapter 6
A week went by, during which all of our parents couldn’t get enough of letting each of us know how angry they were that none of us had thought to pick up a phone after my attack. They were right – they deserved to know that their kids had been involved in something so traumatic. Even if we all were of the mind that we had done them a favor by not worrying them needlessly, when there was nothing they could have done.But, you know…parents.I called my boss and told her what happened and that I would not be coming in for my shifts that week – I worked as a cashier at a convenience store and interacting with the public, as I let my bruised body and mind heal, was not at the top of my list of priorities.I heard from the detectives in New Orleans, confirming that they had ruled my case self-defense and considered my part finished. I figured that was pretty fast for an investigation to wrap up, but I didn’t question it; just grateful it
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Chapter 7
My thoughts were all over the place Saturday. I’d barely slept after I’d gotten home. All I could think about was him – Xander – and his promise to come to me again.I was nervous. I was excited.What did I want to ask?I guess I should start with the things I know about vampires, or think I know. I’ve read Dracula; huge fan of The Lost Boys; big into Buffy the Vampire Slayer – but those were all pop-culture references, and so far, none of that seemed true: Xander didn’t wear a cape, he hadn’t turned into a bat that I’d seen, and his face didn’t get all bumpy when he bit someone.What about folklore? Would a stake through the heart kill him? Did he hate garlic and fear churches? I went through my bookshelves, pulling out anything to do with legends and folklore – but that didn’t get me anywhere, either. Xander didn’t appear to be anything like the tales described; he wa
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