A Fresh Face (intro)

It's almost 2:00am and I'm starving. Walking around downtown at this time usually isn't the safest thing to do as a high school girl, but it's the easiest way to grab a bite to eat. The population of bums in the area is close to zip now so I've moved on to hookers and such. They're a little more fun and much better looking, and smelling. The cops don't do much for missing hookers or bums.

There's a place about an hour away, running time, from here deep in the woods. I don't even know what town it's in. I just know how to get there. There aren't even any roads, houses, or shacks. There is a pond with dead bums and hookers sunken by cinder blocks at the bottom. You just can't leave dead bodies lying around, you know.

Man, I hate this. There's nothing I'd love more than to pig out on doughnuts or french fries or sour skittles, but all that'll do is make me instantly vomit. I miss milk too, from cows and soy beans. I haven't tried to see if alcohol makes me sick. Haha, a drunken vampire running around town is all this place needs... Oh wait, all the dance clubs are already filled with them. Hey, who's this?

"Hey baby, what you doin' around this part of town. This isn't a place for little girls," A dark, broad shouldered man with a very deep voice hollers at me from across the intersection of 5th and King street.

"I'm lookin' for someone just like you," I smile.

"Oh damn baby girl! I got a car with a real nice back seat around the corner."

I cross the intersection, "Let's go!"

"So, you a hooker? I got money. What you chargin'?"

"Tonight, for you, I'm free."

"Shit, baby girl!"

He opens the driver's side back door to a meticulously clean kept Escalade.

"Ladies first," he chuckles lowly.

"Lie down. I'm on top," I command, his smile stretches ear to ear.

I crawl on top of the big man and instantly I feel his erection ride up my thigh. Sorry, that's not why I'm here. I trace a long finger nail up his stomach to his neck, his pulse beating faster and faster.

"What's your name, baby girl? You ain't a hooker are you?"

"After tonight you won't even remember your own name, and no, I'm not a hooker," I feel my fangs lengthen and turn his head to the side. My tongue savors the saltiness of his dark chocolate skin. I put my hand over his mouth.

"What the-" I rip hungrily into his pulsing jugular. His screams quickly fade to wheezes and then no breath at all. I release my jaw and retract my fangs. Blood dribbles out the corners of my mouth. I'm panting. I never feed that fast. Maybe I shouldn't hold off for two weeks any more. Man, I hate this. Let's see, here's the wallet. Rashad Johnson I pronounce you one dead mutha fucka. Oh, oh damn! $1, $2, $3, $450, cold hard cash! Got a couple Visas, thank you. How about the pockets. Nah, I don't like the white stuff. Got any green stuff? Anything that goes to my stomach is no good and I just don't go there with needles. Wait, what's this? More cash, at least a few grand, and a nice lookin' bag of sweet green nuggets. There's the gold. It's about the only thing that makes me feel human again.

"Excuse me, ma'am. I'm gonna have to ask you to step out of the vehicle, slowly." I turn around, face still dripping with blood. The officers eyes nearly explode out of his skull.

"Jesus Christ, woman!" he stumbles backward.

"Jesus can't help you this time, sorry." I lunge at him. Gripping his shoulders, my fangs slice like Parkay into his tender white flesh. I dig deeper into his neck and with one jerk of my head I rip his juicy, ripe vein in two, blood spurting everywhere. I throw his bloody carcass down to the pavement and hop into the drivers seat of the Escalade.

"See ya later, piggy!" I speed off down King street. I think I'll leave this one down by the river. As I'm drivin my left hand feels around the glove box and center console.

"Yes!! I hope it's a bowl!" My hand grasps a soft leather pouch.

"It is!" My teeth aid in opening the pouch as my eyes try to stay on the road. I pull out a beautiful gold and red bowl, perfectly smooth, no cracks, no bumps, perfection. And its already packed and ready to go.

"Sorry man, you ain't gettin the first hit off this one." I take a parking space by the river and light up.

"Damn, that's some good shit! Where you get this? I probably should have gotten that info off you before I ripped your neck out, hmm. Oh, well. I got enough bud from you to last me a while, plus I haven't searched your whole vehicle."

I carry a book bag with me every time I go out. You never know what you might find. I've found a briefcase full of money, a couple bricks of weed and even an AK-47 off this hot shot army dude. I've got a secret apartment on the North Side where I keep all this shit. I never take the car back though. I got a blue Cobalt from my parents for my sweet 16 that I drive around. For ventures like this though, I leave it at home and just run. I love to run now. I never tire, unless I haven't eaten in a while. I also bring an inventory checklist, notebook, with me and write down the 5 w's minus the why. I'm very organized. Okay, so I got a couple hand guns, the crack and crack pipe can stay here, the other fat bag of weed will come with me, and so will two more gorgeous bowls. One is my favorite color, green, with white and yellow swirls from top to bottom. The other is brand new, untouched, and looks like a rainbow kaleidoscope with bubbles protruding from the bowl. I found a few more stacks of cash and it's all goin' in the bag. Now it's time to run on home.