The end of a story, another begins.

Slogging through the blood and ancient cities I have never been to (and possibly never will) I came to a realization; that things have changed. The story is really close. I can take it multiple ways, I can make it a series or I can stop where I am. The story is never truly finished. I feel these characters in me like they were there the first time I took a breath of real air as an infant. I know they are there when I am at work stocking beer, or serving guests. I feel the rumble in my skin until it finally stretches into my fingers at lunch. These vampires of mine have been through a lot in the last year, much the way I have.

My fascination with these creatures is almost as old as I am. Their rituals, their feeding, the small subtle way they know when something is wrong around them. I sense something in the story that is far different from what I began. I feel a new change in it. The way the characters talk, the way they interact with each other. I do not feel that I chose the subject of vampires, it is something else, something underlying inside me that was waiting for the right time to come out. A hidden person inside that is different from who I was ten years ago, or in high school.

My mind has opened to the possibility that this is why I am here. I feel that writing is something I am supposed to do. I do not claim to be the best at it. Boy, I know I’m not. My grammar is not very good, I still have problems with things, I still get stuck on small writing problems. Something is different today, something has changed, is it the heat in Las Vegas that has brought this out in me?

As I approach the end I feel a bit melancholy. I know how far I have come. I understand how long I still have to go and I am satisfied that I have done this.


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