(My inspiration for this story was a song by the band Lost Prophets called Sunshine, great song!)
Exhausted, I wait for the plane from my home to the New World to land. It is still dark outside, my watch says it's five but I think that is in GMT, and I'm not sure of the time zone here. I miss Glasgow already. I hate having to leave its dirty streets, but I have left too much of an impression there. I have to keep moving now.
Jet lag kicks in and I started getting drowsy. I feel myself nod off into sleep, and I grip the valuable Celtic Cross necklace that hung around my neck, the chain pressed against my scar, the bite mark. My mind dozed into an unconscious oblivion. The next thing I know, I am lying in my bed, back home. I feel the stinging sensation at my neck, my eyes open, and I see my moms boyfriend standing over me, his dark locks of hair brushing my face. I hate that man. He poisoned me.
I plunged my fist into his gut, but I was only thirteen then, now I'm fifteen, and I'm not sure I could have done any better. I needed to fight back, I thought he was going to kill me. I drove my elbow towards his face and screamed for help. It was terrifying, I tried to clot the blood with my comforter, but I just kept bleeding. I felt something hit my temple, cold blood trickled down my cheek and I lost consciousness.
(More will be revealed about the above paragraph!!!)
Thanks to him,I have to drink too. I remember the first time. It was messy. I broke in through the guys window, I was clumsy from the side effects of the thirst. My black hoodie was torn from the shattered glass, the man woke up, aimed his .38 at my chest. His eyes mirrored mine, both of us had blood on our minds. He fired, the shot hit my chest and I felt my own blood trickle down me like ice. Thats the worst part, always being cold. By the time I realized he hit me, I had already recovered.
The force knocked me back, once I regained my balance, I lunged for his throat, consumed by thirst, I tore into him, tears trickling down my cheeks. I hate drinking. I hate the sensation of warm blood down my throat. It sickens me. When I draw back, his throat is covered in blood. I took the .38 from his cold dead hands, aimed, and pulled the trigger. I couldn't let him live the way I do.
I shuddered and awoke, someone had nudged my shoulder, it was the flight attendant. "Sir, This is were you get off," She said kindly. I smiled and nodded, grabbed my duffel bag and made my way through the crowd of leaving passengers to the door. The sun hit me full blast on the face, it stings but I'm okay. As long as I am not too thirsty, I can take the sunlight pretty well.
Now all I need to do is make some friends. Even I couldn't make it out here alone, not yet anyway. As I walked through the crowd, I started to get claustrophobic, too many people breathing down my neck. I need to get out of here. I grab my bag from the conveyor belt and make my way to the exit. The smell of New York is similar to Glasgow. I have around twenty bucks in my pockets, so I make my way into a nearby Starbucks.
I placed my order and found a seat at a table. I love Starbucks, the smell of roast coffee, the sound of people typing away at their computers, the warmth. I love Starbucks. I start to doze off again, I hadn't slept for about a day. Someone nudges me on the shoulder and I turn around to see some old guy.
"Are you Martin? Your orders up their now," he said. He looked familiar, but I couldn't quite place him. He had long grey hair and a nice leather jacket on. He was bit chubby, but not fat. I grabbed my coffee and sat back down. The bloke was still watching me. He was squinting at my face, and the scar on my neck. "Why aren't you at school?" he asked.
"Holiday...", I muttered, taking a seat that faced away from him and toward the exit. I think he recognized me from the news. I'm a missing person. He may have recognized my foreign accent too. I closed my eye's and took a deep breath. I'm an adept, which means I have heightened senses, I knew an adept from Aberdeen who could sense if someone else was an adept, pretty neat gift. I can detect fear and other emotions by smelling the hormones that someone is giving off.
I sensed aggression. I threw the coffee backwards, hoping to scald him. I ran for the door, shoving past some odd ball and his girl, I tried to use my gift again, the man was following me, but he was calm. I didn't detect any signs of stress. I was right, he's a trained killer. I ran, my feet pounding the concrete as I headed for a nearby taxi, my blood, if I can call it my own, pumping through my veins, the sunlight was too bright for me. I could hardly see.
"Nearest cheap hotel please," I panted to the driver as I tried to close the door. "Wait!" I swore under my breath, it was the guy from the Starbucks. He gripped the door with his hand, and I saw what I needed to see. On his hand he had the mark of a hunter. Someone payed to hunt my kind. I think he found out that I was a vampire when he saw the scar on my neck.
The man reached into his coat, but he wasn't quick enough, I jammed my foot into his knee cap and gripped his arm with one hand and gouged for his eyes with the other. He stumbled back from the knee shot, the cab driver looked pissed, but I was in danger, so I couldn't worry about him. I shoved the old bloke into the curb as a Cadi pulled into a parking spot, I never got to see it hit him, or even if it did, I was already on my way to safety.
Just one thing I noticed! It says here, "I hate having to leave its dirty streets, but I have left to much of an impression there." The "to" should be "too." 
Anyway, how does he know about hunters? Has he encountered them before, or is this his first one? Speaking of... Well... Stuff. Is Martin his real name? And why would he use his real name if people are looking for him and he's a missing person.
