Young Writers Society

For Amon360's Vampire competition. This is only the first two scenes, so more to come! If you review you would be the most amazing person on Earth! Thank you! This is only about a quarter of it (roughly) so this isn't all of it. I just didn't want it to be too long. Thanks again! ^^

There was a time when I thought he was beautiful. His fine, blonde hair had been fluffed up like a fledgling’s down. His smiling, blue eyes were the exact shade of a summer’s day. His laughter poured from him like the sunlight from the merry sun. He was so … alive. So carefree, so happy. That was what made him beautiful to me. How he seemed to be only goodness.

It frightens me now how someone can be mistaken about another person. No one can truly know another. We can never see the secret thoughts that run through concealed minds. Hidden feelings, hidden hopes, hidden fears. Hidden hate. These secrets which can only be accessed by the harbourer. The pleasant mask of normality remains fixed in place until the bearer decides to cast it aside. Or it stays until pried away from them. Then the monster beneath is revealed and, happily, it leaves the mask behind.

I used to think he was beautiful.

These that walk among us, their masks the only thing they allow us to see. Yet they forget about the cracks. Through those we glimpse what lies behind. Through those tiny slivers of insight we know that what chats with us so nicely is not normal. We know they have different rules; different morals.

I was not the only one who thought he was attractive. There would always be a gaggle of girls following him like ducklings trailing after their mother. He didn’t seem to mind; he found their devoted attention amusing. I should like to say I was not like those brainless, preppy girls, but I cannot. Like them, I did not see what lurked behind that inviting smile, those gorgeous eyes. I did not see through his disguise.

I used to think he was beautiful.

* * *

“So, Sandrine, are you free this Saturday? Or is it vital that your hair gets washed that day?”

Startled, I looked up from my locker. The owner of that voice couldn’t have been mistaken. It was a voice that would make you do anything. Sell your soul to the devil.

Sell your soul to him.

He leant casually against Hattie’s locker, his attention fixed only on me. His blue eyes were crinkled at the edges from his wide, teasing smile and he looked unbelievably gorgeous in his black jacket. Behind him, outraged girls whispered to one another, astounded that he had asked out me and not them. After all, what was so special about Sandrine Bennet?

That was exactly what I was wondering.

“Oh – I – er-”

“Is ‘yes’ such a hard word to say?” he teased again, blue eyes crinkling even more.

It came out on a whispered rush of breath. “Yes.”

“I assume you’re answering my first question, Sandrine,” he smiled.

“Oh – I – of course. Um, yes.” It was impossible for me to make myself look even more of a fool at that moment. Tongue-tied and shell-shocked, full sentences would have been a miracle.

“Good.” He sounded satisfied as he stretched out the word. “That’s great. Wear a dress. Be ready by half-eight. I’ll pick you up.”

“W-wait!” I cried out as he turned to leave. He looked back at me, his eyes questioning. “Pick me up where?”

“Why, at your house.” He sounded surprised, as though the answer had been obvious. His tone made me flush, and I became aware of the titters of the other girls as they followed him. They glanced over their shoulders to glare at me and make sure my place beneath them was well-known.

“How do you…” I trailed off as he and the girls who followed disappeared around a corner. Their giggles and sarcastic comments faded within moments.

How do you know where I live?

“Wow, Sandy,” said Hattie. I became aware of her standing behind me and, like me, staring at the place where they had vanished. “Morgan James? Girl, you have got to be kidding me. That’s a date I’d die for.”