I thought about how to tell my story, and the idea of a book feels like too much of a chore.

It’s not that I’m lazy, it’s just that with a life spanning 500 years there’s more to remember than I can or care to remember.

There are things I’ve tried to forget for centuries, vile memories of a time when I had no idea it was all real.

What is this “it” if I am tell my story?

I can see into the very deepest places of any soul I make eye contact with.

I know the deepest darkest desires any would want to hide.

I knew a friend was a closet pedophile, and another friend a serial killer, and another friend had the desire to rape though they had not had their first victim.

It was a living nightmare and I had convinced myself it was all untrue and that I was crazy. I realize this kind of thing is becoming an accepted rarity of the human species in the year 2523, however in the 20th and early 21st centuries it was still all too uncommon.

In those days I never would’ve dreamed of coming out and telling my story. I had always thought one of two things would happen.

I would be tossed in the mental health ward and forgotten about.  

I would be taken and studied in some lab for who knows how many years.

I was not a fan of either of these options.
How is it I was aware of those things?

When I look into their eyes our souls bond and I begin to feed. In that bond I become aware of all they are. I have a natural predisposition to want to keep my food healthy.  

It is the sickness within them I see first, any sickness within them. As the bond takes affect it brings their sickness to the surface forcing them to deal with it.

I do have options in this process. I can feed on that sickness and bleed it out of them nice and slow. I can feed directly on that sickness, and that sickness alone, and it shall not bother them as long as I feed.

I can feed on everything but the sickness and leave them wrapped in their sickness and nothing else. I have options.

How do you stop one who can grab you by the soul from doing as they wish with your soul?

You don’t.

I’m beginning to think this journal might just stay a journal.

When I reach out to feel how this will be received by a faceless public, it comes back with fear.

Another one of those little tricks I have up my sleeve. As soon as I put the thought out there I get a response from every soul on the planet at an unconscious level for them, and a very conscious level for me.

It’s why I often made the mistake of making that first move all too soon back in my younger years where romance is concerned. For the first few decades if I even mentioned the idea of dating to a woman I could feel I was compatible with, often they rejected me. Rejection simply became part of my life.

If I’m to use this journal as a loose structure for a book, then perhaps I should go back to then, before I knew that I am indeed a soul sucking vampire.

Maybe if I soften them up telling the tales of how I fell in love with all the right women who never fell back, maybe then they might see me as something more than a nightmare come true.

A nightmare come true.

I can already feel that many even now in the 26th century might view me as such.

Maybe if I write this journal long enough I will talk me out of writing a book.

As it is now I hope no one actually finds this and I can remain hidden from the world and unbothered for being the kind of being I am.

Is the world ready for the soul sucking vampire to be real?

I sure as fuck wasn’t ready for me to be real when I realized just how real I am.

Maybe that’s where I start, hide that I’m a soul sucker and tell my human tale first.

I thought I was human for more than 3 decades. 500 years later and though I know how human I’m not, I still act human enough that no one suspects a thing.

That’s what I fear, once they know how will they treat me?

Even something like me has emotional needs and is just looking to be accepted for the being I am.

I’m not sure how this is going to go, however I do feel that after more than 5 centuries maybe it’s time I find the courage to tell my real story for once in my life.

Or maybe not.

I’ll figure it out tomorrow. For now I want to do anything but think about this.