I look out across the darken city at the bright lights shining from the skyscrapers. The hustle and bustle down on the streets. I watch as the cars go by and the people scurry about everyone trying to make it home to the wife and kids and a warm home cooked meal. I feel the emotions of these people. Their fear, their love, their sadness, their joy and I can't help think this world is rotten.

For over four hundred years now I've watched these pathetic creatures randomly run around like a chicken that's had its head cut off. They sicken me, they disgust me, and yet without them I can't continue my own existence. Often times I find myself questioning the purpose of these creatures. I'm stronger, faster, smarter. I'm a higher being. Why, why is my life dependent on these things? Maybe that is their purpose. Maybe their purpose is to sustain my race, but then why must we run through the shadows hiding our existence. Why are we afraid of them? These creatures, these humans should be our cattle not are persecutors.

Sometimes I not only question the purpose of these humans but my own existence and the existence of my race. When you've lived as long as I have you have time to think about things like this. Like when will my existence end. Am I truly immortal. Will I continue to walk this Earth beyond civilization or will my body eventually break down into dust and return to the Earth. If the human race comes to an end will I starve. There have been times when I've gone weeks without feeding. My body has been pushed to its very limits, reduced to skin and bones but still clinging on to life. An unbearable pain that seemed liked it couldn't be quenched by death. Will I have to endure this pain for all eternity. Or perhaps I'm thinking to much of this.

It's getting late and the mood is getting right so I head out for the hunt. Yes, the same mundane, repetitive, clockwork hunt. When I first began there was a thrill to it. The thrill of new found freedom and liberation. No longer bound by the rules and limitation human society had set for me. But now that artistic dance known as seduction has become a mechanical systematic job. With one glance I gaze around the room and identify each person's weakness, their strength, their fears, their likes and dislikes. I pick the chubby brunette in the corner. Low self-esteem, no coincidence, and I believe I may smell a bit of an inferiority complex, an easy hit. I tell her everything she wants to hear. I make her the center

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