The Monster Inside Me
The world was burning.
And so was my thirst for human blood.
No, I'm not a vampire. No, I'm not a werewolf. In fact, I'm not any sort of mythical creature. It's just that killing runs through my blood, surging deep within me, through my veins and into my cold, black heart.
I am capable of murder.
A blow to the head. A shot to the chest. A knife to the stomach.
See, I'm just a simple teenage girl, who has an obsession with death.
Prologue... Part 2?
But what exactly counts as the beginning? I highly doubt that you, reader, want to know where I was born, or when. However, that just might be easier for me. They always tell me to take the easy route.
My name is Victoria Whitewood. I was born and raised on a farm in Wyoming. My birthday is August 6, 1998. My favorite color is red.
Now I just feel ridiculous. It's like I'm in Kindergarten all over again, minus the shy part. But I have to listen to them. They tell me to say stuff like this. To remind myself of who I am.
"Don't let it slip away from you, Victoria," they tell me. "Don't let it slip away."
Am I doing it again? Getting ahead of myself?
Sorry. I really don't mean to. But when they start talking, I lose all the self-control I work so hard for. They tell me to not let it slip away, but it always does, in the end. It disappears like the thin wisps of clouds that rarely reveal themselves in the sky.
The sky. I miss seeing the sky. I miss the refreshing blue hue that could fit any mood, I miss the sun's bright rays shining down onto the cold, hard earth, penetrating through branches and lighting even the darkest of places. I remember the warmth of the sun on my pale skin. I used to bask in the rays whenever I could, eating ice cream or reading a book.
I miss that. I miss being normal. Unfortunately, that is something I will never return to. I will never be a normal girl.
Clearly, we're getting nowhere. I am incapable of telling you my story, and why I float in this peaceful darkness, day after day. So instead, I'll show you my diary. You'll learn everything about me.
Please don't think any different of me after this. I couldn't help it. And you wouldn't be able to, either.
Because no one has control over the voices.