I can’t recall what I did after taking blood, but I ‘awaken’, standing over my mother’s bed. The sound of her heartbeat and the blood flowing through her body pulses in my ears. I snatch back the hand that had been hovering over her throat and take a cautious step back, then another. She doesn’t stir. I continue to back away, eyes locked on her sleeping form, as if taking them off of her would cause her to wake and see the monster that was once her son, stalking through the darkness.

I slip through the doorway and close the door as silently as I can manage. I rest my back against the far wall in the hallway, staring into the distance.

There’s no denying what just happened. I almost took my own mother’s life. It’s strange to feel the extreme mixture of guilt and horror without the physiological symptoms of shivering joints, shuddering breath, and a quickened pulse. More so now than I realized before, I feel like I’m piloting a body, rather than living in one. Even without the need to breathe, I suddenly feel like I’m suffocating. Without thinking, I find myself heading for the nearest exit from the house, taking long strides and veering around the corner as I head to the foyer. By the time I reach my shoes, I’m almost jogging. I pull them on, take my keys from the rack beside the door, and slip outside. Anyone watching me exit might make the understandable assumption that I was likely a burglar escaping the house.

I start along the walkway to the street after taking a moment to collect myself.

Drinking Rock’s blood had been an experience I can confidently liken to the sensations of certain hard drugs. Doesn’t change the fact that it tastes terrible. My first mistake had been literally drinking it, which, in hindsight, still seems fairly reasonable. Not as much, though. I hadn’t stopped to really consider why the fangs had tiny holes at the tips until I had finished gagging, spitting, and coughing to get the rest of the thick fluid out of my mouth. Under all of this, a mild effervescent giddiness tingled at the base of my skull as the fangs absorbed what little blood had made contact. It wasn’t until I decided to try biting the bag itself that I began to understand how the fangs work. On the surface, anyway.

I don’t understand how they absorb blood without letting any escape the puncture site, but, weirdly, they take in every drop. I had only a few moments to observe and ponder over this phenomenon before the blood hit. There are few experiences I expect to live up to a vampire’s first meal, but I can only hope they’re both possible and in my near future. There was no dizziness nor sudden rush of sensation, only a creeping, stinging clarity in which every thought felt perfectly aligned and in tune with the grand, mysterious purpose of the universe, the nature of which was bearing down on my consciousness. Each second, the overwhelming enlightenment of everything conceivable seemed to be coming together, asymptotically, into one complete concept that felt both infinitely complex, yet easily manipulated. It seemed I could know almost everything, feel almost everything, expect anything. Every physical and emotional bump, scrape, cut, caress, tickle, and stretch I had been subject to throughout the day was suddenly experienced at once. Pain and pleasure melded into a single, cathartic glow of sensation.

I find myself grinning as I reminisce, the memories of those moments summoning an involuntary tingle of joy. My smile disintegrates as I realize something troubling. Could this be the beginnings of an addiction?

The night air is classically cool and stirs lightly, bringing the scent of blooming flowers on the breeze. The freshness of Spring has settled in, clearing away the dreariness of Winter’s sky in time to reveal a moon so near to full, I wonder if it’s even possible, given the previous night’s eclipse. Thanks to this, my vampiric eyes reveal the world to me as clearly as if it were noon, though everything in shadow is cast in a pale, bluish hue. I peer down the streets into the suburban sprawl and catch the warm glow of light in the windows of a few night owls. The houses are nearly all two-story affairs with well-trimmed and watered lawns. Trees are scarce, relegated to sporadic decorations. The tallest objects to take their place are identically spaced street lights, erected to obsessive precision, forming perfectly measured geometric angles with the lawns and sidewalks. It’s the kind of place that inspired punk bands to write songs derisive of the conformist middle-class in decades past, despite being the childhood homes of most of the band members. It’s the setting of stories and movies about latchkey kids and the backdrops to photos for happy, healthy nuclear families. I always thought it was a bit saccharine and creepy in its overt attempt to appear normal and homey. If anything, it looks more like a dressed-up prison with its rigid regularity and neatly organized rows of vertical lines. Still, Mom is happy to be able to raise me here; says it was everything she wished she could have as a child. Am I ungrateful? Probably, a little bit.

Without a destination in mind, I decide to amuse myself by focusing on the lighted windows as I pass by, testing the limits of my newly enhanced senses. I catch mostly the babble of televisions and computer speakers belting out film scores and action sound effects. One of the occupants is playing a video game I can identify by an iconic parrying sound. I try not to focus on the second window as I hurry past it; the clearly private nature of the sounds emanating from within bring a warmth to my cheeks. It’s only after hearing the soundtrack to a classic vampire-horror movie from the next window that I realize how strange it is that I’m even capable of blushing. I check my pulse. Still nothing. In the film, vampires are incapable of many physiological reactions related to blood flow, which includes blushing, bruising, and, tragically, erections. Yet another puzzle to work out about myself. I continue to test my visual and aural senses for some time, finding that I’m capable of listening in on conversations several blocks away, if I manage to tune out most of the ambient noise. I can even pick up the sounds of the critters crawling through the dirt at my feet. It quickly becomes invigorating, probing the extents of my ability. A sense of empowerment creeps through my guts. I let it crawl around inside me for a while before snapping back with a mild pang of guilt. I’m letting this get to me so easily. It’s likely a miracle I didn’t just drain my own mother dry. I need to be more vigilant with myself.

Nearing the end of the block, I finally hear something that piques my curiosity and turns my thoughts outward again. Across the street, one half of a telephone conversation plays out in a bedroom on the second floor.

“Look, it’s not gonna kill her, she’s just gonna be covered in a lot of red.”

I halt in mid-step.

“Yeah. Everyone agrees, she totally has it coming, anyway.” I’m not particularly interested in gossip, but this sounds a bit sinister. I cross and lean casually against the streetlight. At this range, I find I can pick up the other side of the conversation, albeit with some difficulty. The bedroom’s occupant speaks first.

“Look, just because someone does a little community service every now and then, doesn’t excuse them from being a cocky bitch. I bet she only does it so she can get into that hippie girl’s pants, anyway.”

“You mean Tree Hugger?”

“No, the other one.”

“Oh. Buttersh—No, Fluttershy.”

“Yeah, whatever. I’m just...I don’t know, I just think she needs to be taken down a peg. Like, she wins pretty much every match and she’s hardly cool about it. It’s not like I’m being petty, either. I asked her for some tips once and she totally snubbed me like she’s some kind of fucking celebrity!”

“Wow, rude.”

“Right?”

“Where’d you put it, anyway?”

“Girls locker room, no cameras in there. Paint bombs are a bitch to set up in lockers by the way. I almost set it off in my own face a couple times.”

The occupant’s voice oozes with smug pride at this statement and I relish the thought of ruining her petty revenge scheme. The subject of their conversation is no riddle. Rainbow Dash, captain of the female soccer team, one of the all-around top athletes at Canterlot High, and one of the closest friends of the biggest crush I’ve ever had. I can’t believe my luck. I feel like sprinting up and down the avenue, climbing the street lamp, or leaping over houses.

The other speaker giggles and says, “Wow, look at you, a regular Daring Doo. Or would you be Dr. Caballeron?”

“Shut up, you nerd.” The occupant says with a chuckle.

The conversation devolves into petty gossip and I take my leave when I begin to feel more like an intruder than a witness. I practically skip down the empty street, hoping my grin doesn’t get me reported as a suspicious individual, should someone decide to look out their window. The members of Neighborhood Watch can be so skittish.

A low, powerful note swells into the night, shattering my joyful reverie. I feel an electric tingling at the base of my skull and I get the impression an ordinary human teenager would have felt a chill down his spine. As it dies down to a faint echo, the voices of every dog within earshot calls back in tones that yearn to replicate the primeval headiness of the sound that preceded them. I hear the smaller beasts of the night scurry into their burrows and nooks, claws scrabbling against wood, brick, and concrete. Some windows clatter open along the rows of houses and my razor sharp senses pick up confused murmurs tinged with notes of fear. I can understand their unease; the howl must have come from well outside the neighborhood, but was still so clear, like the wailing of a distant public alarm speaker. The horizon glows dimly from urban lights in the direction I heard it. High-alert police patrols are probably about to increase throughout Canterlot, if it really came from uptown. Which means I need to head home.

“Hey, you!” A familiar voice breaks through the buzzing night, “Did you hear that? What is it?” It’s the girl I was eavesdropping on earlier. The stylish bob cut of her hair fades from forest green bangs to a shocking yellow, framing a creamy orange face. Gods, she’s cute. I try not to stare at the hint of cleavage revealed by her drooping pajama top. Feeling nervous and abashed, I try to formulate a careful response, as if I could give myself away with the wrong words.

“N-no.” Dammit. “I mean, yeah, but I didn’t see anything. Must have been too far down the street. Y-You?”

“How would I have seen anything? I was inside.” Before I can stammer out a response, the girl rolls her window down and curtly draws lime curtains over the glass. Well, she’s not that cute, I guess. The conversation with her friend turns to the howl. Apparently, the other speaker heard it, but sounds just as confused as her friend.

I keep a casual pace as I return home, hoping none of the curious neighbors call out to me. Some of the parents and older homeowners wander their yards with flashlights and dog treats to placate their agitated pets, mostly unsuccessful. Short conversations echo up and down the street about what was heard and who saw what. I begin to feel like I’m walking through a kicked ant pile. I reach my door in a few minutes and let myself in, ready with an excuse, in case my mother is awake. The house is as still as I left it. I listen and pick up steady breathing, coming from my mother’s door. If my creeping about didn’t wake her earlier, I’m not surprised she’s still asleep. She must have taken her sleeping medication tonight.

I steal back to my room, heading to the bathroom to sate the very ordinary thirst scratching at the back of my dry throat. I take an empty cup from my desk and fill it at the sink, studying the liquid. Most aspects of my new physiology have felt instinctively right or immediately unattractive, much like my very visceral reaction to chicken soup. Yet, the thought of drinking water stirs no special senses or touches on any intuition. I sip from the cup and give the liquid a minute to settle, alert for any effects. When nothing manifests, I take another sip, then drain half the cup. After a moment, something changes, and I begin to feel like I’m holding a container of unpleasant medication. I pour the rest out with a sharp sense of relief and something akin to disgust. I brush my teeth and approach the bed when a text notification plays from the nightstand. I unlock my phone to see a text from Rock:

DUDE

FUCKING WEREWOLF
DID THE DOGS FREAK OUT IN YOUR HOOD TOO???

I’m glad I’m not the only one jumping to that conclusion. I’m sure I would have been content to explain it as a bug in the weather alarms two days ago, but I can hardly doubt the existence of monsters, now. I type in my response:

Yeah, the people, too. Stay inside, man.

I think it came from the city and you’re much closer than I am.

Also, grab something silver if you have it. You know the stories.
They might not all be true, but you know what works on me, so it’s better than nothing.

A short while later, I receive a multimedia message. It’s a photograph of Rock’s arm held out with his fist clenched, an ornate, gleaming fork taped to his forearm with the tines protruding over his knuckles. The caption reads “locked and loaded”. It isn’t that funny, but I’m doubled over on the bed after a few seconds. When the laughter fades, I lie there, staring at the smooth, white ceiling.

Is this the right time to be making jokes? There are at least two very literal monsters in the world, said to be capable of spreading a cataclysmic scourge of the flesh-eating, blood-sucking variety, and I’m not confident either of them can control their power or appetites.

And what happened to me before Rock arrived?

At nearly a quarter to five o’clock in the morning, I hear the sirens. With one shoe on, I drop the other and hobble over to my bare window. My home stands on the mid point of the slope, giving me a fairly long view of the surrounding area downhill. A mild spring fog had rolled in so I can see the distant reds and blues of squad car lights highlighted by the floating water droplets. Nothing significantly distant is clear through the fog, but some moving lights make themselves distinguishable. A black and white patrol car, roof lights dark, turns the corner onto my street and rolls by. I watch the uniformed men pass, both driver and passenger scanning the early morning gloom with intense focus. I’m reminded of something I read about the behavior of medieval villages when a child is taken by a wild animal and the vengeful hunt that ensues. I can only hope no one had to die to put this thing on the city’s radar.

This could be bad, though. I can’t just stop going to school, but I can’t take the bus without mummifying myself. From now on, I’ll need to hoof it to school and I need to start early. If a curfew is instituted due to a rampaging monster, I’ll be out of luck unless I can sneak past multi-layered patrols for however long it takes them to track the thing down or drop their guard. I definitely shouldn’t have put off those driving lessons for so long. I have no choice. Either way, I’ll probably attract suspicion, but only one method isn’t guaranteed. I sit on my bed and think, staring down at my mismatched feet. I need to have a story ready if I’m going to risk being seen by police at odd hours. What reason could a normal high school student have for being so far from home at such early hours?

Just as frustration begins creeping into my thoughts, I realize I’m already staring at the answer. Athletic shoes. The ones I bought to wear during parkour lessons. I was only going to wear them so my feet didn’t ache by the time I reached the school, but as part of an outfit, I can appear to be an early morning jogger. I rifle through my closet and find a set of unworn athletic gear. Nylon pants and a tank-top. Too thuggish. I need to look harmless, perhaps a little dorky. I almost decide to go with a plain shirt bearing the logo of a popular sci-fi show when I come across my dad’s old windbreaker. A long-sleeved, slightly puffy, reflector-striped, nylon sweater. It’s drab olive coloring and purely functional design can be overlooked or even flattering when worn by well-built, handsome men, but on someone like me, the effect should be exactly what I need. Perhaps even the Marine Corps logo stamped on the breast could earn sympathy points from law enforcement.

I dress in my selection and peer into the mirror. My thin build is lost in the lumpy, swaddling sheets of artificial fabric. I look like I wandered into a surplus store by mistake and was sold the first four items on a clearance rack. Perfect.

I pack a change of normal clothes along with my school supplies, somewhat straining the zipper on my backpack, but I manage to close it without breaking anything. I had to be careful not to force anything harder than I estimated an ordinary human could, lest I rip everything apart. Controlling superhuman strength can be an incredible chore, at times. I strap my backpack tight and look myself over one more time.

“Just a harmless nerd, training for the track team, officer.” I mutter and look at my phone to check the time. “Shit.” Five-thirty. I have less than an hour to get to the school before the sun begins to rise. I stuff my phone into a pocket on the backpack strap and zip it closed, power walking out of my room and down the stairs. I snatch the note from the coffee table Mom left for me, to explain my absence, and sweep outside. Having never made the trip on foot before, I decide to start off at a strong pace.

I only cover three blocks before headlights appear on the horizon, heading directly for me. My eyes, now suited to see in darkness, are overwhelmed and I’m forced to squint. I begin mentally rehearsing my responses to questions, but as the car passes and the headlights no longer blind, I see it was only a cherry red SUV.

After this, the rest of my neighborhood passes by in relative peace. Other drivers intersect my path and I even jog past a parked squad car from which the officer inside gives me a subtle nod. I feel him watching me from his side view mirror, however, and I almost trip over a curb as I lose focus on what’s ahead. Only forty-five blocks to go.

Another two blocks and I cross a street, enter the neighboring suburban sprawl I’ll need to cut through. The houses in Cloudsdale Courts are marginally smaller, but just as picturesque, though fewer are gaudy or obsessively manicured. It’s here that someone begins to follow me. My pace is quick, far faster than I could have maintained with my load of books, clothes, and a pair of shoes when I was human. I breathe hard to maintain a somewhat normal facade, but I can still hear the footsteps behind me. They keep pace, landing their steps almost exactly as I do. Still unaccustomed to my heightened senses, I can’t tell exactly how far back my pursuer is, but it should be around half a block and across the street. I make a sudden turn, hoping I don’t get lost in the unfamiliar streets. The other footsteps remain behind me. I take three more randomly selected turns, but I haven’t shaken them. I pick up my pace, now at a healthy running speed and still, I’m being followed. I try to catch a glimpse of my stalker in the reflections of car windows and mirrors, but even with vampiric senses, I pass by too quickly to get a good angle. I don’t have time for this.

I break into what I hope is a plausible sprint as I round the corner back onto the broad street that enters Cloudsdale. Having broken line of sight, I hear the footsteps behind me snap out of sync. For a moment, they begin to grow distant, but after a few seconds I hear my pursuer catching up. Persistent bast—

There, in the windshield of a truck parked in the street, I see them pass beneath a streetlight and catch a flash of blue skin. Before I think to stop and see who it is, I detect motion in my periphery. I hardly need to turn my head to see the slight figure of a young woman running parallel to me on the other side of the street, dressed in compression shorts and a lightweight tanktop. Her long, chromatic hair is streaming behind her in a loose ponytail. I almost blurt out her name in astonishment when I realize I’ve been chased by Rainbow Dash for the last five minutes. What in Tartarus does she want? I glance in her direction for a couple seconds. My new night vision makes it easy to notice the furtive glare she sent me between heavy breaths. Her face is screwed up in absolute focus as her legs pump beneath her.

Is she...competing with me? What do I do? I should slow down, let her pass so I can be on my way without an audience. What if she stops? Should I tell her about the trap that’s been set for her? No. Besides not knowing how to warn her without implicating myself, she’ll probably notice I’m not even sweating and ask questions. I hear she’s not the brightest bulb, but if any booksmarts are in there, it’ll be about fitness. Keep pace with her? Tar’ no, I’ve heard about her competitive spirit. She’ll kill or injure herself trying to keep up with a supernatural being. The last thing I want is to be on her mind when she’s thinking about why she got hurt while being visited in the hospital by her friends. Friends that include Twilight So-Cute-It-should-Be-A-Crime Sparkle.

I have to destroy her.

I don’t think she’s seen my face in this gloom. No one knows me as an athlete and plenty of my schoolmates share similar hair and skin colors as my own. I only need to pick the right speed and gait so it’s not completely obvious I’m as human as a box of graveyard dirt. With a false huff of breath, I pick up some speed. So does she.

For the first time, I notice a dim glow on the horizon. The inky blackness of the night is giving way to the deep blue hues of early morning. Running out of time. With too much to lose to worry about the suspicions of one girl, I break into a true sprint. My backpack sways side to side, nearly throwing me off balance. I correct and keep moving. Behind, the sound of Rainbow’s footsteps grows distant before petering out. I almost sneak a glance over my shoulder, sorely tempted to see her face. I have nothing against her, but her expression must be absolutely priceless. Instead, I study the horizon. I must have less than half an hour and I’m still at least thirty blocks away.

The world flashes red and blue as a heady, electric chirp fills the air and blinding headlights blink on several yards ahead. I stumble to a graceless stop, shielding my eyes from the intense glare with one arm. Fury surges up inside me and I decide to stay where I am, using the headlights as an excuse to keep my eyes hidden.

“Step over here, son.” A sharp male voice calls out with practiced authority. Fists clenched, I obey, making a show of checking both directions before crossing the street to the adjacent corner of an intersection. Still pretending to breath hard, I approach the vehicle. The roof lights cut out and a uniformed man steps out from the passenger door as I near, followed by his partner from the other side. Knowing my eyes are glowing, I stop and rest my hands on my knees, head hanging low as I attempt to calm myself.

He’s just doing his job. He’s just doing his job.

The one who called me over holds a flashlight, shining it over me.

“Stand and face me, please.” he commands. I do, but keep my eyes shut, doing my best to look like I’m focused on catching my breath. My sight is awash in red as the flashlight shines through the blood of my eyelids

“Pretty early for a morning run, isn’t it?” Another voice says from across the car, not unkindly. “Wanna tell us why you’re packed and running like you stole Cerberus’s favorite chew toy?” This new speaker’s voice lacks the tone of a gruff law enforcement official, opting for a more neighborly, concerned affect. Goodcop-Badcop right off the bat. These guys are good. If I were actually exhausted, I might not have had the wit to notice.

“Weight...training...sir.” I gasp between breaths.

“You’re taking it awful fast there, marine. How long you been at it?” I need to be careful here. I just outpaced a known athlete by a wide margin while vastly more encumbered. What sounds right?

“Um...two months?” I huff. Both men share a chuckle. Badcop’s laugh contains an annoying note of derision that makes me hesitant to open my eyes again. I know I don’t look like an Olympic athlete, but come on. The light disappears and I crack open one eye. Both men are lean and fit, filling out their uniforms like male models. Goodcop is tall and toned, clean-shaven, bronze of hair and blonde of skin, casually resting his chiseled arms on the roof of the car. Badcop is slightly shorter and much bulkier with navy blue hair, a perfectly dad-like spruce mustache and slate blue skin. Bad choices to try to bullshit about fitness. Give me a break...

“Yeah? And what kind of weights are you using, kid? Got a teddy bear in there or something?” Badcop says with a smirk that spoils the otherwise kindly effects of his facial hair. I open my mouth to respond, but Goodcop pipes up.

“Ah, leave him alone, he’s gotta be doing something right. Look, he’s not even sweating and he outran Ms. Dash.” At the mention of her name, I hear a distant padding of sneakers on pavement. I open my eyes fully to see Goodcop raising one rippling arm in a casual wave. I pray she keeps running right on past, but as the sound of her footsteps gets louder, they also slow down.

“Mornin’ guys!” Rainbow says, her naturally scratchy voice as steady as if she’d only just started her morning routine. The girl has the stamina of a racehorse. I begin to wonder if I should question her humanity, as well. “These gentlemen givin’ you a hard time, Hercules?”

Hercules?

I turn and regard Rainbow with a puzzled look.

“Me?” I breathe.

“Yeah, you! What do you squat, like three-fifty? Four hundred?” Rainbow regards me with a smirk, hands on slender hips that are cocked at an angle perfectly calculated for maximum cool. I’ve passed her in the halls of the school at times, but this being the closest I’ve ever been, I notice something startling. Rainbow Dash is the kind of girl that looks her absolute best during exercise. Her attractive features imitate a strength and dignified beauty akin to depictions of valkyries. Her flushed, sky blue skin radiates a healthy glow under the streetlights and the thin sheen sweat is more than a little flattering. My heart is pretty set on her friend, but it’s hard to not notice when a girl looks this good.

“Uh...yeah, I guess.” I say, hoping I didn’t stare. The flashlight clicks on again behind me, throwing my shadow across the street. The beam moves around a bit and there’s a confused murmur from Badcop before the light clicks back off. This is getting worse by the second. I have to find an excuse to leave without seeming too eager. I turn back to the police and catch Goodcop’s eyes dart back to me from somewhere in the direction of Rainbow Dash. Most definitely not from her face. “Officers, if you don’t mind, can I—”

“Actually, I’m wondering if you don’t mind letting us take a look inside that bag.” Badcop says, his voice tight with badly suppressed suspicion. I can finally see the name tags sewn on the breast pocket of their tops. Badcop/Cuffs holds a meaty hand out to me while Goodcop/Down seems to study my reaction.

“It’s just books and—”

“Nevertheless.” Cuffs makes a come-hither motion at me. I look down at my feet as if nervous, hoping the red didn’t flare in my eyes. Getting real tired of being interrupted. Also, I know my rights, but I can’t have these goons following me around or stopping me every morning.

“Hey, come on, Lock!” Rainbow interjects, just as I’m about to start loosening the straps, “Tell your partner to leave him alone. I saw him, he’s just trying to get a workout in, like me!” I look back to Rainbow whose arms are now crossed at her modest chest as she gives the taller man a hard look. Down returns her look without moving his head, then glances back at me for a moment.

“Alright, marine, get outta here. Forget it, Cuffs.” Down says, taking his arms off the car and sliding back into the driver’s seat. Cuffs lowers his hand, but doesn’t move, his eyes scanning my entire body. “I said, let’s go!” Down shouts over the sound of the engine growling to life. Cuffs’s eyes dart between me and Rainbow before he turns away to enter the passenger door.

“Word of advice, son.” Cuffs says, leaning his head out the window, “Let your new girlfriend win the races more often than not.” He inclines his head toward Rainbow at the word ‘girlfriend’. Before either of us can respond, the car lurches forward and the back of Cuffs’s head makes contact with the edge of the window frame with a painful-sounding thump. They cruise away, Cuffs growling curses at his partner.

I offer an apologetic look at Rainbow whose flushed cheeks could easily be blamed on the exercise. By her annoyed, but placid, expression and steady gaze, I‘d believe it.

“Thanks.” I say. “I really wish I knew how you did that.”

“No problem, new kid. Where’re you from?” She asks, smiling sweetly, ignorant of how deep that comment cut. Not only have I lived in Canterlot most of my life, I’ve gone to the same school as Rainbow Dash since third grade. Ouch. How unremarkable am I? I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, even the people that still tease me about taking a girl’s role in an elementary school play don’t always recognize me after summer break. All except one. I answer her question with a nod toward Ghastenhauser Grove. She turns to look up the sloped landscape beyond Cloudsdale Courts and whistles. “Ooh, rich kid, huh? You must have a personal trainer, then.”

“Ah, well, no, just...kinda winging it.” I say, resisting a manic urge to check the time.

“Oh.” Rainbow blinks in surprise. “You’re gonna hurt yourself if you don’t make sure you know what you’re doing, especially if you do this kind of high-intensity stuff. Why don’t you let me—” I stop listening, mind racing as I try to find a way to at least hint about the paint bomb. As far as she knows, this is the first time we’ve ever met. She doesn’t even know we go to the same school. Should I just tell her the truth? And look like a creep? Pass. I’ll think of something later, it’s time to leave. “—so it’s pretty obvious I know what I’m doing. So how ‘bout it?”

“Sorry, I-I really appreciate your help with those guys, that was pretty awesome,” I say beginning to walk backward, “and I’ll find a way to thank you, but I’m not just working out, I gotta get to school.” Before she can respond, I turn and begin trotting away. “See ya, Rainbow!” I blurt without thinking. Oops.

She calls after me, but I pretend not to hear, pulling up the hood tucked under the collar. The sky is even brighter than before, noticeably bluer, and the stars have begun to disappear. I pick up speed and focus on getting to the school. The number of drivers increases as I near the more urban areas of town, but none seem to be interested enough to take note of me, too engrossed in their smartphones or lattes or how the car in front of them isn’t ignoring traffic laws for their own convenience.

By the time the roof of Canterlot High comes into view, the sun’s rays are highlighting the clouds. With the fog, I can see the wall of light bearing down. A tiny surge of panic flows through me, most likely dulled by my vampire physiology. I become acutely conscious of the growing thirst and the emotional numbness that accompanies it. It’s been several hours since feeding and exerting myself as much as I have should be taxing whatever resources it provided. I just need what’s left to last me part way into the night. I hope it’ll be enough to just keep calm and relaxed.

I look over my shoulder to see the roofs and high windows of distant buildings gleam and glow in the sunlight, prompting a burst of new speed. I fly over the pavement, indifferent to the possibility that someone might notice and wonder who, or possibly what, I am. There is no fear just a desperate, instinctual need to get away from that light, moving my body without any conscious effort.

Finally, I crest a shallow rise and the school comes into full view. I race around the chain link fence surrounding the eastern courtyard and approach the back entrance of the school. I come to a stuttering crash against the wall of the protruding facade, narrowly missing one of the fluted columns that frames the entry. As long as I stick to the west side of the building, I’ll be alright. I made it. I slide down the wall and rest backward against the cool masonry, head on my knees and eyes closed.

“My, you’re here pretty early.” A smooth, chipper feminine voice says. The sound doesn’t break the silence so much as it sets it aside.

“Mom?”

The Score - Revolution

This chapter came in with a lot of duct tape, stitches, and staples. Still not happy with it, but it's all uphill from here. Hopefully.

Next chapter, next week. See ya then!