Stitches and fangs

So... my life seems very normal. I just wash dishes and drink tea, chat with Bee and hunt once every night. But nothing big, just a small sip.

Bee took me to her doctor. She said she couldn't stand seeing my hands like this anymore, and told me I was very irresponsible to neglect my body like this. I tried to explain, that I didn't have a doctor, and she rolled her eyes, called her own and explained the matter.
Bee's doctor is a nice lady. She looked my hands over and said I needed to get stitches, and that I had some infection. She also told me it was good that I had listened to Bee. It could have ended up really bad.
So the lady gave me local anesthetics. Nothing wild, just so my hands wouldn't hurt too badly.
I was, kind of, fascinated with the curved needle, as it's point disappeared into my skin, only to emerge shortly after. It only took her some ten minutes... maybe less. She glued the smaller cuts together.
I'm amazed that you can glue people back together. Like when Bee dropped her cup, and glued back the handle with superglue. I mentioned the event, and both Bee and the doctor laughed. Not a mean laugh, mind you, but a warm laughter. Made me laugh too. I haven't laughed before. At least, I don't think so. It was strange, like something bubbling inside me, welling up, escaping my mouth. Bee smiled at me... I think I looked a bit surprised.

Bee keeps calling me trendy. She noticed my canine teeth, and asked if I’d gotten them fixed in Germany. I pretended not to have heard the question clearly. She repeated the question and added "Yeah, I once read an article about a girl who was into the gothic scene, and that she had gotten her fangs made at a dentist’s in Germany, specializing in vampire fangs. Did you go to Germany for those?" She pointed at my mouth.
I only hesitated for a second "Yes. That's right; I got them made in Germany. You like them?"
"I'm too old for all these new trends. But yes, I think they suit you"
So... that's really my explanation from now on. That I'm into vampire roleplay. Bee didn't mention the bit about the roleplay, but I checked it out on the web, and it seems there's quite a big community(of a wide range of ages) out there that seems to enjoy, pretending to be a sort of creature of the night, someone who dies in the light of the sun, and needs blood to live. Sounds kinda like me, but my story is less romantic, I think. Plus... it's a bit silly to run around in evening dress all night.
They're even divided up into "clans" some "fighting" each other. Weird. But it's a good way to explain my teeth... now I only need to figure out a way to explain my hair.

Bee calls me a mad Beethoven too. I need to look into that.

Ghost, the dishwasher

I've rented a room close to the center of the city. It's small, but nice, and placed so far above the streets, that sounds get muffled. I have a view of a park. I like it. I can see people running around down there, and mothers walking with the little mobile cradles in which their offspring sleep happily. I can pay the rent with the pay I get from washing dishes.

I got the job by accident actually.

I was in this small café, not too far from my new home, drinking sweetened tea. I was thinking about White, and, I guess, feeling sorry for myself. Suddenly this man comes running past me, out the door of the café, quickly followed by an angry woman. She was shouting at the man, telling him to never come back.
Then she turned and looked at me "Can you believe the nerve of some people?! I caught him red handed, stealing from the cash register!" She gestured wildly, trying to emphasize her words "And now I don't have any staff.... You wouldn't happen to need a job, would you?" she looked at me with hopeful eyes.
I looked at my cup of tea "Uhm... yes?"
She smiled "Good! You can start right away. The pay is 60 kr. an hour. You DO have time to start now, don't you?" she seemed a bit desperate, so I just nodded, finished my tea and followed her out into the back of the café.
She looked me up and down, then shook her head "Your hands look gruesome! You should get that fixed at the doctor's. But, but, but, no worries, you're wearing rubber gloves here anyways. Your job is to make sure to clean everything that I put out here. Clean and neatly stacked. If anyone drops something, I'll probably be calling and then it's your job to clean it up too. Understand?"
I nodded and looked around.
"So, what's your name young man?"
I hesitated, then remembered my cover name "Benjamin. But you can call me Ghost if you like"
She laughed "Ghost huh? Cuz of your hair, right? Amazing what you trendy, young people come up with, when it comes to hair and fashion. Oh well, there's the dishwasher. Most of the things can go in there. But you'll have to wash the glasses by hand, they look better that way. The soap is over by the sink, and in this cupboard you can find new supplies of soap, gloves and what not"
A bell rang from out in the café. The woman stretched out a hand towards me "Ok, I gotta get back out there. My name is Barbara, just call me Bee. Welcome on board, I trust you can find your way around out there? You'll get your pay at the end of the day. Just ask if you have any questions"
I gave her a smile and a nod as we shook hands, and then she left me alone in the backroom.
Left with my own thoughts, I found a pair of rubber gloves and got them on with a bit of difficulty. The hot water stung slightly, but after a minute or so it started to feel very nice.

The work was really easy, and I got to drink all the tea I wanted. Now I'm home again and 240 kr. richer.
I have to go there tomorrow again. I'm actually looking forward to it. Bee is really friendly, and she talks so much that I don't need to talk much myself. It's good to have someone around.
She keeps calling me Benji and says I'm so trendy, that she's amazed I want to work for her. I've just figured out what the word means after checking with a dictionary I bought yesterday.
'One who is drawn to, and represents, the latest trends'
Erh… I don’t think that applies to me. I have yet to see anyone with this strange hair of mine. It's back to a greyish white once again.
Hmm. Bee has told me to come with her to her doctor, so he can fix my hands. I doubt he can do anything about it though, they won't heal.

I think someone has finally seen this journal. Someone left a comment. I'm not sure if it was written to spite me or if it really is someone who cares about my state of mind... time will tell, I guess.

I need to get out now, I'm hungry. My wounds drain my energy, but already now I know how to drink a little at the time. It's so easy, they don't even notice me.

The chosen road

Enough time has gone by, and I've settled down once more. It's time to confess.

I have taken a life.
I killed a young boy. Not more than 16 years old, I think. I'm not sure how I ended up where I did. I don't remember much of it. I only remember afterwards clearly.
My eyes suddenly regained their focus, and my mind was no longer clouded. Something felt heavy in my arms and the rusty taste of blood was on my lips. I looked down into a gaping wound, the throat almost gone. There was no life left in this child that I still held close to me. I screamed, letting go of his body, staring at the corpse as it collapsed heavily to the ground. The grotesque image seemed to burn itself a permanent place in my mind.
I turned away and started running. I ran for more than an hour. When I finally stopped, I realized I didn't know where I was. It looked like the capitol, but it could be anywhere. I couldn't possibly have taken the train in the previous mental state that I was in. So where was I? I began to walk. Aimlessly looking for anything recognizable. A faint red light, shining like a distant beacon, leading me closer, and I finally saw the giant red and white sign, telling everyone that here was a train station. No one was on the platform, as I looked at the dark blue sign with the name "Hellerup" written in white print.
I looked at the map showing the different train-routes. I was more than two hours away from home, if I had been walking. I'm sure I could not have taken the train to this place. If I had, how come I hadn't attacked any passengers? Had there been none and if so, why hadn't I attacked the train-driver?
A digital bell rang and I realized, that the next train towards home, had stopped at the platform. I walked through the doors and leaned up against the window, as the train started moving.
A girl in the coupe was staring at me. I turned so I faced the window directly, seeing my own reflection. Blood was smeared around my mouth and dark stains decorated my shirt. I tried wiping it away, but my bandaged hands didn't help. The gauze was a dark, rusty red colour and stiff. Red powder fell from it when I moved my hands. I gave up on cleaning my face, and just hunched over a bit, turned towards the doors and away from the glaring lights, hoping no one else would notice.
A little more than half an hour later, I arrived at home with only one thing on my mind. I had to get out of there. "Inside" would quickly find out that White was dead. They would look at his wounds and think it was me. They would also hear about the death of the boy. I would be just as hunted a creature as GRAE. I packed my things while trying to device a plan. My phone was gone. I must have lost it at White's, or maybe during my blind run through the city. There was really no apparent way I could get in contact with "Inside" and tell them of the events. There would be no mercy, I knew that much. I found the three files and stuffed them in my bag and I left.

I'm in a hotel right now. I have withdrawn as much money from my bank-account, as I can. Now I need to figure out what to do.
I won't stop my hunt for GRAE. My reasons for tracking him down, however, have changed. I need to find him. He's the reason I am this way. I'm copy, so I have the same bloodlust. The same urge to kill, so he must know why. I wonder why “Inside“ even dared to let me loose upon the world. If GRAE won't give me an answer, I will kill him and deliver his body to "Inside". Then they can do with us, whatever they wish.
I have to know what I am. I think I hate him. I haven't felt hate before, so I'm not sure if this feeling is hate. It's a dark, vicious sensation. I blame him. When I think of him I feel sick, not physically, but mentally.

I don't know who this MIST is, and right now, I don't care.
My hands hurt less, but they have not healed. My hair on the other hand, has turned an odd shade of rust. Some of it is completely white again. Well, the hairdresser did say that it wouldn’t take colour that well.
Something is different. It may be that I have experienced something awful, but I feel different. My mind is clearer. I am not sure why. New words and feelings have presented themselves to me within such a short amount of time. I wonder if it is the blood that does it? And what about the blood? I cannot let this frenzy happen again. I have to feed. But will I be able to feed without killing, without destroying my victim?

I am no longer who I was

...

I have done hideous deeds

I am not who I am

...

I didnt goout yesday hands hurtand hunger. i needtofeed Ihav e to go outand find food. Cant' stay inside anymore ..Must find foodfeel i weak feel need food smeel is drivng me insaen I mustfind the source will find grae later when Ive foundmustgonoow