The Seasons

Wing knew he was going to die. He was sure that today would be his last night on earth, and just as he came to accept that fact, he heard the muffled yells of someone. For a brief nanosecond, he thought someone might have found him, and maybe he wouldn’t have to die. And then he tried to laugh at his thoughts but ended up hurting his already sore body. Towards the end of spring, he was in a ditch, somewhere at night in the middle of nowhere; there was no way anyone would spot him until he was nothing more than a corpse. He moved a little, the mud slushing around, and cringed at the sound. So he closed his eyes, prepared to greet death with a smile. Glad, at the very least, that he was warm. But the plan didn’t last long when he was jolted awake and felt cold hands touching him. Ah, s**t, was he being dragged down to hell? Looking up through swollen eyes, he saw someone with bright purple eyes that seemed to glow and what appeared to be short black hair. But the most jarring part about the man was the two sharp fangs peeking out of his red lips. He stared at them, trying to open his eyes further, but they stung, so he stuck to narrowing his eyes; the thing looked oddly pretty. Perhaps he was delirious, and Death was waiting beside him, but under the soft lighting of the moon, the thing looked otherworldly. He sighed as he closed his eyes. If he was going to die, he might as well have fed whatever was about to eat him. “Are you okay?” He grumbled out a response. He wanted to say he was fine. His lips were not cooperating. He hissed when he felt something sharp pierce his wrist, and honestly, he was too scared to open his eyes to see what was happening, so he tightened them, trying to keep his breathing steady. He would not have a panic attack in his last few minutes. “Ah, f**k,” the thing grumbled. Wing still didn’t open his eyes. He frowned when he felt something warm fall over his lips, and despite being exhausted, he licked his lips, hoping it was water or something, but the metallic taste had him thinking it was something else, but he did not care. “Ah, double fuckkkk.” Wing frowned as he felt like his body was beginning to heat up; pure dread raced through him when he realised why the feeling was so familiar, and before he could stream for it to get away, the thing covered his mouth with a cold, pale hand. “Ah, s**t. Neo is going to f*****g kill me.” Despite knowing his scream wouldn’t be heard, he tried anyway. He used little strength to push at the thing, scratching at its hands and face as his body became hotter and hotter. Panic welled in his chest as he blinked back frustrated tears as the thing grumbled. He was so sure he was going to die. Wing was certain death would have been his only escape. So, what was all of this? Had they come back to finish the job? Before he could try to escape it, his eyes began to become hazy. He watched as his vision became sharper, but he lost consciousness before he could ask anything. ~*~ He jolted awake, frowning at how dry his mouth was. “Oh, he’s awake, hello,” a male said. Wing snapped his head in his direction to see that he had the greyest eyes ever seen, wearing a blue sweater and some jeans. He frowned. He didn’t die? Where was he? Who were all of these people? How was he still alive? Why did these people not smell right? Why was he able to see them all so clearly? He wasn’t wearing his glasses. Oh, what the f**k was happening? He tried not to have an anxiety attack. He failed. When he felt himself calming down, his breathing became more controlled, the world didn’t feel like ending, and the tears had stopped; he shook his limbs a little, trying to get them to stop shaking. He looked around warily. “Well, you’re off the hook for this one, Slaine. He’s not dead,” a woman said. She was considerably shorter than the rest, her short blonde hair was curled, and her green eyes were on the shorter boy with purple eyes. The woman looked like a porcelain doll, with pale glass-like skin and wearing a black dress with boots. He looked around, there were so many people he had never seen before, all surrounding him, and he felt intimidated. No, he wanted to cry. Oh, f**k, he had an essay that was due soon. Where was he? A room with grey walls, couches in the middle, all black and a glass table. But his exit was blocked, so even if he tried to escape, the tall, dark-skinned man probably wouldn’t let him leave. No, wait, how much time had even passed since those people had taken him? Oh, f**k. Were these the people who had taken him in the first place? Had they realised he hadn’t died, so they had come back to finish the job? No way. He would have much rather died than go back with them. A boy with fluffy dark hair, holding a black thermos in his hand, took a step forward, and Wing’s eyes widened when he realised he was coming closer. He pushed himself further against the wall, trying to disappear and escape the watchful eyes. When the man was close enough, Wing swung his arm. The boy dropped the thermos, slightly wincing as he held his arm close. The dark-skinned man, one of two men he had been standing with, his face contorted into anger, but the other man shook his head. “You need to drink,” the purple-eyed man said; he was a lot shorter than everyone else, dressed in a dark shade of grey. “Or the thirst your feeling won’t go away.” “He’s a feral cat,” the dark-haired man said; he had pretty blue eyes like three other people in the room. He was standing next to the man with grey eyes and dark hair. “No, he’s traumatised,” the purple-eyed man scowled. “I found him half dead. He stunk of humans, wolves, vampires, and there were so many more I could only pinpoint those two.” “I’m not dead?” he rasped, trying to keep his breathing steady as his eyes darted around the room. The dark-haired man, who had tried to get close to him, snorted. “So, who is going to tell him? Can I? I feel like that'd be funny." "Shut up, Jasper. You're not telling him," the man with the purple eyes said. "What? You're going to tell him. At least I'll be gentle about it." "I can be gentle." "Don't make me laugh in this very serious situation, Slaine," Jasper replied. Ah, so the man with the purple eyes was called Slaine. “Ah, f**k. Okay, you all deal with this,” the long-haired lavender man said; he was in a button-up black shirt and some slacks, and his lavender hair was messy as if he had raked his hands through it several times. “If the people who went after him are the same ones going after, you know, then I’m going to ring my contact.” “Your contact?” The lady with long dark hair and blue eyes asked curiously. “What contact?” “From the government.” Her eyes widened in surprise as she stared at the man. “Holy s**t, Neo. You know someone in the government?” she asked. “Not now, Rosalyn,” he replied. He leaned down and kissed the much shorter man standing beside him with a child on his hip on the forehead, and then he kissed the child before he wandered out of the room; the dark-skinned man letting him past. Wing couldn't get rid of the thirst in his mouth, and then his eyes landed on the thermos left discarded on the ground by the man he had scratched. Eyeing all these people, he shifted a little and lunged for it. Grabbing it, he curled back up against the wall of his small bed. He opened it up, and without thinking, he began gulping down the liquid. After the thermos was empty, he pulled it away, and the stench of blood wafted his nose. He looked down and felt the blood drain from his face as he realised what he had just drunk. “Ah, so I did turn him?” the purple-eyed man muttered, staring at him. The porcelain lady sighed, “It makes sense. Levi turned you, and my brother, a purebred, turned him. Technically, there was always a chance. And well, he’s a vampire now and not dead. So, well done.” Wing felt the blood drain from him; he thought he did, as what he had learned had just been processed. He was a vampire. ~*~