There was no warning before I died.
A sharp flash of pain, a weakness as the blood left my body, then I was tired, and I slept. I can’t say how long I rested, nor could I have guessed where I was. I remember the taste of metal and the fire in my throat and gut as I was fed. When I woke, I wondered if this was heaven, or perhaps hell. Maybe it was both, or neither, or something in between. Yet I woke, and I woke hungry, and where most newborns mewl for milk, I craved only blood.
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alt="Disgruntled by Jonathan Tolstedt"
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alt="In the Beginning by E.M. Eastick"
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