Skyline.

Until a few months ago, I lived under the light of God.

I had a life I enjoyed and I walked in the daylight from dawn until dusk.

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Outside.

I look at the ground beneath my feet as I walk, knowing how old each single step I take is and how long the earth has known my footfall. I look up and gaze upon all the people I see near and far and realize that if everyone whose life at that moment was shorter than mine vanished, there would most likely not be a soul left to see.The world is a pleasant playground and kindness is at the heart of my life. I have a smile for everyone, kindness for everyone, time, for everyone, and I wander, timele

I'd leave home early, before sunrise, and walk into the countryside. And as the sun came up, I'd marvel at its beauty and take deep comfort in the tears of happiness that fell from my eyes.

As I walked I felt like I was walking into heaven. The world became timeless. I was content. And at peace.

The sky looked vast. And I felt happy. I had almost limitless energy. At least, I had not found its limit. And I'd walk. And during those years, I spent more money on boots than on tyres for my car. I felt like my body was the vehicle while I journeyed, and I needed nothing more.

Eventually, as per my routine back then, I'd end up in a city, and walk the city too.

I felt God was watching me and approving of my life and everything in my mind, heart and soul felt balanced and right and pure.

I loved life.

I loved myself.

And for a time, for those six years, I felt I had everything I needed within myself.

I felt free.

As I ventured into the city, my first port of call was always coffee to welcome the morning. I knew the most wonderful places, where I could sit and watch the world, and gaze at the sky. I was like a child seeing the father of Christmas flying through the air in his sleigh the way I gazed at the heavens. I loved the light. I adored it.

And when the sun came out, I had to stop the tears rolling down my face. For how do you explain to those passing by that the sun has such power over you? Who could possibly understand that? Sadly, only the few, but the few, to my soaring heart, still remain within life's blessing.

Last year, during winter, I sat with my coffee outside a coffee shop, marveling at the overcast sky and the briskness of the air. And a lady in her 30s, noticed me.

And when women stare, you have to wonder if you've got a coffee cup with a hole in the bottom. You might be sat there happy with your image, all the while you've got a piss-shaped coffee stain appearing on your crotch. So I checked the crotch and no issues there phew. She continued to stare and as I didn't appear to have pissed myself, I started to enjoy her attention.

She gazed at me. I didn't return her favour. I didn't need to. We were connected in a different sense. We enjoyed each other. I drank my coffee. She drank hers. Her gaze never left me. Not an instant. And as I left, as I glanced in her direction, we shared a single beautiful moment. And it was glorious. Really, no words. For she saw the sky too.

I moved deeper into the city. I seek the homeless to add a little care to their days. I gift them money and know many by name. Some have become friends and ease my journey as even the most desperate and dangerous are kind to those who help and love them. And I do, love them. They add to my heart as much as I to do to theirs.

The city I walk in, I've known for a long time, and I've known it in many ways. I've seen it in many ways. And these days, everything you could possibly imagine you need or not need is there. You can buy an autograph of a person in a faraway land that you've never met, or ever will, and it will cost more than the price of a ticket to fly halfway around the world. You can buy technology that allows you to speak to anyone in the world that can be held inside your ear. This is wondrous, and I equip myself with everything an urban explorer at this age needs, or thinks he needs.

Do I need my wife to talk to me through a microchip every half hour wanting updates on where I am, what I have seen, what I'm doing next, and when will I reach wherever? No. But it's nice.

Eventually, I'd get lunch in one of the great places I keep a mental list of. Not because the food was any different than anywhere else, but because I loved the surroundings. To be with people. To enjoy the life of those around you. I'd travel with books and find corners of solitude amongst people and read. I was so happy. It was perfect for me.

And then I'd travel onward.

I'd always have a final destination. A loved one's home. Often staying overnight with them, before returning to my wife the following day. And that life, that routine. It was the best time I'd ever had, and I believed I'd be happy in that routine for the rest of my life. It's all I needed. I'd found my perfect balance. I was at peace with God. I was at peace with Satan. I was whole.

Until a few months ago.

I lost someone. My wife and I lost someone.

My wife managed her grief in her own way.

I managed my grief in my own way. I hadn't considered breaking my abstinence and feeding as a way to ease my own grief. It hadn't crossed my mind.

A few weeks later, on October 31st — All Hallows' Eve of all dates, I'd gone to bed, fallen asleep, and had a lucid dream. I had full awareness of myself within it. And by my side was Satan, showing me a version of myself feeding. And as I watched this unfold, I felt every sensation of the act itself as I watched myself feed. I felt all of it from start, to finish, and it was so overwhelming that even in the dream, I'd already decided I was going to feed in waking life.

That morning, there was no doubt in my mind about arranging a feed. Not at home. Not with my wife. Not at that time. Elsewhere.

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Little Red Riding Blood.

Perhaps if I was offered a banquet of blood wrapped in the sweetest of things, I'd indulge myself fully. Unless I was abstaining. Which in this wonderfully vampiric world may happen. And before a paid a visit to Red Riding Blood, I was six years clean:https://www.fetbook.co.uk/post/i-d-imagine-writing-novels-is-the-occupation-of-choice-for-vampiresThose around me, my kin, my clan, my fellow vampires, have already fallen. The kind that'd happily lick the rim of a toilet if they took a fancy to th

I was on a rail track with no brakes. I justified breaking my word to God and my promise of abstinence by leveling it at the deep sense of sorrow I held due to the death of my loved one.

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Writing is the occupation of choice for vampires.

Writing is the occupation of choice for vampires. Writers often have unusual personalities, so we often go unnoticed.Vampirism is certainly a popular genre and has been since the 19th century. Back then dip pens and quills were more popular than word processors and TV shows, yet the essence of the story rarely changes, and eons of experience on earth gives you quite a story to tell.Years of emotions briefly elated yet inevitably destroyed time upon time through centuries of loss on seeing everyo

I'd lost people before but not like that, and not as quick. It took me to a place of sorrow in my heart that I didn't know existed. And I didn't think about the implications of how breaking my abstinence would affect my life at that time. It just wasn't in my mind.

I'm feeding again.

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Bondage.

Being tied up does something to me. It's more than the simple act of being restrained. It floods my body with concentrated endorphins. I get the whole pharmacy the moment the rope starts coiling around my wrists. And when that final knot is tied, accompanied by a subtle yet harsh tug, and boy does my wife know how to play that fiddle, I feel like I'm melting in lust from the inside out.It's more than lust, it's surrender. It's a final surrender where I don't have to be in control anymore, I can

I'm no longer whole. I never will be without God balancing my darkness.

I'm simply not strong enough to pull myself back into the light yet.

I need to prove myself to God.

Again.

I see Him at the edge of the shore of this ocean of blood I bathe in.

Watching.

Waiting for me to find the strength to swim towwards Him.

I can abstain.

Again.

Perhaps my path never truly leads away from the dark and is but a simple circle. And as a circle, can my plight ever end? For I have been here before, time and time upon time.

Satan has always held Hell's door open. Not only to enter, but to leave.

You have to want to leave.

And that is the strongest chain and padlock of all.

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