"Ma'am, are you alright?" came a voice, and I stared at the two uniformed men who stood a few meters from me, wondering why they felt the need to shine their flashlights in my face. I looked at them through dazed eyes, and smiled through bloodied lips. Oh, not my blood, I assure you. I fed on a vagrant earlier, and discarded him in a nearby dumpster.
"Oh, I'm fine, but you soon won't be," I replied, and that's when I smiled. The look on the two police officers faces was comical. Humans tend to react in predictable fashion once I flash my fangs. Unlike those ridiculous vampires you see in the movies, I don't have just a pair of fangs in a mouth full of normal teeth. Nope, I've got a mouthful of long, curving fangs that are retractable, and look like normal teeth most of the time. All the better to devour you with...
Without another word, I surged forward, and although the officers pumped bullet after bullet into me, I took them down. Lashing out with my clawed hands, I tore the first cop's throat out, and did the same thing to his partner. Both men were dead before they hit the ground. I had already fed earlier, but I couldn't pass up fresh blood. So I drank my fill, then hightailed it out of there. Just another night as a vampire living in the City of Toronto, folks. Nothing to see here...
Seeking higher ground, I took to the rooftops, and paused for a moment to savor the moment. I like the City of Toronto's skyline, and the fact that this city of millions is saturated to the gills with millions upon millions of delicious human morsels, all just waiting to be drained dry. When you're as old as I am, you crave blood more than the hardier, younger vampires do. Not that I look my age, mind you...
In fact, if you were to look at me, you wouldn't think I looked a day over thirty. Thirty two at the most. I stand five feet eleven inches tall, curvy, with dark bronze skin, light brown eyes and curly dark hair. Clad in a black leather jacket, red tank top and black leather miniskirt, I looked pretty good. Like a femme fatale strutting her stuff as she makes her way through the Toronto nightlife. The truth is that I'm so much more than that. For starters, I am three thousand years old...
Due to my exotic looks, I've been mistaken for everything from Greek to Indian and even Italian. It amuses me when mortals try to guess my origins, and the fact that I can speak close to a hundred languages with no discernible accent further puzzles them. I am a woman of mystery in the eyes of many, and that's how I like it. Staying ahead of friend or foe is the secret of my survival...
The truth is that I was born in what is today known as the Arabian Peninsula, to an ancient people, the Musaafir. Our name means "wanderer" in ancient Arabic. My tribe dwelled in what is today known as the Hejaz region of the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia long before Judeo-Christianity and later, Islam, spread across the region. I barely remember those days, but there are some things that you cannot forget...
I remember my parents, my mother Layan and my father Adnan, Chieftain of the Musaafir tribe, and my sister Afraa. We were a tribe of nomads, roaming across the Arabian Peninsula. I was married to a young man from another clan, and his name was Harith. I bore him a daughter, our lovely little Areebah. Our lives were simple, and although there's much that I've forgotten about those heady days, I remember that I was happy. And then one day, my world changed...
A stranger came to our camp early one summer evening, and I remember that he was tall, pale and gaunt, with strangely dark eyes. My father and husband welcomed him to the camp, for he came to us with a tale of woe. Apparently, he'd been robbed by bandits, a common occurrence in our part of the world, especially in those days. We didn't know it at the time, but the stranger was a monster. During the night, he attacked us, and went from tent to tent, slaughtering men and women, young and old alike...
"You are brave and beautiful, you will make a fine recruit," the stranger said, flashing me a fanged smile, his eyes now bright red, as he stood before my tent. I found him feeding on my husband Harith. I faced the monster, brandishing my father's sword. Sadly, I was no match for him. What could a lone woman do, when this monster had already dispatched so many strong men? That's how I thought in those days.
"Run, my little Areebah," I cried out as I shoved my daughter away. My little angel heeded my plea and ran off into the night. The monster came for me, and easily disarmed me. I struggled, and he laughed before sinking his fangs into my neck. When I woke up, three days later, I was...changed. That's what vampirism does to you. It changes you. You stop being a person, even though you remember being one. You become a thing that can only come out at night, and craves the blood of the living...
A lot of vampires remember their makers fondly. I haven't made a lot of vampires but I do keep in touch with the few that I've created, like Malik. To this day, I never saw the ancient monster that made me ever again, nor did I learn what became of my daughter Areebah. My father, mother, husband and daughter were gone. My whole world had ended. As I roamed the world after becoming a vampire, many legends spread about me...
