HOME | DD

Description
Brett was clutching his pillow to his chest tightly, sleeping heavily. His alarm clock rang out, interrupting a dream. Brett groaned, slapping blindly to make the annoying noise go away. Finally, he hit the clock, and snuggled back into his warm bed. He sighed deeply, "I dun wanna go to school..." he murmured sleepily to himself. He heard a light knock on the door. Must've been his stepmother. "Brett... wake up, time for school..." she said, hesitation in her voice. "I'm sick..." Brett lied, adding a groan to his voice. The door clicked open slowly, and Brett opened an eye weakly for effect. "Mmm... You are feeling warm..." she said, feeling his forehead lightly. Thank goodness for really hot pants and socks. "I... I guess you can stay home..." she said, sighing quietly. "Thanks..." Brett muttered, digging his face into the pillow his was hugging. His stepmother left, closing the door behind her slowly. Brett glanced up and sighed, climbing from bed and walking up to the mirror across from his bed. He ruffled his hair, examining the slightly fading bruises across his throat. Brett choked, he could have burst into tears again, but he fought them back. Walking closer to the mirror, he examined his eyes. They were fading into a lighter color than their normal dark brown chestnut color. Then he remembered. "Please... make it a dream..." he whispered, opening his mouth slowly. He groaned, seeing his bright, white fangs gleam. "No..." he whispered, wiping his teary eyes. "My life is over!" he cried, hoping no one heard him. He shuffled over to his bed, sitting against the window. A sizzling made his back sting like he had been set on fire. He held in a cry of pain, jerking away from the window quickly. "Ow..." he murmured, rubbing his back tenderly. He sighed, grabbing his jacket and pulling the hood over his face. He pushed the sleeves over his hands and put on his regular shoes, making sure most of him was covered. He slipped back over to the window, temporarily putting on some gloves to lift open the window. He slipped out quietly, covering everything so he couldn't feel the burning. He walked along the road carefully, making complete sure that he wouldn't feel that again. Walking up to the gates of the cemetery, he pushed open the gates slowly. He fangs etched at his bottom lip, begging with a strong blood lust. His stomach gurgled, and he sighed. Maybe he could find comfort in speaking with Druid. The man was odd, he admitted, and kind of frightening. He was nice though, Brett guessed. Brett could turn to him when he had a question or something, and he was strangely there when Brett was at his loneliest. Brett sighed deeply, recalling the night before. Brett approached the mausoleum, pushing the door open. His strength was increasing, and Brett smirked. It was a good pro of being a vampire. He found the mausoleum to be empty, except for a shadow in the farthest corner. "Why hello..." it said. The voice was male, smooth, and higher then Druid's in tone. "Er, hi..." Brett said, staring at the figure. After a few seconds of silence, the voice laughed quietly. "Take a picture, why don't you.." and the figure shifted. Brett blinked and his face flushed red. "W-who are you..?" he asked, biting his bottom lip slightly. The man stepped out of the shadow, revealing an older man, maybe twenty, with pitch black hair that fell loosely to his jaw, kinda like Druid's, except black. His eyes gleamed a weird, yellowy color, kinda like a cats. Brett asked again, his voice stronger when he saw who he was speaking to. Another vampire. "Who are you?" he asked, straightening up. "Me?" the man asked, putting a hand to his own chest in question. Brett rolled his eyes. "Yes..." he grumbled, agitated by the man's playing dumb. The other vampire chuckled, more giggled, and smiled. "My name... Mr. O negative... is Vladimir." he said, bowing. "Mr. O negative?" Brett asked in disgust, but Vladimir ignored him. "Vladimir... Vladimir Foxwood."

Description
Brett was clutching his pillow to his chest tightly, sleeping heavily. His alarm clock rang out, interrupting a dream. Brett groaned, slapping blindly to make the annoying noise go away. Finally, he hit the clock, and snuggled back into his warm bed. He sighed deeply, "I dun wanna go to school..." he murmured sleepily to himself. He heard a light knock on the door. Must've been his stepmother. "Brett... wake up, time for school..." she said, hesitation in her voice. "I'm sick..." Brett lied, adding a groan to his voice. The door clicked open slowly, and Brett opened an eye weakly for effect. "Mmm... You are feeling warm..." she said, feeling his forehead lightly. Thank goodness for really hot pants and socks. "I... I guess you can stay home..." she said, sighing quietly. "Thanks..." Brett muttered, digging his face into the pillow his was hugging. His stepmother left, closing the door behind her slowly. Brett glanced up and sighed, climbing from bed and walking up to the mirror across from his bed. He ruffled his hair, examining the slightly fading bruises across his throat. Brett choked, he could have burst into tears again, but he fought them back. Walking closer to the mirror, he examined his eyes. They were fading into a lighter color than their normal dark brown chestnut color. Then he remembered. "Please... make it a dream..." he whispered, opening his mouth slowly. He groaned, seeing his bright, white fangs gleam. "No..." he whispered, wiping his teary eyes. "My life is over!" he cried, hoping no one heard him. He shuffled over to his bed, sitting against the window. A sizzling made his back sting like he had been set on fire. He held in a cry of pain, jerking away from the window quickly. "Ow..." he murmured, rubbing his back tenderly. He sighed, grabbing his jacket and pulling the hood over his face. He pushed the sleeves over his hands and put on his regular shoes, making sure most of him was covered. He slipped back over to the window, temporarily putting on some gloves to lift open the window. He slipped out quietly, covering everything so he couldn't feel the burning. He walked along the road carefully, making complete sure that he wouldn't feel that again. Walking up to the gates of the cemetery, he pushed open the gates slowly. He fangs etched at his bottom lip, begging with a strong blood lust. His stomach gurgled, and he sighed. Maybe he could find comfort in speaking with Druid. The man was odd, he admitted, and kind of frightening. He was nice though, Brett guessed. Brett could turn to him when he had a question or something, and he was strangely there when Brett was at his loneliest. Brett sighed deeply, recalling the night before. Brett approached the mausoleum, pushing the door open. His strength was increasing, and Brett smirked. It was a good pro of being a vampire. He found the mausoleum to be empty, except for a shadow in the farthest corner. "Why hello..." it said. The voice was male, smooth, and higher then Druid's in tone. "Er, hi..." Brett said, staring at the figure. After a few seconds of silence, the voice laughed quietly. "Take a picture, why don't you.." and the figure shifted. Brett blinked and his face flushed red. "W-who are you..?" he asked, biting his bottom lip slightly. The man stepped out of the shadow, revealing an older man, maybe twenty, with pitch black hair that fell loosely to his jaw, kinda like Druid's, except black. His eyes gleamed a weird, yellowy color, kinda like a cats. Brett asked again, his voice stronger when he saw who he was speaking to. Another vampire. "Who are you?" he asked, straightening up. "Me?" the man asked, putting a hand to his own chest in question. Brett rolled his eyes. "Yes..." he grumbled, agitated by the man's playing dumb. The other vampire chuckled, more giggled, and smiled. "My name... Mr. O negative... is Vladimir." he said, bowing. "Mr. O negative?" Brett asked in disgust, but Vladimir ignored him. "Vladimir... Vladimir Foxwood."