A Writing Exercise.

Okay, here's a re-write (for a writing exercise) of my original 3rd person, Twilight Dance, story.  I think I am going to leave out this begining part, though I haven't decided.  I think it works better in 1st person.  This confirms my suspicions that I write better in 1st person.

Twilight Dance (1^st Person)

By Rita L. Smith

As I stepped outside, I threw my head back to let the cool air cross my face.  The breeze lifted my wet hair, cooling me down.  While my friends were shivering, I delighted in the change from the stuffiness of the rave.  I waved at my friends and began walking.  Though my friends asked if I wanted a ride, I needed to cool down because the bloodlust was upon me.  I didn’t want to have any accidents. 

I thought I heard someone following.  He was breathing shallowly and his heartbeat was increasing.  I ducked into the first alley I came to and my stalker followed me.  And I was positive when I went around the block and he was still following me.  I glance behind me and I saw a figure move into the shadows.  I might have missed him if I had been human.

I relished the feeling of power as I led my pursuer back to the street.  I quickened my pace and headed for home.  Still, he stayed with me.  I couldn’t help thinking that this might be the rapist that had been attacking young women for three months.

As I neared the cemetery I feigned a stumble, giving my stalker time to catch up.  As I pretended to recover my footing a smelly hand grabbed my mouth, while another grabbed my throat.  I bit the hand that covered my mouth causing my attacker to yelp.  I could feel the blood dripping down my face as I turned to look at him.  I bared my fangs as I grabbed him.

A look of disbelief and then terror passed  through his eyes as he struggled against me.  Try as he might he could not get away.  I bit down on his neck finding that artery that beat so fast.  As I fed, I saw that this man had indeed been responsible for raping and murdering those poor young women in Columbus and throughout the country, beginning in his childhood.

I tore his heart from his chest and ate it as if I had not eaten for months.  And technically, the bagged blood I usually fed on didn’t taste this fabulous.  I slammed his skull against the pavement and would have eaten the brain if I hadn’t heard a chuckle.  This brought me to my senses and I turned to give Cameron, my wererat friend, a guilty smile. 

I called out into the night, “Come friends, I have a feast for you.”  Shadows slid out from the cemetery and within minutes there was nothing left of my assailant.  I could not feel guilty knowing how many lives I had saved by ending this one.