The abused will abuse.

Even after meeting many Kindred from my own clan and others, I find myself ostracized from the immortals. While most understand the blood lust and savage need to feed, a spare few seem to have the untamed viciousness that I've harnessed since I was first embraced. Perhaps an overview of my creation would explain my violence better.

It was September of 1953. I was 16 and lived with my mother and father. My older sister and her husband lived in the guest house with their 2 year old daughter Marisa. The creature that eventually became my sire came into my house in the dead of night. He was so silent, I didn't even stir from my sleep until he crept in and ripped me from my slumber into a nightmare. Pulling me from my bedroom by my hair, he brought me into the den where my family had been gathered and restrained. One by one, I watched him destroy the bodies of my family. He saved Marisa for last. Against all common sense I charged at him as he peeled the flesh from my dear, sweet niece. His answering blow knocked me out cold.

When I awake I was in the dank bomb shelter that would become my home for over a year. I'd like to say most of the time was forgotten in the many years I've lived. It would be a lie. I remember every second of those 14 months. I never learned his name. He called me his monster. As a human, he was driven mad when his wife left him and drowned himself in alcohol until some misled Kindred thought he'd make a model vampire. I'd love to come across that blood sucking moron one day, but that's another story. I was the target for his rage and insanity.

In the summer of 1954 I turned 17. For my birthday, I received 17 lashes with a cat o' nine tails made from steel cord. That was the week he had to keep a gag on me for I couldn't move without screaming in agony. The hope for a white wedding one day was smashed as the monster took my maidenhood at knife point. With that same knife he savaged parts of my body never meant to feel the penetration of a blade. Shortly after the year anniversary of my time with him he came to the conclusion that turning me into an immortal would expand his horizons for torture. At that point my mind was practically shattered. Half the time there was no need to bind me as I accepted the afflictions, screaming at the right intervals and shedding tears when necessary. When my body died and I re-awoke a vampire a few pieces of my sanity came together. I kept up the act for another month and a half. He was positively gleeful at the new torments he could exact on me. Then. One night when he was branding an intricate design into my lower back and buttocks, I let out a giggle. I felt his hand with the fire poker pause. He tensed for my attack just a moment too late. I spun around and thrust my hands under the shelf of his jaw, wrenching the manible from it's socket. I had the advantage of pure surprise. A glancing blow at my chest shattered my clavicle but I barely noticed. I knocked him onto his back and ripped and tore into his flesh with my bare hands. Now was his turn to scream but I took away that chance when I clamped my jaws over his mouth and tore the lips from his face. It took over an hour but I rendered his body into shreds and chips of bone. I grabbed the kerosene lamp he used to light the shelter and upended it over what was his body. I picked up a box of matches, struck one and dropped the whole box into the mess. The blaze started quickly. I could feel the flames blistering my already scorched back as I calmly walk through the door of what was my prison into the cold November air. Burned, beaten and blood soaked, I turned my face to the sky and bellowed laughing into the night.