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The Falling

In the action itself, she is weightless and free. The flight is not to be feared, only the impact. A story on the life of Esme Cullen. Image Hosted by ImageShack.us Banner By incredible Iris!

I may submit this to the official site. What do you think?

77. Chapter 77

Rating 5/5   Word Count 533   Review this Chapter

A fall into sin,

“Shall we?” he asks lightly, looping his arm through mine. I grin and follow him into the gestured-to forests.

“Whyever not?”

As we stroll, giddily laughing, we match our steps together comically. We play like children, almost, and are insanely happy for it. It’s a time neither of us can remember, changed as we’ve been. Regaining it in the fallacy of love is unexpectedly beautiful.

“Here we are,” he whispers, low in my ear. I bite my lip. He sounds very, very attractive when he uses that particular tone of voice. It’s sending shivers down my spine.

“Excellent!” I reply, a little too brightly. I follow him into the woods, the trees bending to cover us. As we pass by each, the thirst gets worse and worse, but I smell nothing.

Just as we reach the far edge of the forest, the sunlight streaming through in full force now, I catch the scent.

It is like nothing I’ve ever had before—mouthwatering, perfect. It smells warm, burning with heat. Abruptly, my limbs feel freezing cold in contrast.

I run after the smell, letting the odor take me in. It smells simply unbelievable, incredibly, wordlessly compelling. I know there is no choice but to follow it, to do as it commands.

I catch the body in both hands. I can read fear in its eyes, but I don’t care. My teeth are sharp, razors in the neck, and I simply push them down, like throwing a punch, a single swift motion and the skin is pierced. Blood throws thick and red and so, so sweet over my tongue.

Carlisle’s been telling me I need to find my favorite animal, that it will make hunting more enjoyable. He and Edward both have a strong preference, and he’s been wondering what mine is. Before, I’d simply shrugged and said ‘I like deer,’ but clearly I was mistaken. This is what I truly like.

The blood still flows, and I revel in it. Bit by bit it becomes harder to get out, as the heart stops. I suck on the neck, till the very last drop is mine, and then let the drained body fall to the floor.

Only then do I hear what Carlisle’s screaming, and has been hollering since I took off after the prey.

“Esme! Wait, Esme! That’s a human!”

I look down at the corpse on the soft padding of the forest floor. Pale eyelids are closed in a face as ghostly white as my own. Light brown hair frames it, soft whisps falling almost to the girl’s shoulders. She is sixteen years old, maybe. Her face is not beautiful, but shines with all the promise of youth.

She will never fulfill it.

I crumple to my knees beside the body, grasping the cold hand in my own, and whisper, “What have I done? What have I become?”

No answer from the lips of the fallen. Why did I expect one? And was I looking for comfort or accusation?

It’s not so easy to forgive,