The Life and Times of Sanitago Venietchi {Exerpt}

Dreams of a child plague my mind as I fall to sleep. Of new toys, storybook endings, a fantastic hero. I allow myself the small luxury, for the simple fact that I deserve a break from the hell my life has become.

In my dreams, I find myself strolling through fields of candy, of indescribably sweets and goodies I have never been able to afford. Leaning down, I stick out my tongue, intent on getting a lick of a colorful-swirled lollipop a mere inches away, but I find, the second I come in contact with it, it evaporates, leaving no trace of itself behind for me to marvel over. Racing down the path, I find it happens with everything I have dreamt up for myself. Chocolate melts into steamy puddings, and even then folds in on itself and forces itself into the groud, cotton candy vanishes in a puff of smoke, and those fany new toys, they combust the minute my flesh comes on contact.

I realize that it is, in fact, me myself who chases these things I desperately want away. It's sort of ironic, the way it works out. How tonight, instead of dreaming of fantastical beasts chasing me every which way, I dream up a mockery of my own life.

"Santi!"

I start at the shout of my name, sliding off my bed in response. As I hit the wooden flooring, I take in my brother, Fierro, crouched at the side of my bed, his hand holding a wickedly-curved dagger, his fingers trembling slightly, from fear or extertion I do not know. As he turns to me, I can feel the fear radiate from his body, his eyes wide, his pupils seemingly too small. He nods, and looks toward the window, and instantly, we two share emotions.

"Shit!" I scramble from where I lay on the floor, stumbling over last night's discarded cloths. I reach down, my fingers fumbling before finding purchase on the rough trousers, and I pull them onto my bare legs, my shirt coming next. My fingers slide over the surface of the nightstand before coming to the weapon I always slept next to. My fingers grip easily onto the hilt of the sword, and I am simultaneously bathed in the warmth that always follows. I again glance at my brother, the question evident in my eyes. Should we move, or should we stay and fight? Again, I only receive a small nod, this time aimed at the door. I understand as well as if he had spoken, though. We are to run.

Moving ahead of Fierro, I stand in front of the door to the room, warily. My death could very well be waiting for me on the opposing side, and opening it could be the end of me. I do so anyway.

I don't wait to see what lies before me, taking off before I am allowed the chance, swinging my blade just in case. I can hear Fierro's footsteps behind me. My footsteps are muffled, thanks due to the Inn's soft carpeting, but it will draw Their attention anyway. As we pass a small window, I can just make out their silhouettes in the darkness through the dirt and grime. They pressed on.

Already, some have breached the building. I assume they are nothing but pawns in Their games, servants to the ones higher in the order, for they would not have been sent otherwise. I quickly run my blade across the first one's throat, only temporarily silencing the beast. Glancing back, I see Fierro dispose of another. He nods, cueing me to move forward, a signal to me that he is fine, unhurt. Again, I move on.
Upon our hasty retreat, we encounter only a handful of Them, all easily disposed of and strategically placed near either windows or cracked shutters, where they will burn upon contact with the sun. The thought sends fits of warm pleasure through me, and I find myself quickly pushing the thoughts away, focusing more on the task at hand. I make my way into the Inn's small lobby, where the main entrance/exit is placed. Brittle winds blow through the open door, raising goosebumps on my arms. I can see where the young members have forced Their way through the door and windows. Small shards of glass are scattered around the room, causing loud breaking sounds as they are tred underfoot, alerting whom I am not sure.

A soft whimpering takes up from the far side of the room, and Fierro and I both start when it pitches to an all out scream. Both bringing up our weapons, we make our way across, stopping a few feet short of the front counter, where it seems the disturbing sounds originate. Without looking at my brother, I ease myself onto the top of the polished, wooden plank, scrambling to my knees, holding my sword high above my head. Holding my breath, I look down.

Human. He appears to be about middle-aged, slightly balding, light stubble growing at the point of his chin. And, yes. He does, in fact, appear to be human.

Pushing myself off, I land in a crouch next to the man, whom I recognize shortly as the Innkeeper. He has his arms clenched around his knees, gently rocking himself back and forth, the loud moaning sounds sliding from his parted lips as if by their own accord. From the glassy way his eyes gaze at open space, I am sure his mind has wandered to a different world entirely. I shudder at the thought of what horrid things this man has seen tonight, at how he must feel.

I place my hand on the man's shoulder, intent on shaking him awake if I have to, when I hear a breif struggle from the other side of the wood, quickly followed by a shout of pain. Glancing over, I see Fierro has left my side.

Jumping to my feet, I glance around wildly, spotting my brother yards away from where I stand, caught in the clutches of one of Them. A female, her skin is pasty white, all color, it seems, having been sucked from her flesh. Her clothes are extravagant, speaking of such wealth I cannot even begin to imagine. A simple corset pressed onto her upper torso, a pale pink color, trimmed in light ruffles and dangling silks. Long skirts covered her legs, a brilliant shade of red, golden trimmings hanging from the hips and dangling near her feet, which were clad in expensive, black boots. I could tell that, even before her Turning, her family held in posession treasures enough to sustain four large families each for a year in food and clothing.