Authors note; What I do when I have writers block

Authors note; What I do when I have writers block. One-shots! I was watching this 'Big Cats' programme, and like everything, Edward Cullen came to mind.

Disclaiming: Not mine.

Big Cats

Part One.

He was Edward Cullen. He prowled the silent woods, steps as light as a feather. Sniffing the air lightly, a scent caught his attention. Not just any scent though. The one he set out for.

Only one thing could compare to it. One thing could compare to the satisfaction that drinking the blood from a mountain lion could bring, and drinking it so dry that you heard the bones crack against the skin. The way that the fur was warm and soft against his lips and the way that the struggling paws of the desperate animal felt like caressing feathers against his skin. The way that the poor, weak mammal was hardly putting up a fight, and the way that the warm liquid felt like ice sliding down his throat. The way that it dulled the pain.

That's all he seemed to be doing. Dulling the annoying ache that seemed to be a forever part in his forever life. Its not even like the scorching iron down his throat was going away, just numbing it to a point where it could be ignored. Only just ignored, though.

This open flame was not even just down his throat. It was everywhere. It occupied every limb, to a point where he couldn't take it. To a point where he was tempted to walk though the door that was labelled 'eternal sleep'. It drove him crazy to a point where he would give anything to know what it felt like, just to rest his eyes and to be able to dream. To be able to share his dreams with the ones he loved, and to tell them of the vivid colours and people that occupied his thoughts while his mind was not in control, and over assessing every minute situation, like he normally would. He longed for the day when he could just be peaceful, and not hear everything and anything. When he didn't have to be able to smell every scent that passed within a five mile radius. He wanted to be normal.

It was not even the physical flame that annoyed him so much. It was the emotional flame that has been his constant companion. The flame of loneliness. The flame of depression. He longed for someone to love him the way he longed to be loved, and to hold him the way he would love to hold someone. To feel someone's body pushed against his, and to feel their breath on his neck. To feel their presence engulfing him, and just to feel wanted.

He didn't want to be alone. He needed someone to love, and someone to love him.

He needed her.

He was Edward Cullen.