Edward's story from just before he is turned into a vampire and during his "life" as one.

Story Notes:

In the books we get little snippets of information about Edward's life as a vampire and I could not help but wonder what events had transpired to lead him in one direction or another. How did he get to be so self-loathing? What was he like as a human? What about that pesky murdering spree he went on for a few years? Like my first attempt at writing Twilight, I tried desperately hard to stay in character or how I pictured he might have been (during his human life). This is not an Edward/Bella story, so I don't know if anyone will want to read it, but it wiggled into my head and I just could NOT get it out, so here I am, writing another Twilight Fan fiction. Rated T for now, will move into MA later on due to violence (remember... pesky murdering spree!)

Chapter Notes:

So since the story is entitled "The Life and Death of Edward Masen", we of course have to have some human time in there. I do apologize for the turtle of a start... the first couple of chapters will be kind of slow. However, if you stick with me, I hope to make it up to you! I will update soon to try and keep you interested! Any and all critiquing is welcomed!


All characters are the owned creation of Stephenie Meyers... I own nothing and in no way do I think I am comparable to her as a writer, I just like biting on the story she's created. This is my little prequel to Twilight. No copyright infringement intended.

Her gaze transfixed me. Our eyes locked together as our bodies edged closer to one another. Her lips, open ever so slightly, trembled with her labored breaths. I wanted to reach out and touch her, to feel her body quiver in anticipation, but I restrained. Her pale skin, creamy and translucent, calls out to me, begging me for the slightest bit of a caress. A soft breeze catches a small wisp of her hair, causing her dark tresses to dance about her cheek. Once again I contain my urge to touch her; to tuck away the escaped strands back behind her ear. Inch by hesitating inch our faces move closer to one another, her eyes still holding mine hostage. I could feel the warmth of her breath dance over my mouth as her lids closed over her deep, chocolate eyes. Leaning in, I close mine as well, expectantly waiting for my lips to find hers.

"Edward! Get up or you'll be late!"

My eyes snapped open, yanking me from my dream and thrusting me back into reality. With the voice of my mother still slightly echoing in my head, a frustration filled sigh escaped from my lips. Another night of being haunted by her. The dream was the same each time. And each time I've dreamt it, I have awoken with a sense of longing, wanting desperately to go back to sleep so I could see her again. Not that I could really see her. Her face remains a mystery to me; having only the slightest bit of detail in my memory. Dark hair, brown eyes and pale skin is all I take away with me each time, hardly narrowing down her identity. I clenched my eyes closed and desperately willed myself to remember some other detail, some small clue, knowing that it was a fruitless effort, for each time was always the same.

With a defeated groan I pushed the covers from me and swung my legs off the side of the bed, staying perched on the edge. With my elbows on my knees, I held my head in my hands and allowed my thoughts to trail back to her again. She always came to me on nights where I went to bed worried or stressed, adding to my mother's theory that she was my guardian angel. But who dreams of kissing an angel? Or I should say, almost kissing an angel, as the dream has never gotten any further then the point in which I was just woken up at.

"Edward!" My mother called up to me again.

Raking my fingers through my already disheveled hair, I let out a final resounding sigh. As I stood, I let my mind travel from the girl in my dreams to my beloved mother. Today I was going to break her heart. Eight weeks ago I had turned 17 years old. An age still one year short to legally enlist in the army. However, I had decided to plain and simply lie. I could pass for 18 just as easily as 17. My decision to enlist now was not a happenstance. My father had begun the process of grooming me to take after him, preparing me for a life as a banker, much to my dismay. I loved my father dearly. A kind, hard working man; an honorable and loving husband and father; everything I hoped that I will one day become. But I do not wish to follow in his footsteps. At this point I didn't know what I wanted to do with my life, but I knew one thing for certain. I did not want to be a banker.

I dressed quickly and tried to bring some semblance of order to my unruly hair. It was a pointless battle. The reddish-brown locks I had inherited from my mother had a mind of their own and never willingly obeyed my attempts at containing them. I walked down to my awaiting breakfast slowly, wanting desperately to not have to continue this charade of accompanying my father to work, to learn a job I had no intention of doing.

My father had not yet made his way down to the kitchen, leaving me to try and divert my eyes from my mothers all knowing gaze. It would only take her one glance into my face to know I was hiding something. My mother was very intuitive, a trait that I had inherited from her. We were both fairly descent at reading people, being able to know what their intentions truly were. However, when we turned this knack on each other, it became surreal. We knew each others emotions without having to look for a smile or a tear. There was no hiding of fears, lies or secrets. We just knew there was something, only we didn't know the details.

I sat down at the table in front of the plate my mother had fixed for me, keeping my eyes low as I pushed the eggs around with my fork. "Good morning mother," I said, trying my best to sound casual.

She turned from the stove and looked at me. I could feel her eyes on the side of my face, studying me as I concentrated on the plate before me, trying to keep my demeanor as normal as possible. I did my best to ignore her as she sat next to me, her eyes still fixed on my profile. "What's wrong Edward?" She asked, concern coating her words.

I shoved an entire egg in my mouth and garbled out an almost incoherent, "hmm?" as I raised my head towards her, while still keeping my eyes on my plate. My attempts at being nonchalant were failing; I was a horrible liar. She reached out with her left hand, gently turning my face towards hers. I kept my eyes low, chewing my food more slowly then needed.

"Edward?" She repeated. I continued to gnaw on my food, not meeting her concerned stare. She ducked her head slightly, trying to meet my gaze. "Sweetie, what is it?" I swallowed the pulverized mush that was in my mouth, but still I didn't speak. "We don't keep secrets from each other," she cooed.

"More like, can't," I grumbled.

She sighed softly and said, "What is it you want to keep secret from me?"

I shook my head and rolled my eyes, allowing mine to finally meet hers. My mother's eyes were the color of a fresh blade of grass; a vibrant Kelly green. I had been told on many occasions that I had her eyes, but this was untrue. Although mine were green as well, they were not the bright, vivacious color of hers. Mine were darker, more dull and pallid. However, I was more then willing to take the compliment; I welcomed any similarities to my mother.

I let out a heavy sigh and quietly said, "I don't want to be a banker."

She smiled a mother's smile and lightly stroked my cheek. "Is that all? Your father suspected as much," she said smiling. "He just wanted you to have options so you..."

"I'm enlisting today," I said flatly, interrupting her.

I watched her smile fade off of her face as my words found their home in her mind. Her hand slipped from my cheek and fell into her lap. A thick silence filled the space between us. Minutes passed before a sound or movement was made. Without speaking, my mother stood and went back to the stove to attend to my father's breakfast. "You're not old enough," she said with her back to me.

"I'm going to lie," I told her honestly, my eyes back to staring at my plate.

I heard her swallow loudly as her shoulders hunched slightly. I hated myself at that moment. Hated that I caused her grief and concern, but I had to do what was going to be best for me. Had to do what I wanted to do.

"You can't wait one more year until you're 18?"

"By then it will just be another excuse for me to not go," I said, turning my body so I faced her back. "I want to fight in the Great War. I want to feel like I am helping out in some way. I want to belong to something, to stand for something!" I said my voice full of conviction.

For as long as I could remember I have been awkward; a jigsaw piece that didn't belong to the puzzle. Always on the outside looking in. My family made too much money for me to be with the public school kids, yet made too little for me to belong with the private school ones. I was mediocre at everything; grades, sports and even music. My mother, a highly trained pianist, tried desperately hard to teach me to play, but my fingers lacked the grace needed to be any good at it.

Turning to face me with sadness in her eyes that I had put there, my mother pleaded, "Fine, belong to something... something other than a war!"

"Mother, the newspapers are calling it 'The war to end all wars'," I said urgently.

"As long as there are bullets for guns, there will be wars," she scoffed, turning back to the stove. "There's nothing special about this one."

I opened my mouth to protest, but the sound of my fathers approach silenced me. I would wait until I was enlisted to tell him, by then it would be too late for him to try and stop me. My father was not a domineering man, but his face was strong, chiseled and confident. Physically, I was my father, minus the confidence. I had his height, his build and his face, only with my mother's hair and eyes. Internally, I was my mother, although, she too had the confidence that I was lacking.

He turned the corner into the kitchen and I immediately noticed how pale and chalky his face was. Perspiration had gathered at his temples and he was breathing erratically. My mother turned from the stove and gasped at his appearance. For the past couple days he had been tired, almost drained of life, but today was worse, he barely looked like my father.

"Darling are you okay?" She asked frantically.

He cleared his throat and said, "I'm fine." His usually strong voice sounding very weak. "I just can't seem to shake this damn fever. I'll be fine." Swallowing loudly, he apologetically said, "I'm sorry Elizabeth, no breakfast today. My stomach doesn't feel up for it." He smiled weakly at her and then he turned his attention towards me and grimaced a smile, "We don't want to be late."

I nodded and turned to get up. I was no sooner on my feet when I heard a resounding thud behind me. My mother's scream of my father's name, my name, told me what I feared I'd find when I turned around. There, on his back on the kitchen floor, unconscious, but breathing in jagged breaths, was my father. My mother rushed to him, cradling his head in her lap. Her hands wiping away the perspiration that was gathering around his head and neck, repeatedly saying his name. Dumbstruck, I had not moved. I stared at the scene before me as though I were looking through a stranger's eyes.

"Edward! Run and get Dr. Hastings! Hurry!" She shouted at me.

I nodded quickly and bolted out the front door, hearing my mother's sobs echoing in my mind as I ran down the street.

"Oh Edward, please! Edward! No! No! Edward please no!"

End Notes:

1. I've been doing a lot of "research" on Spanish Influenza and also just little tidbits from the four books that tell the back stories. So if at any time I make a "boo boo" about a fact or nugget of knowledge, please let me know. I want to do the original story justice and not go messing it up because I wasn't paying close enough attention.
2. I know I know I know, Alice is the one with the premonitions... but they're dreams, not really premonitions. Dreams can feel very real sometimes! And the dream thing comes up later and has a bit of significance, to a certain extent.
3. I'll update soon!! Don't give up on me please!!!