I recognized him immediately. You know, the guy I always talk about, the one that plays the main part in my nightmares? It was him. I could feel the tears build up in my eyes at the first, brief sight.

Whose life was he going to ruin this time?

I had stopped up the natural flow in the hall. Lots of people, far too interested in their own conversations to notice me, walked right into my back. I was too fixated with the campus outside the window to make a shuttered 'sorry' leave my mouth.

My friends hadn't noticed my sudden stop; I could see them a few meters in front of me. Or maybe they did notice, but simply didn't care about it. Maybe it was all for the best. They didn't even know about my nightmares. I don't trust them enough at the moment. I probably never will. Those fake, lying Barbie bitches wouldn't care about anything else than their flawless teenage dream. I was starting to doubt myself, why was I even talking to them? Had my self-esteem finally killed itself?

My eyes swept across the corridor. The hall was almost empty now – two guys stood in the corner checking out some note on a bulletin board. Therefore, pretending I was interested in the birds playing in the sky, I approached the window. The guy in the military jacket and the skintight, black jeans was standing under an elm. Staring at… Me?

No. This couldn't happen. Not to me. Not again. No.

Without thinking of it, I let the tears seek their way down my cheeks as my hands were trying to break the windowsill. The water that left my eyes created interesting pattern when they landed on the marble, which constituted the floor in the, now, empty hallway.

A naive thought rushed through my head. He never marked the students when they had lessons. Therefore, I ran off to my math class, just as the bell rang.

Equations and algebra, nothing really got stuck. There was nothing else I could concentrate at, besides how the hell I would get out without the vampyre tracker stopping me.

I destroyed my lips, trying to bite into them instead of screaming and crying. Maybe crawl up on the floor. They all seemed tempting.

Nell, one of the plastic creatures that left me crying in the hall, gave me a weird look. Oh yeah. I forgot I probably looked like a raccoon with out-cried make-up. Damn it. As if this day could get any worse. I'd become a vampyre die. I was going to die. Someone in this damn society was going to shoot me, or I wasn't going to complete the change. I'm just sure I won't survive this shit, that's suddenly has become my life. Is it possible for a reality to fall apart in two minutes?

Nell raised her eyebrows, trying to make me explain. Should I use sign language, shout it at her, pass her a note? I'm not even sure that would help. She should realize what's wrong. How do you miss a dead guy at campus?

I shook my head, and lowered my gaze, trying to concentrate at numbers and letters in my book. They had started bleeding ink over my page. I hadn't realized I was crying again.

What. Is. Wrong. With. Me? I wanted to hit my head in the desk at every syllable.

Memories. Pictures. Words. Things I wanted to forget shyly rattled, in some kind of question. Is it okay to be remembered again?

I stood up, but my head was blank. Forgetting the nice excuse I was going to trick Mrs Barett, my math teacher, with. Everyone was staring at me, including her over the golden spectacle frames she always wore.

"I… I need to go to the bathroom"

The first excuse that popped into my head.

Mrs Barett gave me a confused look, but slightly nodded. As I half ran, half walked out, she told my classmates, with her well-known, croaking voice to continue their calculations.

My first thought was my locker. My steps echoed through the halls' floors.

Do not find me. Do not find me. Do not find me. Do not find me. Do not find me.

I took my dull colored bag and my old, black jacket out of there. A picture I once taped up on the inside slid down in my bag too.

I didn't even care about closing my locker. My feet just made my sneakers scurry through the hall.

I actually though I had a shot when I stood in the main entrance. I really did. But, of course, I was wrong. Once again. I was three steps outside at the campus when my eyes met his. I had almost run into him.

"Gemma Brown. Your death shall be your birth. The night has chosen you, and it's calling for you. Listen to her delightful voice. Your destiny is waiting for you, at the House of Night."

Then things happened fast, but more importantly, at the same time;

His voice echoed over the school. I could hear students' feet chattering down the halls and the stairs. They want to know who's going to die this time.

Mrs Barett, my human mentor, squeaked a little, horrified "Gemma!" as she get out at the campus.

And also, and the winner of my concern, was that he shot me in the head with his finger.

Someone suddenly killed every light source and my knees gave in beneath me.

Suddenly blinded I fell to the ground.