Gryff's Journal

by **Wolfgang** Sun May 17, 2015 8:39 pm

"If looks could kill, I'd be a mass murderer."

Day One, Halloween two years ago
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My name is Seneca.
My parents were hunters.
It's been five years since they died.
It's been a year since I was bitten.
It's been a year since I lost her.
Today's my birthday, October 31st. Some guy my age walked into the camp we made back when she and I were happy, barely breathing. He was sick, but not with my disease. I had to bite him in order to save him, and now he's asleep trying to recover from the shock of a random man biting him. I can hear his breathing relax as he heals, and when he wakes up I'm going to have to train the whelp. I don't mind, however. It could help me heal from my own wounds. I just hope he doesn't ask questions. He asked for my name before he passed out. I told him Gryff, an old childhood code name. I decided to use that name the rest of my life, forgetting everything that involves my past. I wonder what my old friends are doing. In all honesty, I miss their wolf-hating asses.

I've been drinking a lot more rather than smoking, and it's not really a nice change. When I drink I'm just digging a bigger hole into my destruction, whereas drugs take it away for a time. I'm drinking strait from the bottle right now, and my head's fuzzy. I can't remember why I'm in pain, but I know I am. The pain is still there, and it always will be. There aren't just physical scars, there are some in your memory as well. I keep getting flashbacks, not of the LSD but of her. She's everywhere in my mind, even after a year. I feel as if my entire head is going to burst if I gather another bit of information, and I'm slowly breathing. The harder I try to breathe, the more breath I lose. These slow breaths are not as calming as you think. No, they're painful. You feel trapped, forced to hold your breath in and use it as much as you could, which results in the dizziness from lack of oxygen. Then, you feel as if you're passed out, staring at blackness and wondering if you're alive or not, the suspense unbearable. I can't even say her name without feeling that Euphoric sense of drowning.
The man is waking up, and he calls himself Elijah. I must go.

My name is "Gryff" Chrysaor, and my heart is the worst kind of weapon.

- WIP -