Story based on picture of a body lying on the floor

I had always felt it. That feeling of being slightly off. It became a reality. It took some getting used to, but, I think I fitted in quite well when I put my mind to it.

I walked into the house. It was empty. The heat of the room became so oppressive that I breathed a sigh of relief when I slipped my feet out of my shoes and touched down on the ice cold floor. Bliss.

I don't know why I was surprised the place was empty. It always felt like it, even when inhabited, there was nothing captured in this frame. No warmth, no love and certainly no laughter.

I crept into the back room, relishing the opportunity to be alone with my thoughts. There would be a price to pay for not joining them, surely. You can't avoid your nature, no matter how hard you try.

They were my family now. My real family were long gone. I remembered them with what little heart I had left. It became more of an effort as time went on to keep the flame of emotion within me.

My stomach growled and i felt weak. I stretched out on the cold marble floor, pressing every inch of my body onto it, wanting to feel something other than being alone.

I must have dozed, as I was woken with a start by the sound of the door creaking. Feeling the tension crackle in the air I tried to compose myself without showing submission. They sensed me and entered the room. As I glanced at their faces those brave thoughts left me and I begged for their forgiveness.

It seemed like hours before he stepped up towards me and spoke, 'You are young and impetuous'. I stifled a nervous laugh, the older they were, the more flowery the language. i did not associate myself with them; the slightly stuffy exterior, the cold heart. I didn't want to be like them. I would rather burn.

'I know your thoughts', he said. 'You must feed, if you want to live'. Complimenting their language for once I answered in kind. 'I do not live', I said. 'I fear I must die. Properly this time'.