Life Bites.

Chapter 1
Sunlight filtered into the room through a chink in the black curtains that shielded the window. It made all the dirty clothes on the floor, the dishes piled on the desk, and the messy bed quite visible, and also woke up the occupant of the room. The figure groaned softly, slapping blindly at the curtains to try to stop the wretched light coming through. He kept feeling, getting more frustrated as his skin began to sizzle. With one last growl of defeat, he rolled up in bed and out of the path of the sun. He stretched gently, then padded over to the window to close those traitorous curtains of his.

Heaving a huge sigh after the deed was done, he looked around the room in disdain. "I have REALLY got to clean this place." He muttered. Yawning, the teen walked over to a bedside lamp, almost hidden within the piles of stuff that called the dresser home. He flipped it on, the light putting the room in full view. Posters adorned the wall, boasting names of the pictured people. He smiled at them, reading them softly. "Mistress black. Vlad the red. Craden the destroyer."

John chuckled, looking away from the posters to his bed. The four poster was a mess. A sad, sad mess. The sheets were crumpled on the floor, the pillows were at the foot, and the mattress desperately needed a washing *'note to self, clean bedroom'* he yawned again, his fangs gleaming in the light of the lamp. Bending down, he started sorting through the pile of clothes on his floor, finally finding suitable outfit. He slipped on a plain black tee, and some black jeans, before heading to his bathroom.

The washroom was in a worse state. The mirror was a mess, the Toilet...well.... he shuddered at the sight and walked to the sink. Toothpaste splatters covered the marble surface, and the sink looked like it was a breeding ground for germs. He ran the water, watching the grime wash down the drain. He brought his hands down to the faucet, splashing the cool water on his face. As the last bits of sleep evaporated, John examined his reflection. His black hair was its usual shaggy mess, and it draped down to cover one eye. His eyes were as gold as ever, and his face was as white and gleaming as it had always been.

Sighing, he dried his face with a hand towel, before throwing the cloth on the counter when he was done. John hurried to his bedside, digging through a pile of clothes to uncover his backpack. The poor thing had seen better days. The grey fabric was ripped and torn, and one sad strap still hung on by a jungle of strings, as if to say 'it's not over yet!' He scooped it up with one hand and slung it over his shoulder. "Here we go again. God...I dont ask much..but..please..of maybe the school could be washed away by a flood or something?" He didnt hold out hope.