Stefan Salvatore took his time walking down the busy streets of New York, his hands buried deep within his coat pockets as the sound of Model-T horns and hungry shouts filled the morning. Sighing heavily, he concentrated solely on the way his breath created a white puff of smoke as he exhaled, the only indication that he was still somewhat human. Somewhat.

He was human, exteriorly. But beyond the simple facade of a handsome, young man, he was far more than a mere teenager. He was a monster, physically capable of things that no man should have been.
He was a killer, a vampire. And because of what he was, he hated himself.

As men and women rushed by him, he held his breath. Every touch brought a pulse, a simple, sweet sign of life, a sign of the blood rushing beneath the surface of their paper-thin skin. He wanted it more than anything; his fangs extended and ached with desire every time he even considered sinking his fangs into a smooth, pale neck and drinking the sweet potion that took one life away and fueled his own.

It had been two years since he had a taste of human blood, two years and twenty-seven days. Seven hundred and fifty-five agonizingly slow days that seemed to intensify his blood lust by every waking minute.

Lexi promised it would get better. He believed her. So, for now, despite the pain it brought him, he continued to walk, ignoring the pleas he constantly got from random strangers on the streets who wanted food or a place to stay.

It was 1932, and the Depression was having its way with everyone. Including him, but money wasn't his problem.

So, he strutted through the streets, until he turned onto a more isolated road, until he stopped dead in his tracks. Without warning, the intoxicating scent of human blood filled his senses in the icy street, making him freeze. Its sweet and alluring aroma instantly overwhelmed him, clouding his judgement. How long had it been since he'd tasted human blood again? Obviously far too many...

His fists clenched and his body tensed up. He could feel the blood rushing through his body, the veins forming, the aching canines extending through his pulsing gums.

"Help!" a woman shouted desperately from a few hundred feet away. His fingers twitched nervously in anticipation for a hunt, a kill... the desire for blood was dangerously strong. He needed it, just a taste...

Slowly, he approached the sound of her voice, his gaze falling on a girl whose leg had been stuck in a fence. Blood gushed from her wound, and her dark hair fell over her face in a tangled mess. She struggled against the rusty metal. "Someone help me!"

Just as he was about to take another step closer, he caught himself. He couldn't do this, he couldn't give in. Not today, after so much hard work, he realized. So, instead, he stepped back, his body feeling as if it were about to burst with burning hunger. "You need to stop moving your leg. You'll only make it worse," he rasped out. He knew he should have left, but for some odd reason, his heavy conscious wouldn't allow him to turn his back on someone in need.

Just then, the woman turned her head to look at him, her chocolate hair thrashing behind her as she did so. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw her face.

He recognized her. She looked exactly like Katherine, his maker.

AN: So this idea just popped into my head and I had to write it. I didn't have a lot of time, so sorry for lack of detail, LOL! I just wanted to get it down before I totally forgot it! :) What did you think? Good, bad? :L

Please review with your opinion! Should I continue?

Thanks! Xoxo

-Sara