Dies Irae

Name: Mercy

There are a lot of things you could know about me. Most of those things are irrelevant, and yet your simple mind really can’t differentiate in between what to believe and what not to believe. So I guess I’ll just have to do it for you.
My name is Mercy, yet it is ironic because mercy is the last thing I’ll give. I was given as a baby to a circus in Russia, more so picked up by a circus in Russia. So yes, I have an accent; no,  I am not “normal”. But this is something you will get used to. Now though, fourteen years later some person adopted me and took me to America.
Oh what a joy.
Supposedly I’m in 9th grade. Whatever that means. Now this person who adopted me should really know that I have zero effort for school.
“Just great,” I walked up to the school that had been picked out for me.
By force.
“Let’s see how this goes,” My accent decided to stand out across the frozen air.
I had no idea what to expect. This place was huge, but somehow I knew where everything was. Even if it was my first time here. My first time in a school to be exact.
“Hi!” A girl came up to me.
“Hello,” My accent freaked her out.
“I’m sorry, wrong person,” She quickly diverted away, even though I knew she had been meaning to talk to me.
“Russian freak much?” Some boys laughed, ramming me against lockers, making sure to crush me somewhat.
Although I could’ve handled the ramming, the comment wasn’t appreciated. I loved being Russian. And yes, I looked different. But what’s wrong with that?
“Oh great, another troublemaker..” Three teachers walked by, loudly whispering this comment.
I instantly knew it was about me.
I can tell these things.
“Ew, goth much?” Some girl commented, looking me over.
“Prissy much?” I mimicked.
“Meanie!” She yelled like a five year old.
“What’s that, Freak?” Some kid came up behind me, poking at the scar I hid with my hair.
“I have a name.” I put my hand on the back of my neck, hiding the ‘F’ that had been branded onto me.
“Is it Freak?” A couple other people ganged up around me.
“It’s Mercy..” I mumbled, feeling like an animal in a zoo. Which I guess I should be used to.
They looked at each other, unsure of what I said.
“That’s a weird name.” A girl shrugged. “Freak fits you better.”
“Stop bullying them,” A teacher pulled me away from the group.
“But I wasn’t--” I protested.
“She was so bullying us,” A couple of them said.
“Enough of this.” The teacher grunted.
Now I realized this teacher was one of the three who thought I was a troublemaker.
“If I hear you bullied anyone else, you’re going to the principle.” She looked at me seriously.
“Okay..” I didn’t protest anymore.
She let me go and walked away.
“Haha, Freak.” One of the taller boys grabbed me by the shoulders and threw me at the lockers.
This time I hit my head. As I held my hand to where I hit my head I sunk to the floor.
“Aw, someone give up on the hazing already?” A few of them taunted.
I tried to breathe deeply. For the entire summer I had been in anger management for this reason.
“She’s not moving,” One of them whispered.
“Some one's feelings are hurt,” One of them laughed sickly, kicking me.
Quickly I realized that I had started crying, my side stinging from where they had kicked me.
“What’s that on the ground?” Another one asked, fright in his voice.
Something else about me, no, I am not normal. One reason is that when I cry, I cry blood. So yes, a red, metallic liquid that tasted like rust ran down my cheeks.
“Is that blood?” The kid who had kicked me asked.
A heavy silence spread for a few seconds. Now I couldn’t contain it though; no one else was in the hallway but us. Slowly and calmly I rose, my head down.
“What’s..” One of them asked.
In one quick move I held him by his neck, everyone else froze. Only a little I rose my head, just enough so they all could see my eyes. With my free hand I snapped, their eyes turned glazed, frozen.
“Checkmate.” I smirked as I bit down into the first one’s neck.
And reason number two I’m not normal? I’m a vampire.
“Hm.. I really should control that..” I wiped my mouth, looking at the blank corpses at my feet. “Well, that’ll teach you for next time.”
Quickly I stepped over the several bodies, taking one last glance at their swollen necks.
“I wonder who they’ll blame,” I laughed, feeling the point of my right fang.
Someone came up to the scene of the crime, a feared shriek was all I needed.
“Oh my god!” Was yelled over and over as I walked away, heading to a class that was supposed to teach me art.
How can I learn anything else about art after I interned for Leonardo Da Vinci?
“What’s your name?” A short brown haired woman asked when I walked into the room.
“People have been taking a liking to Freak, but it’s Mercy” I shrugged, pulling the purple skirt of my knee-length dress down to cover the awkward gap in between the purple and pink striped stockings and the black shorts I had on.
“Why are you late then, Mercy?” She asked.
“I’m new. I had trouble finding my locker. Then there was a situation I needed to deal with.” I smirked as I fixed the long fitted sleeves.
“Whatever.” It was apparent she was new too, and by the paint smudges on her face it was apparent how into art she was.
“I promise to never be this late again,” I shrugged, pulling my hair up into a ponytail with the purple ribbon I had in my hair.
“Well.. That’s appreciated,” She shrugged, flipping through some papers on her desk. The phone rang and she went to pick it up.
“What’s the ‘F’ on your neck stand for?” A girl next to me asked curiously, not in a mean and mocking way. In a truly curious way.
“Freak..” I swallowed, trying to figure this girl out.
“Why?” She got up and traced the burned letter.
“I was.. In a circus..” Something about her was just so.. Open?
“That’s horrible!” She looked so shocked, “The circus sounds cool, but if it means getting burned..” She shook her head disapprovingly.
“You’re fun,” I laughed, unable to decipher what made her so.. Different..
“Thank you! I try,” She looked happy at my comment. “Oh! I’m Bec” She grinned.
“I’m Mercy..” Bec really fit her, since she was kinda country.
“It’s great to meet you Mercy! Are you from Russia? It sounds like you’re from Russia,” She threw all of these things at me.
“I’m from Russia.” I nodded, unable to keep up with her.
“That’s awesome!” She exclaimed.
“I.. I guess,” I fixed the cuff of my sleeve.
“I’m just from Seattle, but my brother had us move here, at first it was just in Los Angeles. Then he moved us to San Fransisco.” She told me, even if I didn’ care.
“That sounds entertaining.” I shrugged, not really knowing about the difference to her.
“It was,” She laughed. “But I liked Los Angeles a lot more than San Fransisco, but don’t get me wrong, you’re pretty fun.” She made sure to get her point across, hoping my feelings hadn’t been hurt.
“Oh my god..” The art teacher started freaking out.
“What?” A suck up student asked.
“Close the door, shut the windows.” She repeated, over and over, locking the door.
“Why?” The same student asked instead of taking action.
“Go!” She pointed at one set of windows, running to the other.
“What’s happening?” A few other students asked.
“Stay calm, students.” She shut the blinds, draping the room in a dark confused haze.
“What happened?!” A few started panicking.
“Just stay calm,” She felt her way back up to the front of the room, adjusting to the dark.
“Five students died,” I crossed my arms, just stating it.
“How did you know?” She looked at me, eyes wide.
“I’m pretty good at hearing things, no matter how quiet.” I blinked innocently, it wasn’t a lie. I could hear things, ranging from a dog whistle to a plant growing. There were many things I could hear.
“Just stay calm, students.” She repeated.
“That’s not very calming.” I smirked, sitting on the table.
“Shut up okay?” She looked at me, uncomfortable with how easy I was taking it.
“Well, just to let you know. The killer won’t be making anymore moves for now.” I picked at my permanently silver nails, something I was able to choose to do as a vampire.
“How do you--” God she was getting irritating. Quickly I snapped, making her eyes glazed and still.
“Now go to your desk. And stop being irritating.” I rolled my eyes as the teacher mindlessly made her way back to her desk.
“Woah...” Bec looked at me, “How’d you do that?”
“Just manipulation,” I smirked. “A little mind trick.” I dumbed it down for her.
“Cool!” She exclaimed, not getting it.
“Sure it is.” I slouched back in my seat, putting my feet up on the table.
That class was horrid. Too long and too boring. Bec, although overpowering in cheeriness and having a cute human personality, she was quite irritating. Just because I sat next to her it meant that I got to listen to her life story. Her charming little stories weren’t anything I cared to hear about, I was able to tune her out without difficulty. But with the little incident that had occurred earlier that morning, we were being shipped home for safety purposes.
“What happened?” Sid, the guy who adopted me asked.
“Some kids died.” I kept it as blank as I could.
“Oh jeez, really? Mercy, what did you do?” He pulled out of the parking lot. “We had you go through those classes...”
“Nothing will stop it. Truth be told they were asking for it.” I shrugged, crossing my legs.
“You can’t just kill people left and right because they were ‘Asking for it’. I know you don’t want to go to school and that you’re not used to it, but you have to.” He rubbed his temple.
“Whatever..” I looked out the window, not entertained with this conversation.
“You need to give it a try. And you need to give not killing people a try.” He pulled into the driveway of our home.
“Sounds boring,” I fixed the buckle on my shoes, something Sid didn’t approve of since they were heels.
“You can’t kill people, Mercy.” He parked the car and looked at me.
“I can’t promise anything,” I shrugged.
“No more. You need to promise,” He looked at me, completely serious.
“You know I need to kill people to live, right?” I crossed my arms.
“Why do you have to be such a difficult child?” He asked.
“Why do you have to be such a difficult adult?” I mocked.
“I’m sorry Mercy but you need to adjust.” He pulled the keys out of the ignition.
“So do you Sid.” I opened my door and got out.
On one of the days when we first started living together he explained some things to me. At the age of 26 he still acts like a kid, when he was 24 he had gotten married. Just two months after they were married, his new bride died in a car accident. And technically they had started the adoption process before they were married.
If anything I kept him together, I made sure he kept getting off his computer and that he’d keep taking breaks from work. He mostly wore jeans and white tees, he had brown hair and green eyes. It was unique and it matched his personality. He was like an older brother.
“Did you make any friends?” He abandoned the past conversation by the time he joined me in the dining room.
“I should ask you the same thing,” I rolled my eyes, pulling out a thick purple journal.
“Just answer the question,” He sighed.
“Well, there’s this girl who thinks I’m a diary.” I thought of the best way to describe Bec.
“I qualify that as a friend,” He put his hands up, not going to fight anything.
“But I don’t like her back,” I shrugged, finding a pen.
“Don’t be stubborn.” He pushed me lightly.
“You should take that advice yourself,” I nodded, this was a daily thing we did.
“Oh shut up,” He picked me up, something that A) Was easy for him to do, and B) Something I hated.
“Put me down!” I struggled.
“Stop being a nerd then,” He smirked.
“I have zero problem with biting you,” I threatened.
“No biting,” He put me down.
“I have no problem with it,” I shrugged, feeling the point of my right fang.
“You promised that you wouldn’t bite me.” He pointed out, something that I clearly remember doing.
I had promised that the moment he found out.
“Yeah yeah,” I crossed my arms.
The memory reel of when I carelessly walked through the house flossing; how perfectly Sid came out at the exact moment that I was perfectly showing my fangs.