hey guys I just had an idea for a story. I dont want to be an author by any means, I just write for fun. Its kind of long but just let me know what you think.

Things are not like they used to be.
The date is June 23, 2010. My Birthday. My name is Alex Shaw. I look like your average twenty-year-old guy. I am six foot three inches tall, two hundred pounds. I have dark shaggy hair and ice blue eyes. I have a lot of friends my own age, and I am usually the life of the party. No one would ever guess that I am actually seventy-six years old.
That’s right, seventy-six. “How is that possible?” you might ask. Well, I’m a vampire. That’s right, a vampire. Not the kind of vampire that most people might think of. Although I do drink blood, I am not some horrible demon of the night. I am a sophisticated creature that looks and acts exactly like a human, except for the fact that I need blood to survive and I have a few special talents.
I was born on June 23, 1934 to my parents Sandra and Mark. My father worked at a factory that assembled cars and bombers during World War II, While my mother stayed at home to take care of me. I led a pretty normal life up until the summer of 1954.
My Parents had fallen on hard times after World War II. The factory my Father had worked at was shut down after the war because of the lack of demand for automobiles. With my father out of work, my parents were not able to afford any of the recent medical vaccines for me. I developed Malaria.
My parents didn’t know what was wrong at first. The symptoms appeared gradually. First I had a loss of appetite. Whenever my mother cooked I was never hungry. Then a couple of days later I started feeling nauseous and my mother figured that it was because I had not been eating anything. About a week later, I came down with a fever of one hundred and four. That’s when my parents decided to take me to the doctor.
I was hospitalized the next day and the doctor’s ran tests for two days before they figured out what was wrong. They told me that they had caught the disease to late to save me. I was told that there was nothing they could do. They gave me another seventy-two hours to live.
I was so angry at first. I felt so helpless because there was nothing I could do but lay back and accept my fate. I was always a fighter and never quit anything in my life. I felt so horrible and couldn’t bring myself to feel sorry or pity for myself. I felt even worse for my parents. They could do nothing but sit there and watch their son die.
After a day or so of laying in the hospital bed I got up to stretch my legs. I hated hospitals, This one was no different from the rest. Everything was white and sterile. The choking smell of alcohol caught my nostrils no matter where I was in the hospital. I was so weak that I could barley stand. I nearly fell when I first got out of bed. I wobbled my way into the bathroom for a pit stop before I took my walk. I went to the bathroom as normal and was washing my hands when I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.
I looked horrible. My skin was as white as a ghost, and my eyes were so sunken that it looked as if I had no eyes at all, just two empty sockets. I had deep purple bags under the holes where my eyes used to be and I was so skinny, I could not have weighed any more than a hundred pounds!
As stood watching the ghost of my former self in the mirror, I decided that I did not want anyone to see me like this. I went back to my bed and just laid there for a couple of hours. I couldn’t sleep so I decided to read some of my favorite book, “All Quiet on the Western Front” by Erich Maria Remarque. The book tells of a German soldier’s experiences in World War I and the extreme detachment from civilian life he felt after returning home from the front.
I was just starting chapter five when I was finally starting to doze off to sleep. As my eyes were closing on one of the last nights of sleep I might actually wake up from, I heard a shuffling coming from the hallway. I thought nothing of it and began to drift back off to sleep. Then I heard a click and saw the door knob begin to turn slowly.
I looked up at the clock, 2AM. “Who would be coming in at this time of night?” I said to myself.
The door swung open and all I could see was a dark silhouette against the bright lights of the hallway. The smell hit me immediately. It was an odd smell, it reminded me of the smell of rust. It was strong and coppery; I almost gagged as the scent reached my throat.
The silhouette began to shuffle forward. I didn’t know what to do, do I call for help, or do I just pretend to be asleep and wait to see what this stranger wants? As the dark shape got closer, I decided to watch and wait to see what this person wanted. As the figure reached my bed, I saw a ghostly white hand with long, dark, pointed fingernails reach forward and flick on my bedside light. That was the fi