DAYBREAK

Chapter 1: Glimpse; the First

On this day, a bleak and dreary April the 6th, my generally unclouded quintessence was momentarily thrown into a convoluted fickle when I swiftly entered my local coffee shop. I was instantaneously given the indulgence of discovering that the cashier was fresh, that he was of the male species, and that he was exceedingly good-looking. Before I could even attempt to approach the counter in the graceful manner in which I always carried myself, I had to momentarily place my hand against my chest to feel my heartbeat, which was increasingly quickening with every heavy exhale that escaped my moist, parted lips; I had to make sure I was still alive, that I was still breathing and that this implausibly beautiful man wasn’t an elaborate fantasy I had cooked up in my girlish, adolescent mentality in order to appease my crippling loneliness, more so my lack of gentleman company. As I observed the impossibly attractive man hand the first woman in line the espresso she had ordered just moments prior to my arrival, I tried to compose myself so that I could continue to approach the counter and order my usual chai latte.

This was a simple task that one such as myself could easily achieve, for I, Bonita Goosefeather, happen to be utterly perfect in every imaginable aspect. I have a slender, perfectly sculpted body which I always carried in a humble manner, long and shapely legs and smooth, alabaster skin. My long, chestnut brown tresses were pulled back into an elegant ponytail which draped faultlessly over my left shoulder; I was clad in a pair of skin-tight, light-wash denim jeans which accentuated my beautiful, luscious curves and my flawless backside and a low-cut white halter top, adorned with lace which revealed the cleavage of my ample, milky-white breasts. My complexion was clear and unblemished as an infant’s bottom and my full, heart-shaped lips were naturally sported into a sexy, irresistible pout. Bluntly put, I was a knock-out and the poor, beautiful bloke more than likely did not possess the will-power to resist a generous splendor such as myself.

However, whilst in the process of approaching the counter, I manage to slip on a seemingly suspicious and conveniently placed banana peel. A short, shocked gasp escaped my perfect pout as I plummeted, in a surprisingly theatrical yet charming manner, to the dirt-stained tile of the coffee-shop floor.

Damn you, foul irony. Why must you mock me in such a manner?

As I momentarily lay, splayed across the floor in a style quite similar to that of a humiliated Sleeping Beauty, I decided that it would be in my best interests to attempt whatever possible to magnetize as much attention achievable from bystanders, as well as the handsome prince behind the counter.

“Heavens!” I gasped, loudly and dramatically, “I have fallen! Curse these unusually elongated, yet sexually appealing jailbait legs of mine! This is the fifth time today that they have forsaken me and caused me to tumble mercilessly to the floor! Curse them, I say!”

Mere milliseconds after I had uttered the last of my curses, every male customer in the store immediately launched towards me in order to lend me whatever aid I desired. Shouts of, “Good Lord! Are you alright?!” and “My God! I hope she isn’t hurt!” as well as “Bitches are so hot when they’re clumsy,” were audible and came from every direction.

Yet, I remained on the floor motionless while the sea of men stared at me with panic, as well as an evident amount of desire in their eyes. While several of my hopeful saviors were considerably attractive, I was interested only in the fantastically gorgeous man behind the counter. Fortune befell upon me for the umpteenth time that day, for out of the corner of my eye, I caught my man-to-be swinging his legs heroically over the counter, hopping clean over it and running towards me. I could say that perhaps it was merely my imagination, but the moments in which it took for the delicious specimen of man to reach me, his soon-to-be, beautiful mistress, seemed to move in slow motion so that in that short, span of what I imagine must have been only three seconds could last as long as I desired just so that I could marvel over his impossible, dazzling beauty.

Perhaps, I considered, dreamily, God is smiling upon me today.

As he stood over me, I felt as though the normally delicate beating of my fragile, love-sick heart had stopped altogether as I stared up to marvel over the young man. Never in my most atypical of fantasies could I have imagined a man could look so perfect, so beautiful, and so God-like; he was possibly even more gorgeous up close. His dark brown hair fell casually past his chin; the brown, lustrous locks swept over his forehead in a manner which seemed casual, yet perhaps deliberate. His skin, like mine, was smooth and perfect in every way, he had no evident blemishes or rough spots from what I could catch glimpse of. His complexion was of a darker shade than mine and gave the impression that he was of Latin, or perhaps Italian heritage. His eyes held irises of deep, dark chocolate; rich and creamy and couldn’t be described as anything less than brilliant; he could hold my gaze for hours. His chin was perfectly sculpted with high cheekbones which held no traces of stubble; his lips were perfect, not thin, nor too plump and they held an evident amount of moisture. The white polo shirt he wore underneath the green uniform all the employees were required to wear was short sleeved so that I could get a look at his wonderfully formed arms. He was slender, but obviously worked out and the slim muscle of his biceps made this fact wholly obvious; the buttons of his shirt were open so that I could easily get a glimpse of his chest, which was just as implausibly perfect and toned as the rest of his divine body. I could smell his cologne; it mixed with the scent of his aftershave in a manner which was pleasant and not overwhelming.

“Hey,” he spoke in a velvety-smooth tone, the exact tone I would expect a man of such beauty to possess, “Are you alright?”

It was at this moment that it became very apparent to me that this absolute God of a man and I were meant to be together, and that we would be together for eternity. My chest heaved with longing for him and I suddenly became aware that I would soon need this man like I needed air. Without him, I would die. I would simply cease to exist.

He was now my life, my everything. And I didn’t even know his name.

“Yes,” I breathed shakily, even though I felt as though the earth might shatter under my perfect figure at any second due to the shock of this excruciatingly striking man, “I am now, at least.”

“I am so incredibly glad,” he replied with an exceptionally sexy smirk, moving inexplicably closer to me, causing my chest to clench nervously. I caught a whiff of his breath; it was delicious, minty and fresh as though he had just devoured several tins of Altoid mints; my mouth watered, “My name is Edwin Labyrinth, I am fifteen years old; my last name was given to me by my own self as reference to my reluctance to be understood by others, and their mutual difficulty in understanding their own selves.”

“That’s fascinating,” I murmured, still completely overwhelmed by his perfection, “My name is Bonita. Bonita Goosefeather; I am thirteen years old.”

“Well, Bonita Goosefeather, it is an absolute pleasure to meet you,” he smiled warmly, though his smile disappeared almost immediately, his lips curling downwards so that he wore an immediate look of hesitation, as well as disappointment.

My eyes widened, I was suddenly tearful. Had I done something wrong? How in God’s name was I supposed to live with myself if I had somehow thwarted him?

“What’s the matter?” I inquired, nervously.

“I think I’m in love with you,” he revealed slowly, looking away.

My heart soared in my chest, "W-what?!” I gasped. To be honest, I wasn't surprised to hear this at all. Logically, it would make perfect sense for any man to fall head over heels in love with me upon first viewing. And vise-versa regarding my feelings toward him.

“I am so sorry, Bonita,” he apologized.

“Sorry?” I cried, shocked, “I’m thrilled that you love me! I love you too, Edwin,” I laughed, “What could you possibly be sorry for?”

“I have a secret,” he elaborated, his tone reverting to a darker, mysterious manner that made my stomach coil with heated desire for him, “A very, deep dark secret, and I don’t think you’re going to like it.”

I was suddenly frightened; what could he possibly tell me that could upset me so? Yet, I pressed him anyway.

“What is your secret, Edwin?” I whispered, placing my hand on his perfectly sculpted chest in a soft, gentle approach, “I promise I won’t be angry with you.”

“Well,” he began reluctantly, “I am...a vampire.”

I could have sworn my heart had completely stopped this time; my lips worked in vain to form the millions of words which were coming to mind at an alarming speed, but could not seem to process through my gaping mouth.

“You’re a...what?” I finally managed to choke out.

“A vampire,” he elucidated sadly, “I knew I should not have revealed this to you so soon, now you will leave and never return to me, correct?”

Tears formed in the corners of my eyes; my heart ached for him, for his momentary sadness, “I will never leave you, Edwin,” I declared.

He looked back at me, shocked, “You won’t? You’re okay with my being one of the undead?” he gasped.

“I am,” I replied, preparing to reveal a rather shocking detail about myself, one which I have revealed to very few, “It does not matter that you are a vampire, for I am one of the undead myself. I am a zombie, Edwin.”