“Hello John, how are you today?” I was feeling great, except for one thing. That one thing would be my tutor who comes to my house every Tuesday. And guess what? Today is Tuesday. I replied his question with the most defiant face I could pull off. “Fine, fine.” He said. “If you really despise me that much, I should get out of your life. Now I would love to do that, but your grades are horrible! You’re in tenth grade, and you’re getting three Fs!” “Nevertheless,” I said, “you still are the reason my Tuesdays are the worst day of the week.” “On that note, we should get started.” Anything, even working, to get him away from me sooner.

Three tedious hours later, my tutor said that we should wrap things up. Closing my textbooks, I stared at him with complete and utter contempt. “Previously,” he stated, “I had told you that I should get out of your life, right?” “Right.” “The what do you think that we should do to celebrate it?” “I think that we need something along the lines of a party or a ceremony for this momentous occasion.” “I was talking sarcastically, but a party sounds nice.” “He was kidding? My god he his such a jerk sometimes.” I thought. As he was packing up to leave, I decided to be a rude dude. “Once you’re gone, where will you go to p*ss off other people?” “Maybe I’ll go to your dad’s house to find evidence that you were a mistake.” And with that, he left. Now do you see why I hate him? This has been happening for the past three months of school. He comes over an hour after school gets out, then we work for a few hours. After we’re done, he comments on my clothing, b****rd childhood, or puts down my family. It gets old, but I’m used to it. That is one of the main reasons why I resent him.

The next week, he came over late. Not that I disliked it, but it was pretty unusual. “Why are you here an hour late?” I said. “Because your mom wanted me to tell you about your life.” He replied. I almost snapped when that happened. “Let’s just get started already.” After about an hour, he said that it was a good time to take a break. He never gave me breaks in all of the time he has been here. “Are you okay?” I innocently asked. “No but did you notice anything this whole time?” he asked me back. After thinking about what he could mean, I asked him what he meant. I know now that I should have run away as fast as possible. Unfortunately, I did not know about the true form of those with black blood. “Did you know that I am infected?” He asked. Before I had time to answer, he too out a switchblade and he slashed himself. “Black blood? What the…” he was on me in seconds. Ripping off his face, a gruesome figure stood before me. Three vertically inclined red eyes, and a mouth that opened four ways in a form of an X. He screamed a bloodthirsty screech, and my ears were bleeding from the high frequency. He spat a weird liquid on me, and that’s when the change happened. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak. I lost control of myself. The immortal effect took its place.

Then nothing.