Totally Twilight: MY Fan Fiction Take 2!

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One of the most enjoyable parts of the Twilight culture for me has been Fan Fiction. A huge number of fan fiction stories have been written in the Twilight world. On Fanfiction.net, probably the largest fan fiction website, there are almost 9,000 Twilight stories. Only Harry Potter has more.  As you'd expect, the quality ranges from truly awful to arguably better than the original. A few stories mesh so well with the books that I forget to separate them from Stephenie's work.

Recommended Fan-Fiction

Of all the canon fan fiction I've read, the best written stories (more novels than stories) are by Elise Shaw. She's written No Longer Alone, a story of Carlisle and Esme's love and A Coming of Age (unfortunately indefinitely unfinished) about Edward's time away from Carlisle and Esme. She took her stories of FanFiction.net because of some jerks who were leaving harassing comments and started her own blog. I wish she would finish A Coming of Age, but I'm starting to think that will never happen. So sad.

My Fan-Fiction

I like writing short stories of Twilight fan-fiction. Everything I write is canon based. It helps further my Twilight obsession and I figure that it also helps develop my writing skills. See what you think!

Feel Nothing...Feel Everything

*This story centers on Jasper during his time with Peter and Charlotte before he met Alice. Note that he is a regular vampire during this time and the story is about a hunt. Beware that it is rather violent, including the death of children.

*Of course, Stephenie Meyer is the queen of all Twilight material. I only drool at the master's feet.

1944, Jasper's POV

Nothing.

I wanted to see nothing, smell nothing, hear nothing, feel nothing, be nothing. I burrowed my body into the ground, molding the damp, clay-like soil into a cocoon. I breathed deeply, not caring that flecks of dirt flew into my nostrils. All I could smell was the earth: a mixture of water, moss, rotting leaves, and pine needles. A palate cleanser for the myriad of scents that normally overwhelmed the air. My ears were framed by dirt walls, slightly dimming the forest sounds above me. My arms were stretched out in front of me, my hands touching the hard wood of a long tree root. I did everything I could to shut the world out.

But I could not feel nothing. I willed myself to be calm, lethargic. The power I had to change the emotions of others, as usual, failed to influence my own feelings. Conversely, dampening my physical senses only seemed to enhance the emotional senses. Memories flashed through my head unceasingly. A variation on an oft-repeated theme. The memories were worse, because the event which precipitated them occurred so recently - just ten minutes ago.

Peter, Charlotte, and I were walking through the forest when we heard a car thumping down the road and then stopping about a mile east of us. We came to a dead stop as the sound of five heartbeats temptingly pumped in our ears.

"Sounds like a flat tire," Peter grinned, excitement coursing through him. "Shall we go offer our assistance? I'm starving."

"You are not, silly," Charlotte chided, swatting him playfully on the shoulder. "We just fed yesterday."

Peter shrugged. "Perhaps I'm exaggerating a bit. But you know what they say...never look a gift horse in the mouth. And we haven't had the opportunity to go driving in weeks! Are you game, Jasper?"

I nodded enthusiastically. More venom poured into my mouth with every watery thump of the humans' hearts. Even though I felt fine a few minutes before, fire was starting to rake at my throat. The feelings of thirst and anticipation radiating from Peter and Charlotte only intensified my own longing.

We ran to the edge of the trees in seconds, slowing to a human-speed jaunt as we exited the forest. We approached the humans from behind. It was nearly dark outside, so we would have a few minutes before they noticed our eyes, unless they shined a light directly on our faces.

"Do you folks need some help?" Peter called out. "We're camping not too far from here and we heard your car stop."

Four people were inside the car: a middle-aged woman, a teenaged girl, a young boy, and a toddler girl. A man was outside, squatting next to a flat tire on the rear passenger side. The man had the build of a football player, but the large belly protruding over his belt buckle and gray-streaked brown hair indicated that his glory days were long past. Peter walked up to the man and knelt beside him, careful not to look him in the eye. Charlotte and I waited in the background. My ability to control emotions allowed me to easily charm humans, but Peter's friendly nature enabled him to do the same without any extra talents. Lately, Peter took the primary approaching role, because he had shoes and I did not. No need to appear any more abnormal than necessary.

"Looks like you have a flat tire," Peter observed. The humans emitted a mixture of relief, gratefulness, and suspicion at the chance of three strangers approaching their car immediately after it broke down.

"Wh- why, yes," stammered the man, instinctively disconcerted by Peter's proximity. He stood, took a step back, and stared at Peter in cautious wonder, marveling at the perfection of his features but also noticing his disheveled, dirty clothing and long, shaggy blonde hair. Peter stood also, but kept his eyes trained to the tire with his head angled downward. I pulled away the man's anxiety and replaced it with calm. Instantly, his shoulders relaxed and he smiled, almost giddy with relief. His voice was now friendly and upbeat. "I was just going to change it. I'd be grateful for an extra pair of hands. I'm Bill. You are?"

"Peter. And that's my wife Charlotte and my brother Jasper," Peter said with a small smile, waving his hand toward us. "Just let me know what I can do to help." Bill glanced back at Charlotte and me, a little suspicion creeping back in. Perhaps he wondered why I did not also volunteer to help, since my large frame made me appear much stronger than Peter's rather scrawny body.

"It was sure lucky that you ran into us," Bill said. "We don't see too many young men out and about nowadays with the war on. Are you and your brother soldiers?"

Peter's smile broadened. "We are, actually. You might say we're on extended leave." Even I smiled briefly at that. AWOL was more like it. Bill looked confused at Peter's joke, but said nothing in response.

Bill walked over to the trunk to retrieve the spare tire. Peter breathed in his scent when Bill's back was turned and mouthed backed to us, "Dibs." Fine with me. It was his turn to have the largest human in the group. I just wanted him to get on with it. The longer we prolonged this, the greater the chance that the humans would start to panic or another car would approach and ruin the opportunity altogether. Charlotte's rising irritation indicated that she felt the same.

Peter apparently did not want to rush the experience. He walked around the perimeter of the car, running his hand along the roof and the hood, utterly entranced.

"This is quite the car," Peter stated admirably. "What kind is it?"

"A 1944 Olds. Just a few months old," Bill said, his voice strained as he lifted the spare tire out of the trunk. "Runs like a beaut, as long as you got all four tires pumped up." I considered going over to help him, but didn't think I could control myself if I was any closer. I'd let Peter have his fun for another minute or two.

The man poked his head into one of the open car windows and said, "Okay kids, everybody out. We need to jack the car up." The four humans got out of the car slowly. The mother reached into the backseat to pick up the toddler, and the little boy grumbled about not being able to sit in the car while it was tilted. Charlotte and I looked at each other eagerly as the delicious scents wafted closer to us. Finally.

Or not. Peter still appeared to be in no hurry. I think he was more interested in the car than he was in the meal. The mother and children stood in a group near the hood of the car. The little boy was staring at Peter, Charlotte, and me with great curiosity. He tried to run over to Peter and his father, but his mother held him back, her protective instincts piqued. Meanwhile, Bill positioned a jack at the rear of the car and turned it to lift the tire off the ground. Peter began loosening the screws on the tire with the wrench that Bill tossed him.

"How fast can this thing go?" Peter asked.

"Oh, about 65 miles an hour when the roads are good. It's not a fancy sportscar, but it still makes good time," the man replied.

"Sure beats my old Model T!" Peter exclaimed with a laugh. The man looked at him oddly, wondering, I'm sure, why a young man like Peter would have driven a Model T.

"Peter!" Charlotte hissed. "Are we going to have to wait until you put on the new tire? We can do it later." I sent a wave of annoyance Peter's way in agreement. Charlotte's voice wasn't loud enough for the humans to make out the words, but they still looked our way in reaction to the noise.

Without turning around, Peter sighed and muttered, "Fine." He moved closer to Bill and looked him straight in the eye for the first time. There was just enough light for the man to see the red hue. His heart skipped a beat before beginning to pound, and he fell from his squatting position onto his back in shock and terror.

"Well, Bill," Peter said with an ominous grin. "It's been a pleasure meeting you, but unfortunately our time is up. Thanks for the car though!"

Bill's heart raced. He had just enough time to scream, "Run!" at his family before Peter leaped on top of him, crushing his body to the ground, and biting into the skin right at the jugular artery. Peter was an efficient eater. He bit so cleanly and swallowed so quickly that hardly any blood escaped his mouth.

The other humans stood frozen in shock for a second. They clearly knew something was horribly wrong, but from their vantage point, it was hard to see exactly what Peter was doing. The boy still felt more curiosity than fear. It was when he started once again to walk toward his father and Peter that the mother was spurred into action. She grabbed the boy by the arm and clutched the toddler closer and began running down the road screaming for help. The older girl ran even faster, shrieking at a high, grating pitch. Charlotte and I watched them run for a moment. The chase was more fun if they had a head-start.

They didn't go far before the sweet smell of adrenaline and the few drops of blood escaping from Peter's lips overpowered our senses. Charlotte and I took off toward the humans, traveling the distance in three seconds that took them two minutes to run.

I threw my arm across the woman's chest, grabbing onto her shoulder, and holding her tight against my body. The toddler fell from her arm at the force of my contact. I roughly broke her grip on the boy, shoving him toward Charlotte. I heard a bone in his arm snap where I grabbed him, and he screamed. I felt a prick of pity as his pain and fear coursed through me. Charlotte caught the boy and slammed him roughly to the ground where he lay unconscious, blood dripping from a cut on his head. She had the girl in her arms and was forcing her to bend so Charlotte could comfortably reach her neck.

"No! Don't hurt them!" the mother screamed, staring at Charlotte as she bit into the girl. "Take me instead! Leave them alone!" She struggled against me, trying in vain to reach her children. I started to turn away, so she couldn't see her daughter anymore, but the woman's fear, anger, and sheer desperation were so strong that I lost focus for an instant. I couldn't move at all. Her terror became my own, and I was almost tempted to attack Charlotte, to do anything to protect this woman's daughter. Instead, I stared at Charlotte, frozen in place. Because of my inaction, the woman watched her daughter die before her eyes. The fear and anger were replaced with grief and regret. She no longer struggled. She leaned limp against me, hot, salty tears streaming down her face. She simply waited for the inevitable, welcoming it perhaps. A memory flickered in my mind of listening to my mother's wracking sobs when my baby sister died of fever. The visual memory was gone, but I could still hear her cries and feel her grief.

I cursed myself for my lapse in discipline. If this had been a battle, that pause likely would have left me in pieces. I ended the woman's suffering and, by extension, my own, quickly. I bit into her neck just above the collarbone, savoring the euphoric feeling as the blood rushed down my throat. The blood was pleasantly warm as it spread throughout my body, sending exquisite tingles to every extremity. For a moment, all the sadness and fear surrounding me were forgotten.

The emotions returned with a vengeance as soon as I drained the last drop of blood from the woman. Tossing her body to the side, I looked around wildly for more blood. I needed something, anything, to stop the pain. The remembered anguish threatened to choke me and simultaneously, the flames of bloodlust threatened to burn me alive. I saw the toddler sitting on the ground, her face awash with tears. She couldn't be more than two years old. Amazingly, she was not feeling terror despite watching the rest of her family die. Her tears were motivated by confusion and frustration. I fed from her quickly, draining the body completely before Charlotte even noticed. She often would not allow us to feed from young children. She preferred to leave them alive, or if their deaths were unavoidable, as they usually were, to kill them cleanly and painlessly. Peter and I didn't see what difference it made. If we were going to kill them anyway, we might as well get some benefit out of it. I was happy to end my meal with the child. She was too young to understand her fate. There were no painful emotions dampening my experience. My only regret was that her body was so small and the blood was gone far too soon.

We carried the bodies about a mile into the forest and buried them under a grouping of fallen logs. Peter and Charlotte returned to the car to finish changing the tire. I ran further into the trees until coming to a small clearing where I was now lying, face down on the forest floor.

The memories released me momentarily from their hold, and I realized that I squeezed my hands so tightly against the tree root while recalling the hunt that the wood pulverized in my fingers. I patted the sawdust into the ground with my palms and shifted my arms downward so they were tight against my thighs. I took another deep breath of dirt and pine needles and focused on calm.

Calm and peace were two emotional states that I relished in others, but lately could produce of my own accord. Sadness, grief, guilt, anger, and regret pushed out every positive emotion. Guilt was currently at the forefront. Killing women and children was the most heinous of crimes. Was it not my duty at one time to protect women and children? How could I be the cause of their deaths now? I tried to justify the killings. I needed human blood with every fiber of my being. A human was a human; its age and gender were irrelevant. I did not seek women and children to hunt, but if they were amongst a group of prey, someone had to feed off them. They could not be left to tell the tale of other humans' demise. Regardless, my attempts to rationalize my actions felt empty and lacking. I truly was a monster.

What do you think? If you like it, let me know. If you think it sucks big time, I appreciate lying too. :-)