A young Jazz Musician from Lafayette, Louisiana, Abraham Redder travelled the World playing his trumpet. Never had life felt so good. He was orphaned at age 8, escaped an orphanage at age 13, and played the only item besides his clothes that he owned-His father'd old trumpet. And as the years passed by, the richer and more famous he became. Then Abraham traveled the World playing his tunes, until he stumbled upon the sweet little town of Sunnydale-He played in many bars, including a certain nightclub-Savannah Jewel. . After playing for his delighted audience, he stepped into the backroom, and a figure was waiting for him, sitting limply on a chair, it's empty eyes staring into his soul. Wishing to see what his strange visitor requested, he strode up to it and shot it a questioning look-But it wasn't there. It had disappeared right before his eyes. He shook his head, turned, and left the bar. As he strode down a street, he felt a shiver glide slowly down his spine. And then the image of a lone woman flashed into his mind. Turning, he instinctively went down an alley, to find the exact woman-Loose leather jacket, ski-cap, stained jeans, green eyes, short black hair...She shot him a warning glance, a hand halfway into her jacket, as if to pull out a weapon, but instead, it was an envelope of white powder. She waved it to him. He heard her voice flash through his skull before she even opened her mouth. "Here, just take it! I don't want it! But don't follow me, or cocaine won't be the only thing killing you in your sleep..." Without even waiting for the last words to escape her chapped lips, he leaped at her. She screamed. He tore open her flesh. Devoured each strand of clothing and gore, licking the blood from his chin and lips. Then he stood up, dusted his clothes off, and strode down the alley. He didn't feel any different, besides the voice in his head, which whispered soothing words of it's old glories now his. He should do this more often. It felt good.
That was 2 years ago. Abraham has now entered a duo band with a man named Corleone Lewis, who felt and treated him like his own brother. But the memory of the taste of that woman's flesh, the tickling feeling as her rich blood trickled down his chin. 'Yes', he decided, as he set up his trumpet in his apartment a few blocks from the alley of his soothing dreams, 'Life had never felt so good'.