Context: I try to make these little (super short ones oh my) stories go against the general view of what a vampire is. I know the job I'm doing isn't too great. These are rough drafts, I plan to redo this later after all of them are done.

This story is from the Navajo POV. Since there is no real "vampire" here, I used the skinwalker. Here is the little cultural background. (Source: http://www.native-languages.org/native-vampires.htm)

Skin-Walker: Skin-walkers are fearsome shapeshifting monsters of Navajo legend. They are created when humans use forbidden evil magic and/or commit terrible crimes such as killing their own parents. Perhaps they resemble European legends of werewolves somewhat more than vampires, since skinwalkers are best known for assuming the form of animals at night to prey upon humans, then returning to human form during the daylight hours. But they also have some behaviors reminiscent of vampires, chiefly an avoidance of sunlight, immunity to normal weapons, mind-reading ability, and the ability to hypnotize and exert control over people who look them in the eyes. The best way to kill a skinwalker is to determine his secret identity, which then leaves him vulnerable to defeat during the daytime. In some stories, medicine men can also prepare sacred weapons that can be used to kill a skinwalker.

So that's it, onto the actual story.

In Navajo, we do not say goodbye, we sayYá'át'ééh (Yah-at-eh). That means see you later..

My clan was so proud of my enlistment. It took days to get to a plane from where I lived farming sheep and goats. Our livelihood. I had to get from my home to our college to the nearest airport hours away. Finally reaching this foreign city I cannot spell, somewhere else in the country I guess, I enlisted as, what the United States Marine Corps would call us, the Navajo Code Talkers.

I live in the United States, it is my country, despite what they had done to my brothers and sisters in the past. Despite what they are still doing. I want to serve my country and show that though the United States people, who call themselves "Americans", who call us "Native Americans", that we can still fight for our country, the one in which we were born. The one in which we live.

Our main job was to create a code for the United states to use in their battles in Japan. The Navajo language is much different from any language that they thought this would be good.

It was weird to be with many of the United States men. They did not really know how to talk to us. If we knew English, that is. My English was the best of my people there, though it was not very good then. It still is not.

Our first mission against the Japanese people, one of the code talkers was captured. He, knowing that the enemy would try to get the code out of him, used a grenade and committed suicide. That night, my people and I held a ceremony for him. The United States men did not help. I do not think they understood.

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Still, no one knew my secret.

Our battles were hard fought. We lost a lot of men, and also lost Pacific Islands, which I guess was bad. I had figured the United States had taken enough of people's land, that they didn't need any in the Pacific Ocean.

The ocean was more pretty than I had ever imagined. Blue and also green and gray and white and purple. I could not describe it if I tried. In some ways, the ocean is more pretty than the Grand Canyon, or Canyon De Chelle. Neither are ours. We just live here, we do not own the land we live on. That is where the rest of the United States people do not understand. You try to own the land.

You do not.

The blankets our clans gave us for our trip were too warm for the weather. I guess winters are not as cold here.

Another thing. Many volcanoes, as the United States people told us, are here. They have not blown up, so I guess the land thinks our missions are good. Or maybe it thinks the Japanese are good. Either way, we do not worry about volcanoes.

You would think, after being around me for so long, my brothers would figure out my secret.

When we won the war after the bombings of the Japanese cities which I can't spell, I think that is when my brothers figured it out, on our way home .They did not seem afraid, my brothers. Maybe they trusted me after all our time together. Maybe they knew I would not kill them. Maybe they just did not know of the crime I was created by.

My other brothers and sisters did not agree.

Even after fighting for our country, and seeing many of my brothers die, they did not trust me.

They just knew I had to die.

I suppose I deserve it.

Skinwalkers never live that long.

Someone always figures it out.

I lasted many years, though.

Here I am now, with the medicine man. He made a weapon he say should kill me. They already knew of my identity. I told them .

The crime that was committed to create me was patricide. A young man poisoned his father, and he died from sickness. And I was made.

In Navajo, we do not say goodbye, we sayYá'át'ééh.

That means see you later.

Yá'át'ééh. Thank you for reading my story. Hopefully, you do not think of me as a monster. I did not kill. I used my powers to help my people, even if they did not consider me a person in the end.

Hopefully you think of me as a hero. That's all I ask.

Yá'át'ééh.