A New Story

*NOTE*
Okay people - I don't usually write fiction, but while I was in Portland, Maine, this weekend, my two friends and I came up with a brilliant story line surrounding the central lighthouse of Maine.
I will write in sections as I think of them, but I need feedback - let me know what you think!!!!!
P.S. There is no title yet, if you think of one, let me know!

I am barren.

The dusk of early summer is broken occasionally by the rotation of the lighthouse in the distance, the bright flash making its way across the wind ruffled pages of my journal.
I have known about the painful emptiness of my womb since losing my heart to the man of my dreams twenty years ago; I am now forty-two.
I am the last of my bloodline.
I close my eyes to the sounds of nature around me, filled with the beauty of the water lapping gently against the rocks, the screeching of the gulls as they banter for food and romance, the tinkling of the wind chimes hanging from the roof of my porch, feeling the warmth of the lighthouse beacon against the blackness of my eyelids.
With a sigh, I turn back to the empty paper in my lap, lifting my pencil to compose the beginning of my end.

I have lived in Portland, Maine for the entirety of my life. Having done an extensive amount of traveling, I can say with utmost certainty that this city is the one to which my heart is closest. Actually, my entire family originated in Portland, near the lighthouse now gracing my veranda with her radiant beam. There is quite a story in the history of the Portland Head Light. It isn’t known to many people, albeit many people would not believe it if they heard it.
You see, dear reader, I am, in fact, one-eighth of a Vampire. My fingers are chilled with the breezy intake of your gasp, one of which I much anticipated, worry not. The possibility of Vampires in the world of Lamborghinis, Ipods, and the World Wide Web seems ludicrous, I am well aware. However, exist we do; only, it’s quite a myth that we feed on human blood. Of course, that myth did begin with my family, but we’ll get to that.
First, I must tell you why I am writing this story.
You see, I am the last direct descendant of the Beaumont bloodline, and as I am unable to bear children, the story of my existence will end with the covering of my deep grave. Thus, I must leave my mark on the world by a different means. It shall be my way of living forever, so to speak.
Ah, I see the frown of confusion upon your brow. Don’t Vampires live forever?
Dear reader, you have a lot to learn about my kind.
My story really begins in the year of 1791, while America was still young and vibrating with new settlers. As I am more human than Vampire, it was my human ancestors who are the main reason for my existence. They were the first keepers of Portland Head Light’s beam, maintaining its life for the sailors roughing the Atlantic Ocean, the bright sweep of light protection from the treacherous cliffs of the rocky coastline.
In the first days of its operation, the quaint house now adjoining the white tower was non-existent. The people of my family lived near the lighthouse, their one job to protect the ships on the horizon. The clan of Flannery’s filled the small house to bursting, with four children and two goats.
There was one brother, however, who was unlike the rest, the “black sheep” of the family, if you will. His destiny lay elsewhere.
And it was he, dear reader, who set into motion a curse so powerful it took hundreds of years to break.
His name was Simon Flannery.