So. I did a little expansion of this story. Do enjoy.
The first one is in quote.
It’s time. I’m sitting inside a tent staring. I’m trying to think but my memory is fogged.
I’m thirsty.
Outside, the sun is setting. I stand and leave the tent. It’s getting dark in there anyway. Down the street, people are gathering, slowly forming a crowd. I start to join them but something stops me. A flash of red followed by a scream. I frown. I think my memory is coming back. It always gives me a headache whenever it does. I pat my head as a smile tug on my lips. I already forgot I had a hat on. I always wear one. A white one. Holding it down on both sides, I continue to walk. The crowd is growing. I walk past. Not many people pay attention to me. The ones who do look at me with disdain. I don’t mind. I’m used to it.
I’m getting thirstier.
I look around for a drink. None looks appealing. The last drink I had wasn't sweet either, but it had to be done. He had pulled my hair and called me a retard. Now, people are gathered. Bad things happen to bad people. I shrug. My last memory before this was of pain. I was only eighteen. I wanted him. Lola said he was good at it – that liar. She failed to tell me other things. She sent me to my doom. I have a crescent scar on my head, a constant reminder. My hat covers a lot. Maybe she didn't know, I think that sometimes when I'm sober. But there's no way to find out now. She was my first drink. People die when I’m thirsty, but I don’t care. They're mean to me. Sometimes, I stick out my tongue to their mean faces.
I need a drink.
It’s darker now. The crowd is beginning to disperse. They still give me the look but I ignore them. My headache is coming back. I rub my temple.
I used to be a decent human. That’s what they say anyway. They also say that I wanted to be a doctor, volunteering at the local clinic after school. I scoff. The irony. Not that any of those matters. They may be lying. I remember none of those things. The only memory I have now is of red, sometimes screams, then the peaceful feeling that follows. That always happens before people gather to morn. Before they point accusing fingers, but never at me. They’re scared or they’re not sure. I can’t tell. I don’t care.
My skin is beginning to itch. It does that when I’m too thirsty or when I’m excited. Tonight, I’m both. I continue to walk, not holding my hat down this time. I feel more comfortable in the dark, powerful even. The itching is becoming more intense. I grin. It’s almost midnight.
I can smell it.
I stop. It’s so close now. I feel my mouth water. Just up the road is a parked car. I frown. Then I hear it. Her sighs filters in first. Then a moan. Then a grunt. Two people. I remove my hat and increase my pace. Their scent fill my nostrils. I slow down and struggle to control my breath. I need to go slow or it will be over quickly. The moan has increased. They’re at it. I smirk. The last time I did it was the day I became like this. People like me call it turning. I don’t. I dislike the term. It makes me furious and when that happens, my drink tastes bitter. I like it sweet.
I want to wait them out.
I’m standing few feet from the car. The interior is dark but I can see everything. I watch as her fingers play with his arms then glide slowly towards his back, her nails drawing blood. My nostrils flare. Cursing tersely, I cross the short distance and yank open the door. The wait is over. Then it happens. For a moment, it’s all a blur. I watch in horror as my feet get lifted off the ground. Then I’m falling. The ground is cold and hard as my back connects with it. I feel my hip bone shift and reset. I slowly rise into a crouch. The person in front of me has bloodshot eyes. On her left lay a man, motionless, probably dead. My eyes widen. She’s oddly familiar. Her hair is shorter but still the same colour.
“Lola?”
She smirks.
“I thought you’re…”
“Dead?”
“How?”
We stare at each other. The metallic stench of blood oozing from the dead body is making it difficult for me to concentrate. She sees this and smirks harder. My skin continues to itch. I want to jump on her. I’ve never wanted anything so badly in my life. I want to rip her throats off for lying to me, for making me this way. But I can see it in her eyes. She’s trying hard to mask the glint there but I can see it all the same. I recognise the excitement. She’s been waiting for this moment. I rise and stand on my full height. Today is not the day. I still need a drink.
I turn and walk away.
