And ooh, I'm overcome / And ooh, now I am new
It came on him like a bad hangover.
He woke slowly, which was unusual, because ever since he'd turned he seemed to switch off and on like a light bulb, either awake or asleep. But today...
The first thing he noticed was that he hurt. All over. Which as he thought about it, was not unusual. He usually hurt, a dull but ever-present ache that started in the wound on his neck and extended in feathering tendrils all the way to the soles of his feet. He'd hurt ever since Adelaide had killed him ---
---Except for yesterday---
...The second thing he noticed was that he was hungry. Not in the sharp, fascinated way he'd been hungry the night before, but a persistent, heavy, gnawing hunger deep in the pit of where he hoped he still had a stomach.
...The third thing was the smell.
Conrad lived in a good-sized condo in a relatively small complex, and lived among like-minded people for the most part, so he very seldom heard his neighbors. In fact, for the most part, they were all largely unaware of each other and that was the way they liked it.
But now.
He could smell them. Could smell the pulse and flood of their life, so close, separated only by plaster-wood-carpet-skin-vein. So close. And that was all, all he needed to feel better, was just a little bit of that---
“No,” he groaned, burying his face in his pillow. Clean sheets and clean pajamas and God, oh, God, no more blood for a little while.
---blood---
He could smell-feel-taste-hear-see it, a flood of unwelcome sensation. He curled up tighter around his pillow. No. He would wait it out. It would go away. The people were not as close as he thought they were and if he waited they would go to sleep and their heartbeats would slow and ---
---- and it would be better. And Hanna would come and he'd have something else to think about. He just had to wait.
He was not a bad person. He was not.
He could wait.
He woke slowly, which was unusual, because ever since he'd turned he seemed to switch off and on like a light bulb, either awake or asleep. But today...
The first thing he noticed was that he hurt. All over. Which as he thought about it, was not unusual. He usually hurt, a dull but ever-present ache that started in the wound on his neck and extended in feathering tendrils all the way to the soles of his feet. He'd hurt ever since Adelaide had killed him ---
---Except for yesterday---
...The second thing he noticed was that he was hungry. Not in the sharp, fascinated way he'd been hungry the night before, but a persistent, heavy, gnawing hunger deep in the pit of where he hoped he still had a stomach.
...The third thing was the smell.
Conrad lived in a good-sized condo in a relatively small complex, and lived among like-minded people for the most part, so he very seldom heard his neighbors. In fact, for the most part, they were all largely unaware of each other and that was the way they liked it.
But now.
He could smell them. Could smell the pulse and flood of their life, so close, separated only by plaster-wood-carpet-skin-vein. So close. And that was all, all he needed to feel better, was just a little bit of that---
“No,” he groaned, burying his face in his pillow. Clean sheets and clean pajamas and God, oh, God, no more blood for a little while.
---blood---
He could smell-feel-taste-hear-see it, a flood of unwelcome sensation. He curled up tighter around his pillow. No. He would wait it out. It would go away. The people were not as close as he thought they were and if he waited they would go to sleep and their heartbeats would slow and ---
---- and it would be better. And Hanna would come and he'd have something else to think about. He just had to wait.
He was not a bad person. He was not.
He could wait.