My Version of events- short stories based on songs

Perks of being Me- "Gives you hell" by All American Rejects

I stretched my arms and yawned.  It’s probably evening, time to wake up. Getting in a sitting position, I smiled lazily; about nothing, about everything. I’m just an evening person. You would call me a morning person if I was human, or maybe not. If I was human, I would have been working at a 9 to 5 pace. I wonder how that would have been felt. Bad- I suppose.

‘‘Enough thinking, girl.’’ I said to myself, “Now get some snack.”

I stood up and looked at the ground I was sleeping on. Sleeping on a ground isn’t bad if your body is colder and harder than the ground. Ground actually feels soft and warm. I had spent the day lying in a storage space. I don’t have a home and I don’t need it. I’m a nomad. I don’t spend a day in the same city twice in a row. There is just so much to see in this world; even an eternal life seems so short. You think you have travelled the whole world and when you reach the place you had visited 100 years ago, you realise it’s changed, so much that you don’t even recognise it. Like Vegas, for instance, when I last visited it, it was a desert and a couple buildings; now it’s the top spot for bachelor parties. 

The street is always filled with people; some coming, some going, while some wandering aimlessly. On the other side of the street, I spot a man in a professional looking suit; the kind of suit that belongs in a high standard car, along with its owner.  I sprint towards him and am by his side in a nanosecond . He strikes a friendly conversation with me. Apparently, he lives in the suburbs with his wife and a 2 year old son. His car broke down on the way home and he is taking the subway, while his driver waits for the tow truck. I’m glad I don’t need those shiny cars to go anywhere and I’m super glad that anywhere is not the white picket fence.  Among other things, I’m also glad that I wasn’t born in this century. People are so tense now-a-days. It’s not like they didn’t have problems in the 18th or 19th century, but they knew how to be happy.  I suppose I can’t blame these people; the pressure, the hunger, the atrocities; I’ve never seen humanity fall so hard in all my life. And I’ve had a long life.

“This man will make a good snack.” I said in my head. I’ve never been picky about food as long as they maintain basic hygiene. And don’t have disturbing memories. The one thing I don’t like about being a vampire is that we take memories with blood- the recent ones are dominant but the past ones also comes like a haze.  The best one is when people come out after watching a good movie. That makes my day- or night to be exact.  When we take the memories of the victims, we actually take them not share them. So the victim is left clueless, he can’t even speak because he doesn’t know any words.  That’s a very easy and discreet way to eat-or drink. Approach a person, drink his blood, and leave him clueless. No time to scream, no attention. It can be done at any busy street.  But where’s the fun in that? I like to play with my food. The feeling when people see your fangs and run like hell, it’s the best entertainment. The man was still walking towards the subway and I was walking behind him.  Show-time. I tapped him on the shoulder. He turned back and was surprised to see me still behind him. Then I opened my mouth and showed him my fangs.  

He laughed, “What are they made of? Ceramic?”

Aargh, these wannabe vampires and their fake fangs. I'll probably never get that 'oh-bloody-hell!' scream that I used to get in the old times. Disgruntled ,I grabbed him by his torso and put him on my shoulder and then ran towards the most isolated place in the city. It took about 3 seconds. 

I put him down. His face was white with fear and he was unable to speak. Now that’s the feeling I was talking about, the feel of power.  I walked towards him and his eyes widened, his face dropped some more color and he closed his eyes unable to tolerate the sight of my face.  I entered my fangs into his pulsing vein on the neck and felt the blood flowing into my mouth.  I also felt all of his memories making their way in my already filled head. 

When I was done, I put some lotion on his wounds, that would make the marks invisible in about 10 hours. That’s roughly the time a person takes to process all his memories and gain consciousness after an attack. I returned all of his memories up to the second I met him. Of course that doesn’t mean I got rid of them. Tomorrow, when he wakes up, he’ll be wondering what happened and how he ended up here.  He’ll remember walking towards the subway and will definitely try to figure out what went wrong. 

Sometimes, I also try to figure out what went wrong with humanity. It’s a long list. If I say I miss being a human, it would be a lie. The memories of my last victim are still fresh in my mind. He was a normal guy through his entire life.  School, college, job, love, marriage, kid and now he was bored. There was nothing good in his memories. He says he’s happy but that is just one of lies he tells everybody.  Not that he’ll ever see me again, but I wish I could tell him to confront his wife. He should look her in the eyes; with the sad look that he wears, so well inside his head, that nobody can see it. He should let her see that face and tell her he wants to quit his job. He hates his job.  

There is some fault on part of his wife. She found a good man to spend her life with, a man who is kind and smart and treats her with respect and love her with every fibre in his body. But she wanted the big house and standard living and he had to do the job that he hates. He is fool to do this job, but so is she to not understand.  She should know he is unhappy, that’s her responsibility as a wife. He knows what she wants- the suburban white picket fence life, but she doesn’t know what he wants. 

It's not my place to do something about it, or tell them what to do. But I sure hope, this near death experience changes his and her way of thinking. People tend to make life altering decisions after such incidents. I won't be here to see if that happens. After-all, I'm a nomad and there is another city waiting for me.