Tiredness

II

The night that turned my life upside down started just like many others. The weather was dank, another workday in the factory had ended and I was on my way home. It was either late November or early December.

Suddenly someone grabbed me. I couldn't believe it. I hadn't heard anyone approaching me. Up until this moment I had thought I was the only person on that street.

Crime was quite common in London but, still, it was so unexpected that I couldn't do anything. The stranger was holding me and suddenly I felt a sharp pain. He had bitten me in the neck. It felt like he was trying to suck blood out of me. I had never been afraid to walk through London because I was too poor to attract any interest. That's why he took me unaware.

I was already puny, but now I felt even weaker. The stranger's hold loosened. He realised that he had made a mistake by attacking me. Considering my way of life, my blood must have tasted awful.

The stranger released my neck and tried to pull away from me, but I caught hold of his arm and didn't let go. The balance of power was not on my side. I didn't realise what I was doing, but my mind was telling me not to let go of him. He tried to break free, but I was holding onto him with every ounce of strength.

Suddenly the stranger calmed down. He looked into my eyes and understood. Although the street was illuminated with a pale light, I could see his eyes. They were lifeless.

"All right. If you want to live, release at least one of my arms," he said.

I obeyed. That moment changed everything.

The stranger bit into his arm. Blood started to trickle from it. He pressed his arm to my lips and said:

"Drink it."

That's how I became what I am now. And this is where my story really begins.

I reached a building and clung to its wall. I felt so weird that it's still difficult to describe it. I don't remember how long I stood there, but it was still dark when I returned to my dwelling.

I woke up upon hearing a noise. I opened my eyes and looked around. Someone was pounding on the door. I got up and opened it. It was Grames, my landlord.

"Hard night, ha? Took a day off?"

"Umm... What?"

I could barely put my thoughts together. Grames told me that it was late in the afternoon and that I had done the right thing by leaving my job in the factory. He said that I could find something better instead. I had been living there for a while and we were somewhat acquainted. Grames told me a few other things before he let me know the purpose of his visit which was that I was due to pay the rent. He sneered when he was looking at me. He probably thought that I had started to drink. I stood up slowly and, in the twilight of the room, started to look for my purse. It was just as frayed as the rest of my property. I gave Grames the requested money, he took it and walked away.

Afterwards, when I was alone, I could think about what had happened. According to Grames, I'd slept for many hours. That was quite unusual as normally I slept no more than five hours a day. Then I remembered about my job. I'd never missed a single day before.

Now I had done it and felt nothing. There were no regrets, nor eagerness to go there immediately. I was still me, but something had changed. I didn't know what exactly had happened to me, but something in my mind or, to be precise, in the pieces of mind I had then, told me that my life would never be the same again. I didn't know what to expect and this thought scared me.

Prior to this I hadn't had the time or need to think. I lived day by day, hoping that it wouldn't be the last one for me. I vegetated. My life was predictable. It consisted of poverty, hunger and hard work. Now I understood that things would be different from then on and had no idea about my future.

The only window in my room was boarded up. Rays of light were shining through it. I looked at the window and then went over to it. I wasn't interested in what was happening outside, I was looking at the sun. It was slightly covered by clouds, but I don't know why, I felt some unspeakable loathing. Weather had never interested me much, but now, taking a look at the sun, I understood that I wanted to see it no more. I wanted darkness. I wanted to merge with it, as well as with the dark streets of London where I would keep walking endlessly.

Everything was so strange. I was still "me'' but I felt that some other "me" had developed. A part of me I hadn't even known about.

Of course, now when you're reading this, everything seems to be so simple and sometimes unbelievable. But don't forget, dear reader – these strokes are written by the current me, the one who knows how to express his thoughts and talk in proper sentences.

The night came. The rays of sunlight were replaced by moonlight. I had spent hours sitting on the floor, staring at nothing. Now I wanted to go out onto the streets. My body was yearning. I wanted only one thing; the one thing that had been taken from me. Blood.

I left my dwelling and dove into a London night. In that moment an inner struggle started. The thought that I wanted blood wasn't scaring me, no. I was scared by the way I was going to get it.

Some people passed me by. I looked at them - they were just as scruffy as I was. Their unsteady walk showed that they were coming from a pub. I didn't touch them.

I went out to a bigger street and noticed a silhouette in the distance. He was coming towards me. The lighting was weak, but enough to notice that he was not needy.

His clothes weren't threadbare and his boots weren't well worn. When the distance between us was only a few yards, we looked into each other's faces. I recognised this look - it was particular for people who had made their riches by using hard labour and suffering of others.

The stranger looked at me with disgust. Hate and anger took me over. I grabbed him and bit him in the neck. I guess it was the anger that gave me the strength because he was stronger than me. I had to cover his mouth with my other arm to keep him silent.

I felt pleasure sucking out his blood. Not so much because of the blood than because I realised that this person would never hurt anyone again. His looks suggested that he could be a moneylender.

I had sucked out the very last drop of blood from him, I released the body and it fell heavily onto the roadway. I moved on and had walked a few steps when an idea came into my mind. I returned to the stranger and checked his pockets. His wallet was heavier than I thought. I had never seen so much money in my life. It took my breath away. I put the wallet into my pocket, hoping that it would hold its weight, and returned to my dwelling.

Weeks, maybe months, followed each other. I don't remember. All days were the same – during the day I was sleeping, at night I was meandering, exploring London, going to the parts of the city I had never been to. I saw London in a different way. The need for blood, pint by pint, decreased, which made my existence a bit easier, for my mind wasn't so occupied with that one obsessive thought.

I changed my resting places regularly, mostly staying in derelict houses. I was reluctant to rent a room. I was still wearing my ragged clothes, I slept all day, woke up at night, had no job yet always had money. That was more than enough to cause suspicion.

I soon got used to my new lifestyle. But as time passed by the question – what was I? - started to prey on me. I felt very lonely and wanted to find someone like me.