An Ember Beneath My Skin

Always Cold

I remember staring out the window of the subway as it rocked and glided down the track. Watching all the seams in the concrete and all the old pipes go by so quickly seemed to contradict how slow it took to get to the next station. It was something that resonated deeply with me. I watched years go by quickly, but I knew that the destination was much further away for me than it was for others. Everybody around me was dying slowly. Ten years, fifty years, tomorrow: their stop was right around the corner. And for a long time, I hated them for it. Whatever platform they stepped out onto, they had the option. They had their ticket, so to speak. 

All the way back in nineteen eighteen, somebody stole my ticket from me. Surrounded by death, I was forced to live. It took time for it to set in. Vampirism is not a dramatic or sudden disease. When I was bitten, it seeped into me over time. By the end of the Great War, though, I knew I wasn't myself anymore. Without any memory of being bitten, I can only guess that one of my fellow soldiers was responsible. For months I thought that it was just the war chipping away at my morale. I was so hungry, constantly. No matter how hot it was outside, I always felt cold. During the day, my hands shook. They were all symptoms of a reality that was too surreal for me to accept yet. Until I first fed.

I read books and seen movies since. As early as the 80s and 90s, Vampirism grew into some kind of cultural phenomenon. The monster that keeps me stranded on this earth became a symbol of the dark and brooding schemers in society. Organizations, powerful and ancient blood, legends and myths. The truth is, I never met another one. I was never hunted down. The only thing I ever ran from was shadows of my former self. 

I don't remember what city I was in. It was someplace in the United States on the east coast. What I do remember is that I was listening to Billy Joel's We Didn't Start the Fire. I liked it because I remembered everything he talked about. Typically I listened to it when I was feeling lost. It was a summary of where I had been, and I found comfort in that. Comfort was hard to find, so if something brought me any at all, I held onto it. I listened to the song on repeat and must have heard it a few times before we finally arrived at the platform I was looking for. 

It was in the evening and the place was crowded with commuters ready to get out of the office and into their warm, comfortable homes. Weaving between people was something I had time to get good at. In large groups of people, I was always alert and watchful. Thousands of people passed by me and I was hesitant to trust any of them. As I pushed my way through the dirty subway through the deafening chaos of the evening rush hour, I peered up the stairs at the subway exit. Much to my disappointment, it was a sunny day in June. Just looking at the sunlight reflect off of the tall office buildings made my stomach turn. It must have been a particularly arid day because as I ascended the stairs in my drab wool jacket, I got a few glances from sweaty pedestrians walking past me. 

Sometimes I stepped out into the sun and just stood there a moment, hoping that maybe my affliction would leave me suddenly. No such miracle ever befell me. After a second of marinating in the sun's radiation, I gave up and walked into the shadow of the nearest building. On my back was a pack full of clothes, batteries, CDs, George Orwell's 1984 (which I still hadn't read), a few unused syringes, and my Walkman. A wire lead from the Walkman to the stock headphones I had sitting on my neck. Under my wool jacket was a maroon hoody I stole almost a month before. If it was too sunny out, I had to pull it over me to keep me from getting sick. But in the shadows of these skyscrapers, I only needed my aviators. Also stolen.

"Excuse me," I approached a guy in an AC/DC tee. "You know where the hospital is?"

"Uh yeah," he replied. "It's, like, eight blocks in that direction." He pointed east, which was behind me. 

"Thanks, man," I smiled and turned away.

"Hey, wait, are you okay?" he called. I guessed he was worried about why I wanted to go to a hospital. Ignoring him, I pretended that I just didn't hear him as I joined the schools of people on the sidewalk.