One for the Road

A year and 5 days ago, I opened my eyes to see an unfamiliar place, an unfamiliar man, and an unfamiliar reflection in the dingy cabin mirror.

I got up from the bed I found myself in and stumbled like a newborn fawn. I tripped over a bottle and fell in front of the man. He slightly stirred in his sleep, but I got up and continued exploring the house. I did my best to stay calm, but I couldn't remember my own face, name, or even remotely where I currently was.

Soon after, the man entered the room and glanced over at me before speaking.

"Today is your birthday. Congrats."

"Uh thanks?"

"…"

"…Are you like my dad?"

"…No"

I sighed in relief which made the man look slightly more irritated. He ruffled his hair then spoke,

"I guess I'm letting you stay here for a year. I'll train you until the last moment, then you're on your own."

"Train? What for?"

The man slowly ran his hand down his face this time.

"Surviving?"

"Hm… I guess so."

"You guess?"

I may not have memories but I still have my common sense. He has to know if he said that.

"I guess you're in danger since a lot of people want to kill you now."

"…Did I do something bad?"

I don't know what kind of life I've lived until now but the thought of doing anything so terrible to make people want me to die made me sick to my stomach.

"Not so much as 'do' you just ARE something bad now."

"I am bad?"

"That's what they say about us, well you perhaps. Since you haven't done anything bad yourself. Yet."

"Does that mean you did something bad too?"

My hand shook a little to which I restrained it with the other hand. The man looked at my hands, took a swig from his bottle, and looked at me for a moment.

"Yeah I suppose."

"…what?"

"I kill people."

"…What?"

"Or rather I eat them. Drink them?"

The man mumbled his thoughts with a glassed over look in his eyes, his bottle slightly splattering the liquid inside as he swayed his arm.

"You are… a cannibal?"

"… How would the two of us be similar then? I'm a vampire. In a town this big, you must have heard of them before."

"But I'm not-"

"You are"

"…"

"You don't even remember who you are right? How would you know?"

"But I don't think I was…"

"You would have died. But instead of that, I turned you. You're a vampire now."

I dug my fingernails into my shaking hand.

"The people- the people after me are…. Vampire slayers then? Why did you save me?"

"… why do you remember something like that?"

"Why-"

"You remember more than I did when I was turned."

"You were turned too? And you lost your memory?"

"It's common for vampires of unpure blood. Even more so for 2nd gens like you."

"What-"

The man took another swig.

"I was turned by a pure blood vampire and since I turned you, you're a 2nd gen."

"…"

The man never gave me his name, but let me live in his cabin for a year. When he wasn't too drunk he would tell me about vampires and how they survived in society. He told me the best ways to survive. He told me what he knew about vampire slayers and how they would kill us on the spot if we were discovered. He told me that after exactly one year my thirst for blood would begin to develop, after which I would need blood regularly to survive. He told me most things that I asked, he became my world for one year. There was no one else to talk to, I got a bit lonely. I tried to remember my past life. Maybe there was someone in my past life who cared about me. The man I began to call teacher told me it was pointless, that I was dead to them and the vampire slayers would find and kill me if a dead person returned. He never told me anything more about how he knew me from before I died. After a half year, he told me I should move to a new city and find a job I can work at night, somewhere that no one will notice if a person goes missing. The thought of killing someone still made me sick to my stomach. But what else can I do? I don't want to die. But I don't know if I'm capable of killing someone either. I can't help but feel I was a peaceful person before I died. But I held those thoughts from my teacher, after all all his survival techniques were centered around the sole act of killing humans no one would miss.

After it had been 11.5 months, my nameless teacher kicked me out with some pocket change and a beer, telling me to drink it as if I was still alive I would have turned 18 by now (which I do remember was the legal drinking age in my country).

I took a drink.

I saw him drinking it all the time so I thought it would be good.

It wasn't.

As I questioned if there was something wrong with my tastebuds I remembered.

'Well I suppose he never looked happy drinking this.'