Craving Human Blood!

Under the cloak of night, the soft click of the door unlocking pierced the silence, carrying with it a wave of unexpected surprise. "Hey, is anyone sleeping here?" The voice, tinged with astonishment, sliced through the stillness, jolting me from my slumber. I gasped for breath, the air filling my lungs as desperately as a fish gasping for water on dry land.

In the dim light, I found my voice, raspy and strained as though I'd swallowed a handful of ash. "I...I'm here," I croaked, my heart racing in my chest as I fought to sit up, each breath a battle won against the heaviness that enveloped me.

"Emma? Emma, is that you? Are you okay? Do you have a fever?" The concern in his voice was palpable, his footsteps drawing nearer with a hesitant, almost reverent tread. I could almost see him, on the verge of pulling back the curtain that shielded my bed, his worry etched in the lines of his face.

In my mind, a frantic thought raced - I couldn't let him see me like this, a mess of dishevelment and sickness. With a desperate grasp, I clung to the bed curtain, feigning a calm I was far from feeling. "Ahem, I'm fine. Just the change of weather, you know how it is. A bit of rest, and I'll be right as rain," I said, my voice barely more than a whisper.

The days had been a blur of classes and study, my roommates and I caught in a relentless cycle of learning and memorization. But as they moved on, the chill of loneliness wrapped around me, a constant companion amidst my solitude.

This feeling, this hollow emptiness, was unfamiliar, yet overwhelmingly intense. It reminded me of stories of those who dieted too stringently, their bodies crying out for sustenance, their hearts racing with an urgent need.

Gathering every ounce of strength, I made my way to the bedside table, where my favorite cream sandwich biscuits lay. But the moment the package was open, the scent of cream revolted me, a visceral reminder of my body's rebellion against what I once loved.

The thought was stark, chilling - if I didn't eat, the consequences would be dire. Yet, with a breath held tight, I forced a biscuit past my lips, willing myself to ignore the nausea that surged at the action.

No sooner had I attempted to quell the rebellion within, I found myself rushing to the sanctuary of the bathroom, the biscuit expelled before it could betray me further. Even water, once a solace, now tasted of bitterness and despair.

Staring at the discarded package, panic surged, a tidal wave threatening to engulf me. What could I eat? What would my body accept? This question haunted me, a specter of worry that loomed large as I frantically searched for medicine, hoping to quell the feverish nightmare that held me captive.

In my haste, my hand brushed against a glass, sending it shattering to the floor, a stark reminder of my fragile state. Amidst the fragments, I stood, a reflection of my own vulnerability, wondering how I would piece myself back together again.

As the silence of the room was punctuated by the crisp tinkle of shattered glass, I let out a weary sigh, the headache already beginning to pulse behind my eyes. Squatting down, I reached out to gather the fragmented pieces, an act as reflexive as it was ill-fated. The sharp edge of a shard betrayed my carefulness, slicing into my flesh with an intimacy that was startling. Bright, vivid red blood welled from the cut, stark against the pallor of my skin.

For a moment, I was frozen, caught between shock and a bizarre, inexplicable impulse. Guided by a curiosity as morbid as it was compelling, I brought the injured finger to my lips, the metallic tang of blood spreading through my mouth like forbidden nectar. It was an odd, sweet sensation that flooded my senses, offering a fleeting reprieve from the hunger that gnawed at my insides.

But as quickly as it came, the sweetness vanished, leaving behind a hollowness that echoed with questions of my own humanity. Memories of tales and books I read in the past flickered through my mind, drawing parallels I never thought to draw with my own life. The thought was chilling, a doubts started haunting me driving me to the edges of my sanity.

Driven by a desperation, I seized took my bag and fled into the night, seeking solace or perhaps escape from the hunger that clawed at me with relentless fervor. The snack street outside the University, usually carried delightfull aromatic, did nothing to stir my appetite. It was as if every scent, every taste that wasn't blood, was now foreign to me.

In a daze, I found myself in a coffee shop, its warm ambiance a stark contrast to the turmoil within me. The coffee, scalding and bitter, somehow soothed the savage hunger, each gulp a small victory against the beast that threatened to consume me from the inside. Tears mingled with the dark brew, a silent testament to the confusion and fear that gripped me. Was this to be my lot? A life sustained by nothing but coffee and shadows?

Paying for the drink, I stepped back into the world, a world that seemed to shift and darken with my mood. The sky, once ablaze with the hues of sunset, now threatened with the promise of rain, a mirror to the storm that raged within me.

It was then, amidst the turmoil of my thoughts, that I felt something beneath my foot. Looking down, I discovered a small stack of paper money, a seemingly mundane find that yet felt like a sign, a message from the universe itself.