Recovery

 

I make a truly horrible noise as the bus crushes both of my legs. Bolts of agony shoot up my legs from the knee up. The confused mess of tangled nerve endings and crushed bone make me heave as I fight the nausea it’s causing. I grit my teeth, and try to move myself out of the road, collapsing on the verge. This might take a little longer to heal. I can feel my energy running low, though. I need blood. Rather badly. Constant waves of pain and nausea paralyse me in the grassy road side. Okay, so pissing the snake boy off was a mistake. I’ll admit that, to myself at least. To anyone else, retaliating to the violence was the right thing to do.

I sigh as tears spring to my eyes, spilling over the rims, catching in my eyelashes. I brush them away. At this rate, my legs aren’t going to heal, and I’m going to be stuck here all through the sunny hours. I hope it’s cloudy. I really, really hope it’s cloudy. Really, really, really.

I can feel the first rays of sun prickling my face. I must have fallen asleep, or something because the sun is a lot brighter than it should be. I close my eyes against the glare and try to just go back to sleep. It’s clearly going to be a sunny day, because the weather is against me like that. If I’m gonna burn, I might as well burn doing something I love most in life: sleeping.

My eyes open again, this time because of the agony in my exposed skin and legs. I hear a car pull over nearby and a car door opens. A person takes hesitant steps towards me, either repulsed by what they see, or unsure as to whether I’m alive or dead. Technically, I’m dead, but they don’t know that. I blink in the light and hear a gasp and a shout. I don’t think I have ever felt so drained or helpless in all my life. Or death. I’m close to dying all over again, but this time, permanently.

‘Oh my god!’ someone yells closer to the car. ‘Call an ambulance!’

‘NO!’ I croak. ‘No, no, no, don’t do that!’ I say, my voice faint to even my ears. A shadow passes over my face and I sigh in relief, the cracks in my skin healing over. ‘Stay right there, please,’ I smile and I know the person is confused.

‘What happened?’ the person asks incredulous.

‘Well. I got in a fight with snake boy and got thrown out of the bus window. It then ran over my legs and I need to feed to I can heal.’ I say, not caring what they think. ‘You’ll do just fine.’ I grab the man’s ankle and bring him crashing to the ground with me. I shift and find his wrist. Before he can do anything, I bite down and feed on the delicious liquid inside him. The woman screams and runs to the car, but as I drain the man, I feel my legs healing and my resistance to the sun going up. I manage to pull myself to my feet and stumble over to the woman screeching by the car. She’s too shocked to just get in and drive away. So I get her too. Well fed, healed, strong and hood up against the sun, I set off, leaving the carnage behind me.

My legs still ache, as I run, and I know I’m pushing myself too hard for my own good, but I need to catch up with the bus. Except I have no idea where it’s gone. It’s too late in the afternoon to be able to trace it by smell, so I’m reduced to asking for directions, asking random people if they know where a bug red bus has gone. A lot of them look at me cluelessly, though. My English accent is too strong and half the people I ask don’t understand me very well. What is wrong with these people? Have they never heard an English person speak? I shake my head as yet another person shrugs and tells me ‘Sorry, I don’t really know...’ in a confused tone.

I begin to walk away and I catch sight of myself in a car window. I stop and approach the reflection. I look terrible. Sun burnt, mud in my hair and all over my back from the verge, dirty from travelling with no stop, and worst of all I begin to realise how many of my own rules I’ve broken. I have blood – whether it’s snake boy’s, mine or the people from the car, I don’t know – on my jumper and a little on my face. Not good. I pick the dried blood of my chin and notice my eyes. Bloodshot and tired. Most of all, they’re angry. Very, very angry. Maybe people understood what I was saying after all, they were just too scared to point me in the right direction in case I committed a murder. Which considering how furious I am, it is not a low possibility. I huff and set off in a random direction, quickly building up to my fastest speed, fuelled by a mixture of my latest feed and rage. Snake boy might not be someone to piss off, but neither am I.

The End

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