games

Under my burrowed shelter, I sleep 100 more winters. When I awake, a pile of fox bones 10-feet high and an emptied, flat Arden lays below me. The ground has shifted, temperatures have changed, and the air isn't the same.

Weeks pass as Bloom and I feed on Arden. It's not long until war breaks out, as tension between the mortals builds over issues of freedom. It's ironic, really. Immortals are the most free and have the least amount of wars. Mortals should learn from us. The trees tell Bloom that their parent is nearing the end of their mortal life, and they decide to go visit them. We promise to meet up before the millennium ends.

I break away into the forest, and while my body craves human blood, the earth finds a way to provide for me. I make shelter out of bamboo, leaves, and moss. I build walls out of rock and clay. I created an oasis. A shallow, rocky river runs nearby and the birds are always above, reminding me that Bloom can take care of themself. I makeshift a bed, table, and seating arrangement. I decorate with art painted from inks granted by the flowers and weaved together by the grass. Every once in a while, while I am foraging for food, I climb the mountain high enough to see Arden. Every visit changes the scenery. Some days there's nothing but smoke, others there's nothing but screams. It takes me a while, once it starts to get cold, that I realize I have lost my coat, and with it: Mildew's whisker. It takes much less to make friends with the foxes. I left them scraps from my hunts and gave them a spot among the river. When one passes, they give me their body, and in return I make art. I use their bones to fashion accessories, utilities, and furniture. I use the fur to make a blanket. I tend the meat and store it in the snow for the foxes. I take the tail and clip it to my side buckle strap for good luck. I can't recall how long it's been, but I hope Bloom is still out there.

The train finally stops among the snow. Welcome to Arden. My body has stiffened and I struggle to remember the taste of human blood. I arrive in a small town at sunset. Dim lights reach the quiet streets. I stroll down the sides, my body gaining its motion back slowly. I stop as I catch myself in the reflection of a store window-or at least what's left of it. I see an object staring back to me, once human now shrouded in grey substance. I blink and the reflection flickers back. Is the shroud a manifestation or an aftermath? I keep struggling on until I find a man exit a back door and head down an alley with a trash bag. It's not long until he's in it too. His blood was awakening, refreshing, juvenating. Lifting his body into the dumpster was like lifting a pill bottle back at Ashebury. Nothing and nourishing. I hum a melody over the background music, and it hits me. I smell them. Not their blood, them. Like a leaf in the wind, my body blows towards the pub. I don't think I could resist it even if I tried. The smell grows stronger and for the first time, I worry I am insane. It can't be.

I find my way into the pub and am pulled to a seat at the bar. Despite being in a pub, I hear no music. I see no color. I feel no air. I just smell them. The door to the back swings open and I freeze. Bloom freezes in front of me, mouth open and their pen on the floor. "Bloom" I mutter under my breath. I can't read Bloom but I recognize them. Their scent mixed with-whatever I am. "Well, did you come here to try to kill me again?" Bloom hisses playfully. "When do you get off?" I ask firmly. "For you, now." They reply easily. Before I know it, Bloom and I are in the alley, next to the dumpster with the dead body, their lips on mine, my thigh between their legs. My hand brushes a scar on their neck and I get goosebumps for the first time. "I went too far" I whisper in their ear. "You didn't go far enough" Bloom whispers back. We spend the night together. Bloom shares with me the story of making a deal with the Devil for their life back. I laughed and told them the devil isn't real. "Everyone has a Devil" Bloom states. We spend the next week together ravaging in the shadows. I don't talk much, but Bloom never minds.

The nights feel as if they're getting longer. I think I've forgotten how to speak, definitely forgot how to laugh.

The trains constantly arrive less frequently. I can no longer feed here. There aren't enough jobs for people to stay here. The next train that arrives, I take. There's an empty car near the back that I make a home in. Days go by before we reach the next spot. Unfortunately, I've learned that I can hibernate.

The next person who gets off the train is a child. Begrudgingly, I don't kill them, yet. They carry a bag made from stick and rope. At first, they don't speak. We have a commonality in that. The home continues to stay silent and still. The child wanders during the day, and I wander at night. One fall evening, when the nights start to get colder, I come home to the child crying. Next to them, the contents of their bag: a few barely-legible drawings, a deck of cards, and a bag of coins. The child shows me one of their drawings and for the first time, I feel what it's like for your heart to skip a beat-a beat skipped in silence. A black cat doodled onto the page. "Shadow," the child says, pointing to the cat. I nod and lay down on my cot. The child can't see me, but my eyes are filled with black. I wonder if Mildew is still alive and laugh at the thought of them becoming a vampire cat.

Once Trent and I make it out of Ashebury, I have a quick debate with myself on whether or not I should kill him before his blood is in my mouth. In the open night, past the thickened woods that bury Ashebury, I understood why humans are obsessed with flying. Still no Bloom, there is a certain sweetness in freedom that is almost inexplicable. I decide to bury Trent and let his body return to Earth. I take a stick from nearby and draw a seagull over the grave.

I follow the direction of the sound of the train, counting the stars while I pace. There's got to be more to this whole...undead thing. Eventually I find the rail and follow it north. It's almost morning by the time I reach people. My feet are dragging and my eyes are dry. It's a temporary housing unit for travelling folks. It's easiest to feed at night-clean and dry-by the time others wake up, their bags are gone and the smell of coal and smoke linger. I'm not exactly sure how long I've been here. I'm more sure of the bodies I've killed-definitely in the double digits. I still haven't turned anyone yet, and I'm not sure if my eye still bleed black, but I think I'm starting to get used to this. Despite the uncertainty, it still beats Ashebury.

Conditions at Ashebury worsen. Rooms are double-booked. Understaffed staff is even more understaffed. The food is terrible, the walls have been repainted grey, and it seems like the sunshine has gone. Patients are starting to outgrow me. Nurse Helen is on to me. Even though I hide my medication, she still seems to be suspicious. Luckily, my new roommate, Trent, agrees to help. When Helen goes into the storage closet, Trent follows in behind while I keep watch. A soft snap of the neck, followed by a jangle of keys, and Trent and I are out of there. If I had a friend, other than Bloom, Trent would be on the list. I never realized how easy, or fun, it is to steal.

Something inside me tries to remember more. It's compulsive. I keep going back to Mildew's whisker. I think of the kid in the barn, climbing posts and digging in the hay. For a moment, I feel the familiar freedom that comes from being a child; a child with no guardians. I could do anything I wanted. I think I remember laughing. I wonder if Houston still feels like a kid.

Almost two years pass, and eventually, there's suspicion around the timely deaths--it probably doesn't help that I chose the full moon to keep me on track. Luckily, there have been plenty of real suicides to help cover my murders up and a few more immortals have joined us. It's getting easier. A new nurse, Garth, and a new patient, Mercy. We have a system. Garth draws the blood. Mercy makes us all special meals. I enjoy the benefits of their hard work. But all this blood consumption has taught me a lot on how to fly under the radar.

Eloise moves into Bloom's old room, and I instantly recognize her scent; it's replaced Bloom's iron. Eloise swears she's a vampire; she's immortal, yes- but I'm not sure she turned properly. Something is off about her; maybe it's the way her nails grow rapidly and how she has to cut them twice a day in private, or maybe how she only showers once everyone else is done. I peeked in once and swore I saw wings. I guess recognizing others is a natural ability.

Days go by and I no longer leave my room. I stopped attending group, and Bloom no longer visits me. Luckily, my ability to stay calm keeps the tears away, but I'm not sure if I'm even using my skill. Everything is so bland. It's getting harder to feed. Every month, I pick a patient. Every month, a patient commits suicide. I've learned to ration my blood now--I think mortals would call it meal prepping. It's a good thing the hospital is too understaffed to do room inspections...or investigate the monthly deaths....

Bloom visits again, this time raving about the ravens who rejected their friendship; they think the corvids have all turned against her. I am uncharacteristically more tuned out to what they are saying this time. They smell different. Delicious. I can smell the copper through their veins. My skin is hot, and I hear a soft buzzing over Bloom's words. I blink, and my teeth are in their neck. Their body is limp, and I keep drinking-more than what Houston took from me. I drain them completely. For a second time, I am sure my eyes cry pitch black. I quickly take their body back to their room, and hang it from the rafters, set with a chair tilted underneath them. Ashebury writes their death off as a suicide; it's not like those are rare here. I can't stop thinking about the way their blood tasted. The way their iron smelled through their skin. I wonder if all blood tastes the same and how I should get some next.