Vampire Days

Chapter 3: Champion

I admit I'm a rather carefree vampire. Aside from being awake 24/7, there wasn't much to adjust and the next thing I know, it has been three months since Nurgis turned me.

He's been missing in action for a month now but I trust that he's alive and well. Something tells me that I'd definitely know if something bad happens to him. Maybe it's just my paranoia talking but I'd rather not think hard about it and trust that we'd see each other in the future.

College is a breeze when you don't have the need to sleep. It's funny how people don't suspect anything. They'd see me walking around, under the shade of trees and the campus, pale and looking like I haven't slept in days and would only assume that I've transformed into an automaton fueled by coffee. Nobody asks why I hiss at sunlight. Maybe I was up all night studying so the bright light hurt my eyes. Nobody comments about my sunglasses, even when I wear them indoors, and my hobo look. Maybe my schedule's too hectic right? No time for a quick shower or maybe the water faucet wasn't running, who knows?

But I do take my baths. Something just changed and I can't put my finger into it, but no matter how hard I try I always end up with a haggard look.

And when the topic takes a turn to food, I'm still as normal as everybody else. Let's face it. College dormers are poor as heck. At least most of my friends are. So if they don't see me eating, it means I can't afford it.

Do I miss eating? I can't tell. It's hard to think about it because I had forgotten what food was  supposed to taste like. The smells are just smells, most of the time horrible.

But lately I've been reminiscing one remarkable incident from my childhood. Back then, we had this neighbor who liked to cook. I've never met them but it was the impression I got from eating the food they would give my mom almost every day.

Some people would say that their mom's or dad's cooking was the best. They would fight to death just to defend their parent's cooking. But I was different. My mother was a busy businesswoman and my father was her assistant. She would start barbecuing by the pier at five pm in the afternoon and would usually sell out by three in the morning. Their barbecue was always a hit and I loved it too. We grew up eating barbecue and it's what killed my father. But my mother didn't stop because the business grew bigger until she managed to get a place and hired several workers.

Anyway, back to the neighbor. I was too young back then so I don't remember if we've met or it was just the food that gave me vague images of the person who made it. Coming home from school, I once found food on the table and I immediately knew that it wasn't cooked by my mother. It wasn't in her repertoire. My older brother will only shrug if I ask him and he'd speculate that maybe there's a birthday party next door. As a kid who grew up eating isaw and betamax, those were the most magical foods I've ever tasted.

I would always tell my mother how much I liked the food and she would only contort her face like it wasn't anything special. My brother would only scoff at me, saying that he couldn't relate at all because it was just some normal dish after all. No need to raise such a fuss. He was a big fan of Jollibee's burger steak so maybe that's why. It ruined his good sense of taste or something, my younger self would nod like I knew better.

The following day, my mother told me that she told our neighbor about my reaction and our neighbor was glad to be praised like that. They told my mother that they'd love to share their food with us because they loved cooking and experimenting with recipes so they always end up with excess food in the refrigerator. I wonder if there's also a kid next door. I wonder how it feels, eating good food everyday for the rest of your life.

And then I laughed at my mom back then. I initially thought that she sneered because she was jealous that I liked the neighbor's cooking more than hers.