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First torture: the cliché shit.
I needed to wake up so fucking early because she would start yelling from the kitchen about how lazy I am and how useless everybody else in this household. There's just us though. I didn't bother putting on a shirt, or even washing my face. I can't even open my eyes and deal with the bright morning sun. Although to be fair, even when I was alive, I did have some issues with waking up early and immediately rising up like a normal person. Something about low blood pressure.
"You were up all night again?!"
There it is, the intro.
"What the hell, Genesis! You're practically an adult already! Why don't you start acting like one, ha*?! How will you survive your job if you won't discipline yourself?"
Rap session while the coffee's hot. She's just too cool, you know?
"What's for breakfast, Ma?" I asked, pretending to be interested with whatever food she was preparing. Honestly, the smell of sautéed garlic was too overpowering that I wanted to run back to my room and hide. I won't die if I don't breathe but I do it anyway. The act of inhaling and exhaling is one of the few remaining things that reminds me of my humanity.
My mother paused from stirring her adobo and faced me with her arms akimbo. I pretended to clean my eyes so she won't see that it's starting to burn.
"My goodness! I reminded you over and over, didn't I?! Wash your face before coming to the table. Such bad manners."
"But I'm too sleepy," I complained while running my fingers through my hair. "I started my call center training last night, you know."
Liar. All I did was go out with my old classmates. And then I died. But I can't tell her that. She'd accuse me of using drugs or finally flipping into the crazy side due to my excessive reading habits.
Even I was surprised with my own reaction. I didn't panic when I woke up, fully aware that I had died for several hours. Maybe it's just how vampires handle their emotions?
I woke up hungry and annoyed for some reason but it wasn't anything I've felt before. This hunger is driving me crazy, like nothing matters in my mind but the intense urge to find something to eat. I'm feeling it now.
"Look at yourself! You're too pale already, spending all your free time in front of the computer and then frolicking all night. You heard about Mr. Saragoza's child? She died of leukemia!"
Here it is, the nosy neighbor rap.
"It started with anemia after spending night after night Facebooking! Kuh*! I hope the president bans Facebook and ML in this country! So many deaths already, and nobody's bothered, even the most vulnerable victims, kids! My goodness. So you better take better care of your body, 'nak*. We don't have money for hospitalizations, you know? You know how it is in the Philippines. If you have no money, you won't stand a chance. Even public hospitals won't bat an eye if you don't have a cent on you!"
She only stopped to take a deep breath so I showed her a silly grin just like I always do when she starts her morning sermon. I don't ever talk back because she won't hesitate beating me up with anything she gets her hand on, and she's a sharp shooter. Her slippers were her assassination tools.
And I like listening to her now. After all, I died way ahead of her. Pretty fucked up, right? So I try to hold on to the things she's saying now, because I don't know how far I'll go with this situation. It's as if I'm not her son anymore, and she's just another human being.
As if turning into a vampire made me realize all the vital things in life. All of a sudden, I'm treading in a different reality, and we're not related anymore. No matter how hard I try to reach her, I can't seem to get up and touch her. Not that it's impossible. But in my perspective, she's standing on the other side of the world, speaking so many sentences but all that reaches me were hollow buzzing inside my head.
I've acquired an acute sense of hearing but while listening to her, it only felt as if I'm underwater so her word scatters on the surface and disappears.
I lost track of how long I've been staring at her chicken wings adobo, cursing myself while desperately fumbling for my "normal food" craving switch. By now I'm supposed to be stuffing myself with all the wings I could eat because it's my favourite chicken part. Wings, no matter how it's cooked, because it's the best part.
But my tongue is paper dry. As if I'm staring at sticky wood barks and sliced rubber slippers.
Second torture: Showing your mother that you're enjoying the food she prepared because that's how it should've been, if I wasn't a vampire.
When she left the kitchen, the stuff I forced into my throat quickly pushed back up and I threw myself into the sink. Sweat and tears drenched my face as my system rejected the poison that was once the very things I needed to live.
I thought I would never cry again because I'm older. Now I'm crying because I fear for the worst that could happen if I really lose my mind. Will I reach that point?
My stomach hurts but something else hurts worse.
*
I slept all day anyway. The following night, I went out again in the pretext of going to my job but in reality, I decided to experiment on myself to find out the limits of my newfound abilities. Maybe I could be like Saitama and work part-time as a superhero. I can't help myself from imagining shit.
The big problem is that I'm still too hungry but no way to find someone who would willingly let me suck them dry. Back then, hunger don't bother me. I don't eat on time and go on for several days without eating a real meal but now, it's like the only dominant sensation in my body. My mind screams at me. Nothing's more important than the need to sate my hunger even just for once.
I don't care if I end up in jail.
My feet led me to the spot where I died. While trying to decide whether I should resort to assaulting some random person or going to a massage parlor, rent a girl and suck her dry, I sat on the high stand of Dr. Jose Rizal's statue and stared at the dried up blood on the pavement. My blood.
All of a sudden, I felt a chill, my instincts telling me that I'm being watched. My eyes scanned the dark parts of the park but nobody seemed suspicious. Just a kid riding his bike and trying to do a wheelie. He carefully pedalled towards the bloodied spot before stopping to stare at it. And then he looked up to the statue before shifting his focus on me. When he caught my eyes, he smiled like we were old friends.
And then I realized: He was the one who killed me!
■■■■
Filipino words I used:
*ha?! - An expression of asking for an answer.
*Kuh - short of Naku. Also an expression. Literally means "my mother" and usually used for emphasis. I used it to express the "gigil" of being angry/annoyed.
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*'nak - short for Anak. It means "a parent's child" and it's used here as "my child". Anak is okay for any gender. (It's also a parent's endearment to their child. When somebody calls you "anak" it's supposed to make you feel fluffy inside because it's an expression of love.
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