Allergies

[Venefyxatu]

The sound of a loud groan woke me up and it took me several moments to realize it was me who was groaning. Slowly I sat up, looking around the room by the light cast by the street lantern outside. The mess was incredible : clothes strewn over the floor, the chair at the desk lying on its side and the desk itself a mess of papers I hadn't looked at in weeks. The trash can standing next to the desk was so full that adding anything else would probably cause a fountain of garbage to spray through the room and there wasn't a single frame on the wall that wasn't hanging askew.

 

From where I was sitting I could also see the bathroom, its door slightly ajar. At least that was still as tidy as when I moved in here, probably because I hardly ever used it. Every now and then I'd wash myself, because after all even one in my condition gets dirty sometimes, but that was about it.

 

I let my attention drift away from the room as my gaze moved to my arms. The veins there were standing out, pulsating as if they wanted nothing more than to burst open and add the blood they held to the mess in the room.

 

I hated this. It was like being hungover, only not as pleasant. And it came back almost every evening.

 

“Allergies.”

 

The word suddenly bounced through my skull as if wanting to ricochet itself beyond the mere speed of sound.

 

“Allergies.”

 

All my life they had plagued me. Oh, not the thirteen-in-a-dozen allergies that everyone suffers from. Nothing so simple as watering eyes and full handkerchiefs in spring, or spots on my skin from eating too much pork. I'd never had anything itch in dusty rooms either, and neither did I ever have to bolt because there was a cat in the same building.

 

No, my allergies had always been different. Sometimes exotic and fascinating, like that year my fingernails kept turning all colours of the rainbow and then some every time I walked through a doorway, sometimes inconvenient, like my arm jerking to one side every time someone wearing a shirt with a floral print walked on the other side of the street. I'm still grateful those things went out of style – crossing streets was hard with traffic being what it was.

At times, they'd been downright creepy, too, like those months I kept throwing my voice to the other end of the room every time I turned off the light, asking myself in a hoarse whisper if I could get me a glass of water. At first I'd flick the light back on in a reflex, wanting to see who was asking. Then, when I realized it was my own voice, I'd have to turn the light off again and, naturally, I'd throw my voice again. The first night it took me a while before I got some sleep ...

 

Fortunately for me, though, I'd never had any permanent allergies: some stayed for a year, two years maybe, others only lasted for a single day. As soon as I'd discovered that I'd stopped seeing doctors. I'd grown to hate their incessant prodding, the way they'd keep asking me the same questions over and over and never seemed to learn anything new.

They tried everything they could think of, but it never worked. Fortunately it never made things any worse, either.

 

At least that was one advantage to my new condition : I'd never have to see another doctor. In fact, if I did, they'd never set me free again. It gave me a real reason to stay away from doctors : my freedom depended on it.

 

When I realized that my veins had returned to a more normal condition, that being underneath my skin and with a whole lot less throbbing going on, I interrupted my ponderings. As I got up to pick some clothes from the ones on the floor I was really hoping for this one to pass as quickly as possible because this, no pun intended, sucked.

 

When I woke up one evening and realized what had happened I was surprised at first. I mean, in all of the stories, and in the game too, the ones that didn't get any education always took forever to find out that they'd died and needed blood to keep them moving. It wasn't like that for me at all : the fact that you're not breathing and that you don't have a heartbeat is not something you can ignore for very long, not even if you're not trying. And the way you keep thinking about drinking someone's blood fresh from their veins is also a, once again no pun intended, dead giveaway.

 

Once I'd reconciled myself with the idea I quickly accepted. I was all ready to enjoy the whole vampire scene : the mystical powers I'd no doubt discover, the hot women practically offering me their gracious necks, the inhuman strength to get rid of their angry boyfriends, I was ready for it all.

 

So why, why in the name of all that is undead, do I have to be allergic to blood!?

 

 

_______________________________________________

 

 

 

See, this is what you get if you let four nutcases play Vampire the Requiem together and, even worse, allow them to get sidetracked. Add to that the fact that one of them is someone who enjoys writing but is greatly out of practise, and you get excuses for stories like the one I just posted here.

One of the ideas that came up during our game last Sunday was that of a vampire allergic to blood. It stuck in my mind until today I finally decided I'd do something with it.

 

While I'm not completely unhappy with the way it turned out, I feel it needs a whole lot of work before it can truly be called a nice story. Since it's more of an idea vent than something that came straight from the heart I'd appreciate any feedback anyone might be willing to give, no matter how harsh. Feel free to add comments in this thread, or start a new one over at the Critic's Corner.

 

Please do stick with one choice, though

[Appy]

Hmm not much in the sense of feedback yet other than that I liked reading it and think you have a good idea/start here. The twists are particularily good.

 

I'll try to think of ways on how to expand this, but don't expect anything enlightening please.

Edited August 16, 2006 by Appy