Unrest

Micha rushed through the room, stuffing what he could into a small bag.  He could hear them downstairs, banging on the door.  The landlord fiddled with the lock and the wood scraped against the floor.  Their shouting rose up to him through the floors, along with a thud.

Micha stuffed the last of his possessions into the bag and pushed open the shutters on the window.  He threw his bag out to the street below, then started climbing out himself.

Then the door flew open, and without a second thought he pushed his torso through the window and dropped to the street.  He thought he heard his ankle crack when he landed, but he didn't have time for injuries.  He grabbed his bag and scrambled into an alley.

When he rounded the inn, he barely had time to stop before the bullet entered his skull.


Colors.  That was the first thing he noticed when he opened his eyes.  So vivid despite the fact that the night was darker than ink.

All of his senses seemed to be heightened, in fact.  The dirt that touched his fingertips felt so much finer and the rocks rougher.  There was the thick smell of rain in the air and something absolutely delicious that he couldn't quite recognize.  And the sounds:  they were so loud and sharp in his ears.  Every howl of a wolf, the snap of a branch.

It was magnificent.  He had never felt so good, so strong, so alive.  Never felt so...

Hungry.


Micha's eyes fluttered open. He was lying on a wooden floor, and his back ached from the uncomfortable surface.  He stood up slowly and stretched his stiff limbs.  It suddenly occurred to him that he was alive.  But how?  The last he remembered, Alexi had shot him…

He shook off the thought, and decided to try to assess his situation.  First, he noticed some bright red substance on his hands that looked suspiciously like blood.  He held his hand to his nose, sniffing the "blood."  It was strong and smelled fantastic.  What on Earth could it be?  Hesitantly, he touched his tongue to the tip of his finger, and his mouth seemed to explode with the taste of the substance.

It was almost indescribable; it tasted like what he imagined some wine of the gods would.  It couldn't possibly be blood:  It wasn't metallic or tangy.

As he studied his hand, eh also noticed his skin looked very pale, almost as parchment.  It seemed like it was also thinner; his veins were more prominent that they'd been before.  He was more muscular, too, the tendons prominent under his skin.

He stumbled out of the room, which he now realized must have been a bedroom, into the kitchen.  Clean plates and silverware sat on a wood table.  The brightness of the candles that lit the room hurt his eyes at first, and he held his hand up to shield them.  He went over to the table and picked up one of the plates.  In the clean silver of the dish, eh could see some differences on his face.  His features were sharper and more handsome than he remembered.  His eyes were a brighter blue, too.

Then he caught something in the reflection.  He turned and looked to it.  Peeking out from around a corner was a hand; shriveled up and dead-looking.  He moved cautiously towards it until he could see the body attached to it.

He jumped back against the wall, letting out a stream of curses.  It was a man; his neck was slashed and the rest of his body was shriveled like his hand.  A look of terror was frozen on his face.  Behind him was a woman in a similar condition, with bite marks on her arm and neck. But scarcely any blood was on their corpses.

Micha stopped at the sound of footsteps.  He looked around, trying to pinpoint the sound.  His ear led him to a window.  Outside a man was walking towards the house, and his footsteps matched up with the sound, but there was no way Micha could hear him from that far away and through a wall.

Afraid he would be blamed for the murder of the man and woman, he hid as the man approached the door and it burst open.  He squeezed himself into a closet as the footsteps drew nearer.  Suddenly, the man stopped-right in front of the closet.  He was silent for a moment, then he ripped open the door and hoisted Micha out by the shirt.

Micha kicked and clawed at the man, letting out hisses and growls-sounds that he didn't know he was capable of making and slightly confused him as they escaped his lips.  The man struggled to drag Micha away from the closet and lifted him up and slammed him onto the table.  He grunted in pain as the knives and forks poked him, but didn't puncture his skin.

Then the man cracked a hand across his cheek, growling, "Calm down, boy."

Micha stopped struggling and stared up at the man, still trying to pry his hands off his shirt.  A long coat masked his figure, and his long, curly black hair hung down the sides of his handsome face.

"I only want to help you," the man said.

"I find that hard to believe," Micha said giving the man's wrists a squeeze.

"My apologies," the man said releasing Micha.  He grabbed him by the arm and pulled him off the table.  "My name is Nikolai Kozlov."

Nikolai held out his hand, but Micha didn't take it.  Instead he glared at him, saying, "What do you mean you want to help me?"

Nikolai dropped his hand.  "You clearly have no idea what has happened to you, and when you realize that," he said, "you'll have no idea what to do with yourself."

"So explain," Micha challenged. "Explain to me why I seem to have risen from the dead as if by some… some black magic or something.  And what happened to those people.  And what this is."  He held up his hand and gestured to the red stains on it.

Nikolai pulled out one of the chairs and leaned back in it.  "You have risen from the dead because you, boy, have become a vampire."

"What?" Micha hissed.  "A vampire?"

"Yes, a vampire," Nikolai confirmed.  "What happened to those people is you killed them.  But don't feel guilty; you were driven by simple animal instincts.  It happens to many newborn vampires.  And that on your hands is blood."

"If it's blood," Micha said, "then why does it taste so…"

"Good?" Nikolai finished.  "Because you're a vampire, and you thirst for blood."

"No," Micha said.  "You're lying.  Vampires aren't real.  They're just a legend, a myth."

"Then what other explanation do you have?" Nikolai asked.  "There is none.  You are a vampire, and you will always be."

Micha held his hand up to his head and leaned against the table.  He shook his head and glanced back at the place where the man's body was.  "I don't understand…"

"You will in time," Nikolai said.  Then he stood up and put his hands on Micha's shoulders.  "Until then, I'll be here to answer your questions.  Now, since you have neglected to give it to me earlier, what is your name."

Micha looked up at him, then down at the floor.  "Micha," he said.  "Micha Sadovsky."