Day One

I wake up on the cold pavement, staring at the sky. It’s still blue, still there. Familiar, but everything else is... off. The air smells wrong—stale, like old meat left too long in the sun. My head feels like it’s stuffed with something heavy, and my arms are just as sluggish. I can’t feel my legs. I can’t feel much of anything.

Why can’t I feel?

I try to sit up, but my body rebels. My limbs move like someone else is controlling them, jerky and uneven. My head tips back, neck cracking, and for a moment, I see the tops of the streetlamps. Then, finally, I manage to lift myself into a sitting position. Everything spins. The world looks blurry, like I’m peering through warped glass.

My shirt is torn. My skin underneath is cold, sticky with something dark and dried. Blood. My blood. I think? The scent is sharp, metallic, and disturbingly sweet. I should feel panic, pain, anything, but there’s just a hollow pit where my emotions should be.

What happened?

A flash of memory stabs through the fog in my brain. Work. I was working. Delivering pizza. The red-and-white logo on the bag is familiar, though the colors seem faded now, muted. I remember ringing the doorbell, balancing the box in one hand. Garlic and oregano lingered in the air. Then—teeth. The memory stops there, an abrupt black wall I can’t push past.

My stomach churns, loud and angry, breaking the silence around me. The sensation is foreign—this hunger isn’t like skipping lunch or craving a midnight snack. It’s sharp, feral, clawing at my insides. I try to swallow, but my throat is parched, gritty like sandpaper. I moan—or growl—at the discomfort, and the sound startles me. It doesn’t sound human.

My head swivels sharply at a movement down the street. A man is walking his dog, a golden retriever with a wagging tail. My vision narrows, focusing on him like a predator locking onto prey. The air shifts, bringing his scent to me. Alive. Warm. Pulsing.

It smells so good.

Something stirs inside me, primal and unrelenting. I’m on my feet before I even realize I’ve moved. My legs drag, one ankle refusing to hold my weight properly, but I stumble forward anyway. The pizza bag slips from my shoulder and falls to the ground, forgotten. My entire body feels wrong—awkward and heavy, yet somehow propelled by an overwhelming need to get closer.

The man notices me. His steps falter. He squints, probably at the blood staining my clothes. “Hey, buddy, you okay?” His voice is muffled, distant, like I’m underwater. I try to answer, to say something, but my throat won’t cooperate. Instead, a low, guttural moan escapes me. His dog barks, ears flat, hackles raised.

Why is he afraid?

I take another step forward, faster this time. The hunger grows louder in my skull, screaming at me to close the distance. The man backs away, fumbling with his dog’s leash. “Stay back!” he yells. “You’re bleeding, man—just stay back!” His voice cracks on the last word as he turns and runs.

My legs lurch into motion, dragging me after him. My arms flail like dead branches in the wind, uncoordinated but relentless. I don’t think. I just move. His breathing is loud now, shallow and panicked, and I can hear his footsteps pounding against the pavement. The rhythm is hypnotic, a drumbeat driving me forward.

The hunger is deafening, drowning out every other thought. I need him.

He stumbles, and I’m on him before he can recover. My body crashes into his, sending us both to the ground. His head hits the concrete with a sickening crack. The sound makes my jaw ache, my teeth clenching in anticipation. He’s still moving, hands scrabbling at the ground, but I pin him down easily.

There’s blood—fresh and hot—trickling from a gash on his temple. The scent is intoxicating. My mouth opens, teeth sinking into his shoulder. The taste floods my senses, rich and metallic, but perfect. Warm. Wet. The hunger finally quiets, replaced by a primal satisfaction as I tear into him.

He screams, the sound piercing, but it fades quickly. His struggles weaken as I claw at his chest, ribs cracking under my hands. There’s no thought anymore, just instinct. I rip and chew and devour until there’s nothing left to take. His body goes still, lifeless. Useless.

I sit back, panting. Blood drips from my mouth, pooling on the pavement. My hands are slick with it, trembling as I stare at what I’ve done. The man’s face is frozen in a scream, his eyes wide and unseeing. I should feel something—guilt, horror, anything—but there’s just emptiness.

And the hunger. It’s creeping back already, gnawing at the edges of my mind.

I stagger to my feet, my legs steadier now. The man’s blood coats my hands, sticky and dark, but I don’t wipe it off. Instead, I swipe at the corner of my mouth, licking it away without thinking. The taste lingers, delicious and satisfying.

What am I?

I catch a glimpse of my reflection in a nearby car window. The image stops me cold. My skin is pale, almost gray, and my eyes are cloudy, sunken. My lips are dark with dried blood, and my teeth are jagged, stained crimson. I look... dead.

No, not just dead. Hungry.

A sound in the distance pulls my attention—a child’s laugh, high and innocent. The hunger roars to life again, sharper this time, more demanding. I turn toward the sound, my legs already carrying me forward.

I try to resist, to stop, but my body won’t listen. The hunger is in control now, a force stronger than my thoughts, stronger than anything I’ve ever felt. Every breath I take fills my lungs with the scent of life, fresh and vibrant, and I know I won’t stop until I’ve taken it for myself.

I shamble down the street, my mind clouded and my body heavy, but the hunger keeps me moving. I pass the child, thankfully unnoticed, drawn instead to a new scent. It’s stronger, closer—an older woman stepping out of her house, her arms full of groceries. She doesn’t see me at first, her head bent as she fumbles for her keys.

Her heart beats like a drum in my ears, a steady rhythm that makes my mouth water. I take a step closer, my shadow falling over her. She looks up, her eyes widening in confusion before the fear sets in.

“Can I help you?” she asks, her voice wary.

I can’t answer. I can only lunge.

She screams, dropping her bags, and I’m on her before she can run. This time, it’s quicker. The hunger drives me to act, efficient and brutal, and the world narrows to the sound of her heartbeat slowing, then stopping.

When it’s over, I stand over her body, breathing heavily. My hands shake as I wipe them on my shirt, smearing the blood across the already-stained fabric. The hunger is sated again, but only for a moment. I know it will come back, stronger each time.

I stumble away, leaving her there on the sidewalk. The world feels quieter now, emptier. My vision sharpens as the fog in my mind lifts slightly, and I notice the small details around me—the cracked pavement, the flickering streetlights, the distant sound of sirens.

The sirens grow louder. They’re coming. For her? For me? I don’t know. I don’t care.

The hunger stirs again, faint but insistent, and I know I’ll need to feed soon. The thought doesn’t bother me as much as it should. It feels... natural. Right.

This is my life now.

No—this is my death.