Miles stood alone in his bathroom staring at himself in the mirror. He had gotten home well over an hour before and had entered his bathroom then. Since seeing himself he had not moved, instead had spent most of the time feeling his face with his hands. He looked younger, at least by ten years. His hair was growing back in and his wrinkles had faded. About a half an hour into staring at himself he had decided to shave his moustache just to be sure that he was changing. Not to mention that his stomach had slimmed, he was rapidly losing weight and he felt stronger. All of these physical changes had taken his mind off of the fact that he had killed a man just an hour before. He had completely forgotten tearing into the man’s throat and draining his life away by consuming his blood.
Miles was no fool, he had seen movies before, and if what had happened been actually real and not a dream then he…might just be…a vampire. But how is that possible? Vampires don’t exist… or do they? Then Miles remembered the man in black, how he had come over him and darkness had followed. He only remembered little things after that, his body being jerked around and the man in black’s coat. Miles could also remember the smell of the man in black as it was like nothing he had smelt before. After that he had woken up in the hospital fully healed and when he left he had attacked that man. But Miles hadn’t felt in control during the attack, he moved with instinct, he had felt like an animal. Now here he was standing alone in his bathroom staring at himself and trying to figure out why he was aging backwards.
Miles turned and exited the bathroom walking out into his living room and then into the kitchen. He opened the fridge door and took out a plastic Tupperware container that was filled with two day old pasta. Miles popped the top off and forked out the pasta onto a plate and then threw it into the microwave pushing the time for two minutes and hitting the start button. He opened the fridge again and poured a tall class of cola and plopped two ice cubes into the glass. He set the glass down and waited for thirty seconds until the microwave beeped that it was ready. Miles took the plate and his glass and went into the living room; he turned on his television and sat down on the couch placing his glass and plate on the coffee table. Some random sitcom was on in the background but Miles wasn’t paying attention, he could tell by the fake laughter of a fake audience. Instead he sat staring down at the plate of food before him, “I should be able to eat this,” Miles spoke out loud without even realizing it.
He picked up his fork and dove in cramming food deep into his mouth, chewing, and then swallowing quickly. He gorged so fast that his pasta was gone in little time and as he finished the last bite he picked up his glass and slammed the cola down so fast the burning from the carbonation caused his eyes to water. He didn’t manage to finish the whole glass and he smacked it down on the table and belched in satisfaction.
“I knew it,” Miles smiled as he felt his stomach full. “Must have been a dream-“ Miles stopped in mid speech as he felt his stomach turn. He had no time to even think before his food came right back out of him as he sprayed chewed pasta, cola, blood, and bile all over his living room floor. He fell forward and continued to throw up as he crawled along the floor toward the bathroom. He pulled himself into the bathroom throwing up continuously and as he made it to the toilet he was only dry heaving now. Miles collapsed beside the toilet and held himself as he began to cry.