Chapter Three

It doesn’t take weeks for the good word to spread. Two days later, as I’m sitting in the park and mulling over the beauty of a crumpled chocolate bar wrapper, I hear a voice I understand.

It’s been days since I could actually understand someone. The cars in the tunnel of human communication have been zipping by me far too quickly for comprehension. But today, today, I hear someone crying out in panic.

“Why won’t anyone listen to me? Hello? Hello? Please, pay attention! I don’t get it!”

My head wobbles to life, away from the wrapper, and I look up. There’s a girl across the park, a too-thin teen with black makeup and blanched skin. She’s definitely a Goth, though right now she’s dressed in a white tank top and jogging pants. She’s not even wearing shoes. I guess I can’t comment on that, though, since my own toes have been bared to the sun for hours.

The other patrons of the park, few in number, are backing away from the girl. They look frightened and confused. Given the ruckus the girl is making, I can’t blame anyone. They probably hear her grunting and growling. That’s all that comes out of my own mouth whenever I try to talk. Or that’s all they hear, anyway, because they’re moving too fast to understand my slow, melodic philosophy.

I rise from the bench, my knees popping. I’m not sure why; it’s definitely not from my weight. My old potbelly is rapidly fading, probably because I haven’t eaten since I got sick. Well, okay, there’s a little collection of bitten skin at the bottom of my stomach, but that doesn’t count. Nothing’s going through my system, so can you really say that I’m eating?

“Hey!” I call, waving awkwardly to the girl. “Over here! I get you!”

The girl pauses, her face horrified. I must not paint a pretty picture. I’ve seen myself in a mirror. My skin is pallid, my left eyelid is usually closed and my teeth are turning brown. Her panic over her own predicament is enough to bring her to me, however.

“You… you understand me?”

I nod as I notice the bandage on her neck. Apparently one of my converts has come home to roost. Take that, street corner preachers, you have it all wrong. Biting is the way to go. “Yep. Don’t worry, I know what you’re going through. Nobody else can understand what you’re saying, right?”

She nods. There are tears in her eyes. Poor child. I suspect the first step to getting rid of sadness is extreme fear, however.

I put a hand on her shoulder and bring her head close. “Don’t worry. It’s a good thing! You’re being slowed down! Soon, everyone will be like this.”

She tries to pull away, but she’s not quite strong enough to escape my iron grip. I’m surprised that my hands are so strong. “What… what the fuck are you talkin’ about? Are you crazy? Let me go!”

She’s still afraid. I understand. She’s young, and is having trouble letting go. I release her, and she stumbles back. “Don’t worry. You’ll get it soon. And when you do, I’ll be here. C’mon back when you’re ready to talk.” I sit down again.

The girl shakes her head. She doesn’t seem to know whether she should run off, attack me or curl up into a ball and will herself out of existence. “You’re fucking crazy.” She flees.

I lean back and smile. One of my teeth totters unsteadily, though it doesn’t fall out. I’m glad, because I still need them to spread the word. Keeping utterly still – I love stillness, it’s so natural – I watch a butterfly spread its wings in front of the sun.

Hours pass. Countless people walk by my bench. I want to lunge at all of them, but my willpower keeps me in check. This isn’t the place, this isn’t the time. I only convert at night, where authority can’t find me, can’t shake a finger at my good deeds.

I feel like Batman. It’s awesome.

As dusk is settling in and the sun is fading at the edges of the horizon, bedding down amidst the tall buildings of the central city, the girl comes back. She looks even paler, and now walks with the same swaying strut as me. She’s calm, and that’s good.

I pat the bench beside me. She sits and watches the sun go down with me. We’re both slumped in drunken poses, and that’s okay too.

“I almost got arrested,” she says. “I stopped in the middle of an intersection to stare at a rock.”

“I’m glad.” I squeeze her hand. Her flesh is soft, though I can feel it stretching. In a few days she’ll be like me, her skin so tight it’ll feel like it can’t bend without breaking. “What did you learn?”

She pauses at that, thinking. She’s slowed down. That’s very good. “I guess… I learned that I didn’t have to learn.” She turns to me, her head lolling against the back of the bench. “It was fuckin’ awesome.”

I nod. “Good for you. Did you bite anyone?”

“I tried. I tried to bite the cop. He was a big, fat fucker.” She laughs; I notice patches of purple on her tongue. “Coulda stood to lose a bit of his gut. I woulda been doing him a favour.”

“You would. But I’d wait until night. Then we won’t get in trouble for doing good.”

“It is good, isn’t it?” She squeezes my hand, now, her eyes sincere. “You. I think I remember you. You bit me the other day, at the club.”

“Yes.”

She lays her head on my shoulder. “Thanks. I feel like you’ve really changed my life.”

“I’m glad.” I run my fingers through her hair. More than a few strands fall out, pooling in her lap. “We’re not alone, either. I’ve been working hard to tell people the truth, and you… you’re proof that they’re ready to listen.”

We sit in silence for a while, admiring the shadows stretching across the park. It’s such a simple thing, watching, and so wonderful. I could sit on this bench until it fades to dust, a thousand years from now, and not get bored.

Eventually she speaks up. “You’re the only person I’ve understood all day. How the fuck are we supposed to find other people like us? I mean, I guess we’ll stumble on ‘em eventually, but…”

I put a finger to her lips. I nearly fumble and jam it into her eye. If there’s one thing I miss, it’s coordination. “Shh. Remember, patience. We’re trying to get away from being too fast, right? Letting life pass us by? I don’t want to miss anything by focusing on details. We have to let the goodness come to us. Don’t forget what I told you.”

I never really told her all this. She understands, however. I communicated all the important stuff when I bit her neck. “What do we do in the meantime? Have sex or somethin’?”

I sigh. Still impatient. She’ll learn. I reach into my pocket and pull out the only thing I’ve been keeping with me: my phone. I ponderously flick it on and, after several long minutes of concentration and effort – the girl helps, as she still understands some of the fast language – I navigate to the small group I’ve made on a social network. It’s called ‘Truth Seekers, Find What You Crave in These Words!’, and below the title is a brief outline of my philosophy.

And people have responded. Unfortunately, I don’t understand what they’re saying, so I must conclude that they’re the uninitiated. They’re probably mocking what they see as gobbledygook. There are a few links included that lead to pornography and ads. Nothing of substance. But understanding will come, and sooner or later someone will post something that I can read.

“Huh.” She skims the page with shaky hands, her breathing shallow and excited. “This is golden. I fuckin’ love it. But you don’t know how to advertise, do you?”

I shrug. I’ve always looked at the social revolution as a passing fancy. I love computers, and keep mine up to date, but I’ve never really wanted to talk to anyone online. This is especially true now, as a bite is so much more personal and efficient… but I understand the need for getting the word out to those I can’t touch.

She commandeers my phone for a while. I don’t pay much attention. I’m too interested in a moth fluttering at a nearby lamp. Eventually she elbows me, however, and when I look at my phone I see that she’s spread the word over a myriad of social networks. I guess Goths are well connected in the digital world.

“Somebody will see. Somebody will get you. I fuckin’ know it.” Now she looks uncertain again, out of her element. Lost and in need of guidance. “But what will you do when you get more people? What will we do?”

There’s only one answer for that. It comes easily to my grinning lips. “We’ll have a meeting, of course.”