Give me blood meow

Sometimes, people do get an unique chance to do somethings that are really, really special. Sometimes people who are special can be good, sometimes they're bad. Just like every other maggot that has ever walked around on this planet. Superheroes are rare while the villains are growing stronger.

Sometimes I just wish that I could tell whatever I was.

“Helloooo New York, it's seven am and it's time to -”
My hand automatically flew out to hit the power-button on the small radio, and I let out a groan.

Seven am? Seriously? Who even gets up that early?

People with a job and someplace to be, you lazy ass fucker.

Grumpily I got out of bed, yawning and wishing I'd be able to fall asleep again. One of the cons of being me was, unfortunately, that once I woke up I wouldn't be able to get back to my pretty little dreamland of rainbows and marshmallows till the following night, which pretty much sucked. That's why I was a coffein-addict and the reason why there were lots of cans of the beautiful energy drink Monster. I felt pretty bad ass while drinking that stuff, even though it probably weren't good at all. You only live once, right?

…well...

I felt proud of myself as I managed to make coffee without burning the kitchen down (or set anything on fire, as I'd done last time), get dressed and make a very, very important decision.

I wanted waffles for breakfast.

When I was done with all the stuff I had to do before leaving the apartment it was almost half past eight. It wasn't my fault I was a sloth most of the time, a very old slow sloth. Not that I was old – the face I was when looking myself in a mirror was fairly young, only 25 years old. Maybe I looked a bit younger than I actually was, but at least I knew my age. And, just to mention it, I had not a single gray hair. It was just darkly reddish – it wasn't colored, which many people I met thought. It had just got a dark red color, like blood, all by itself. Even though the ginger-jokes I got thrown at me all the years through school I'd never dyed it in another color, because I actually like it. Like, hell yeah for no soul at fucking all. I could do whatever I liked without any regrets.

Except that it's was a lie. I do had regrets, and hell loads of them.

So, I left the apartment and strolled downtown towards the subway station that was located only a block away. Sometimes people really thought I was mad, since I could go all the way across town – or, not really, just a very long way away from home – to get waffles. The thing was that this wasn't ordinary waffles; they were my waffles. Waffles with capital W. I really wish I was joking, but once you've had the perfect waffles, you never go back to the oh-shit-what-did-I-do-to-my-kitchen-ones. Perfect waffles are perfect waffles, and I really shouldn't have to explain myself any further.

I didn't see the car around the corner, and apparently the driver didn't see me either, as the car ran straight over me and I flew like a mitten across the street to fall down in a ditch on the roadside. Stars were jumping in and out of my sight and all I could think was “oh shit, and all I wanted was waffles” before I passed out.

No, actually, I didn't pass out. I just died.

I inhaled sharply as I sat up, breathing heavily as I'd had a nightmare or sprinted too far than I usually could. (Fact: I weren't good at sprinting or running or moving at all – I just usually always managed to fall and hurt myself, whatever I did. Exercising wasn't really my thing.) The monitor that still was connected to my heart started to beep like crazy, and I could literally hear my pulse running too fast through my body. It pounded in my ear, making me feel like I was about to explode.

Some nurses and doctors or so – I couldn't really think, so I judged by their white clothes – ran into the room, looking all confused. “I could swear his heart had stop!”, a woman said in a hysterical voice.

Wait, so I really did die again?

I went through a series of examinations, questions and people basically trying to scratch their brains out, or that's what it looked like anyway. No one could really explain what had just happened, so they just choose to call it a miracle. A miracle. They patted me on my shoulder and said I was lucky, and since they couldn't find anything that was wrong with me, they let me go after a few hours of checking.

I sighed as I left the hospital, checking the clock. Three pm. My stomach growled and I asked a bypassing human being where the nearest subway station laid.

Dying took its toll on my stomach, and not even death would be able to stop me from getting my fucking waffles. Yeah, I was a bit pissed off that dying wasn't on my to-do-list that day, nor that it had tried to stop me from eating my beloved waffles, but shit happens.

Thing was, it always seemed to happen to me.

Oh sweet, sweet thing. What I'd like to do to you...

My thoughts accidentally slipped over to the creepy erotic side as I took the first bite of the heavenly waffles with chocolate on, but I was too hungry to care. Dying had made me too hungry to care about the long looks I was given nor the fact that my clothes now where all dirty and torn, and that I probably looked like a mess. Nothing really mattered that day because I choose so. Or, not really – the car that had hit me had made the decision for me. Same shit but different.

And oh, coffee too. Maybe this day can turn into something good after all.

When the plate was empty I realized I still was hungry, so I got up and ordered more waffles. The waiter gave me a weird look and told me to pay first, for coffee and all.

Do I really look homeless or something? I thought and quite irritated I fetched my wallet from the asspocket of my jeans. Yup, asspocket. Good name for it. Lucky them they have absolutely delicious waffles. But really, they need to stop hiring spoiled little fucked up teenagers – I don't want them to ruin my day. As if it hasn't been a downer except for the waffles already. “And oh, can I get a cup of white hot chocolate too?” I smiled as sweet as I could to hide how annoyed I were, and as the waiter nodded and made a note of it I bowed like a gentleman. “Thank you kind, miss.” I didn't realize someone was staring at me and literally dropped his jaw as I walked by.

Someone patted me on my shoulder as soon as I'd sat down again, and for a second I thought I still were at the hospital as I turned around, but no. I were still in the small café with perfect waffles, and the one who had touched me was a man about my age. He looked a bit older, with really dark, brown hair, a little stubble (it wasn't really a beard nor a mustache, but you could tell he hadn't bothered shaving in a few days) and a very confused in his dark eyes. “Yeah?”, I said with a confused little smile, trying to figure out if I knew him from somewhere. Not what I could recall at least, but then my memory was a bit fucked up too.

“Excuse me, but uhm... aren't you supposed to be... dead?”
I looked at him in shock. “...why?”
“'Cause I'm... I'm pretty sure I ran over you. This morning, actually. They said... uhm... the medics said your heart had stopped beating when they got there. They said they couldn't do anything.”
A light bulb switched on in my head and I pointed a finger towards him, smiling as if I finally understood what he was talking about. “You're the guy that killed me!”, I said with a happy voice as I reached out my hand. “I'm Troy. It's nice to meet you.”
“...Philip”, he said as he shook my hand. “Are you a...?”
“Ghost? Nah, fuck that shit. I'm not dead anymore.” The plate arrived and I expectantly picked up the fork. “I was just dead for a while. Shit happens, y'know.”

He stared at me in disbelief as I started to pay the waffles all my attention. They really did deserve all the focus I could give, because goddammit those waffles were great. “Okay, I don't get it”, he said and sat down on the empty chair across the small, round table. “You were fucking dead. People don't just... they don't...”
“First of all”, I said, holding up my fork in the air as if I were holding a very important speech. “I'm not fucking dead. I mean, there's lots of living people to fuck, and they're actually better at it than the dead. Don't ask me how I know that, okay? And secondly – as I said, shit happens. I'm alive again, and I'm not a ghost nor a zombie, and I'm so not fucking them either. Can you even fuck a ghost? I mean, it's not like they're solid...” I shook my head a bit and continued eating my waffles and ignored how confused the other man got. He killed me – he deserved it.

“...then what the fuck are you?”

“Human.” I smiled at how frustrated he was getting. “Okay, shall I be really honest with you?” I leaned forward over the table, towards him, and got a serious face. “I'm a cat. Trapped inside a human body.”

Philip rose to his feet and almost tipped his chair over. “Okay, I'm fucking done with this. If you can't explain it – just fucking say so. Say it was a miracle or whatever, I don't care anymore. Sorry for running over you, I didn't mean to.”
“Sit down”, I demanded in a quiet voice as he turned around, ready to leave. He turned his head towards me and raised one of his eyebrows. “Please? I'll behave. And by the way, I know it still matters. I know you're still curious. So, please, have a seat. I can buy you coffee.”
He carefully sat down again. I waved at a waitress and turned to him. “How do you want it?”
“Just get me café latte, please.”
“Alright.” I ordered and took sips on my hot chocolate. “Have you ever tried hot white chocolate?”
“No, I haven't.”
“I swear, it's like heaven. Not that I've been up there, but if heaven has a taste it would be like this.” I made a small gesture at the cup and put my elbows on the table and my chin in my hands. We just stared at each other till another cup joined us on the table. Philip took it and drank a little, not breaking the stare-competition. That was quite impressive – if I'd tried that I would've missed my mouth and spilled hot drinks all over me and felt like dying, 'cause yeah I was just that kind of person with extremely bad luck.

“So”, I said, looking down at my cup. “It happened when I was five years old or so. That's when I died the first time.”
“Wait, so you've died like not just once?”
“Exactly. It was during a field trip with my kindergarten – okay, field trip isn't the right word, really, but we went to some kind of forest. Anyway, me and some other kids ran a little bit too far away from the watchers and found a cliff. Once again I use the wrong word, but it was like a huge stone that we pretended was a cliff. Around it was like, bushes and flowers and other stones and stuff. So, we competed in who could get to the top first. I was in the lead, but then another boy gripped my ankle and caused me to fall off the stone. My head literally cracked open on one of the more sharper stones, and I died later at the hospital. The weird thing was that I woke up a few hours later, completely healed. No one could explain it, but honestly people were just happy that I all of a sudden lived again.”

I saw the confusion convert to shock with an ounce of disbelief in Philip's eyes, and it made me give away a knowing little smile. Of course it was hard to believe, of course there was no logical explanation to this. It had just happened, and so it had done a few times.

“So, uhm... how does it feel like? To die, I mean.”

“Depends on the death cause. This time I blacked out pretty quickly. It wasn't one of the most painful times, at least. You know, I've never actually talked to the ones who are the reason I died. Like, I've never met them again afterward and stuff. I'm curious too. Tell me what it felt like, hitting me with a car.”

“I... I was so fucking scared. That's basically all. And it felt like I was in a very weird dream, like it wasn't really happening.”
“Oh, I see. Well, you don't have my blood on your hands anymore. Congratulations.” I gave him a huge smile and turned my attention to the plate, finished off the waffles.

“How many times have you...?”

“Died? This was the fifth time, if I remember it right. First the smashing head, then a car accident, then suicide, then falling out a window on the tenth floor, and now another car accident”, I said and counted them off on my fingers. “Yup, seems about it.”

“...suicide?”

“Yup. I had a dark period, okay? And I also was curious to know if the other times I'd died had been occasional. Like, there's pros and cons with being me. The pros are that I can start over. Bad memories? Just die and then get out of there as fast as you can – that's kinda what happened when I fell out a window, but it's a really fucking long story. And I wouldn't have found the most perfect waffles in town if I hadn't died the second time. You see, I died on this exact street when I was nineteen, while one perfectly good morning trying to find a place to have breakfast on. When I came out of the hospital later I was so fucking hungry I didn't know what to do with myself, so I made it back to the small café I'd been headed for at the beginning, 'cause why not? I'm glad I did. So, they gave me free waffles since they recognizes me from under that fucking van, all bloody and messed up. And God I got stuck with 'em. Unfortunately the last owner sold the place to some douchebags who wouldn't give me free breakfast, since the story of my survival wasn't passed on to them. The chef remained where he was, though.”

Philip still looked pretty shocked. “I'm not dreaming, right? This isn't some weird-ass dream?”

I leaned over the table and pinched his arm.

“Ouch!”

“No, you're awake. Sorry.”

He gave me a murderous look, but as he'd already killed me once that day he only let out a sigh and brushed his hair off his face. “So okay...”
“Shit happens. Get over it.”
“...what are the cons then?”

“Well, I die. It's not like I like it. It's like drowning in thick, dark and very muddy water. You can't breathe, can't see, can't feel. You just... kinda exist. You can't move or anything, you're just floating around, suffocating.” I drank the last of the hot chocolate and rose to my feet. “And you get like extremely hungry as you return. Or, at least I do – I don't think all people return from the dead. And honestly I don't thing that dying is the same for everybody as it is for me.” I shrugged and took my jacket. “And oh, there's probably something I should tell you...”
“What?”, Philip said as he emptied his cup.

“You're going to die. Soon.” Silence. “Bye.” I waved and smiled again before turning around to leave the café.

“Wait, wh- wait!”

I didn't wait for him as I walked out of the door and crossed the street. I only listened to the shrieking wheels, screams, the crash, without even turning to see what as going on.

I already knew.

And I smiled.