Things Are Looking Up For Once

A hundred dollars and a strongly worded letter politely telling me not to run my mouth turned out to be all the punishment I was doled out. A quiet, personal reminder I may have been lucky this time, but a human's flesh is weak and only grows weaker with experience, and an undead's is everlasting. All and all, a surprisingly soft consequence compared to the agonizing horrors my mind had conjured.

I naturally saved most of it, savouring the thought of for the next few months not having to worry about rent or bills, or having to fast to make ends meet. The little left to splurge with, I spent largely and rather hastily on new clothes to replace the ones so thoroughly ruined by blood. The remaining smaller amount going towards one day of lavish meals. Naturally, I invited Pierce to join me, the one man I truly couldn't have done this without, a toast to our survival and my stupid good fortune. We ate like children kicked from the dinner table, crowded around my small coffee table, our shoulders rubbing with every little movement. With that lovely soft voice of his, he spoke at length about a book he read years ago that left him with a permanent feeling of discomfort whenever he saw a horse near a streetcar.

I couldn't follow most of what he was saying, with his words being so laden with plot intricacies and symbology that only a well read man like him could grasp the meaning, but still between my bites of steak and sips of beer I encouraged him to go on. Everything he said felt so damn important to hear whether I understood it or not. Words of passion from a dying man about his namesake's writing. I loved every moment of it. Every moment of him. Things may not be alright, but for just tonight, they were palatable.