Chapter 1: Chapter 1: Dead doesn’t equal zombie

Chapter 1: Dead doesn't equal zombie

 Being dead is fun. Now, before you say, Julius, you are crazy, hear me out. Julius McMillan was just a nail in the corporate machine. That is me, if you haven't guessed. I think I will keep my first name, but I will change my last name. But let us get back to the topic at hand. And that is: death. 

Being attacked by a vampire while backpack traveling in Algeria is not fun. Why was I backpacking? Well, my boss thought that there should be a person on the spot, to talk to the locals. You see, Aqua International is one of those big names, that like to do charity work, but still get to look like they made the person who benefits work for it. 

Now, I know what you will say. Why Africa? What other cliché could my boss think of? India also needs clean water. Side note, that is what Aqua International does, if you haven't guessed.

It takes tap water, yes tap water. I will let you hipsters who drink only bottled water that came from mineral springs from Tralalandia stare at your screens in horror for a moment. Is the cold shiver that passed down your spines over? Then I can continue. 

So, I repeat, tap water...  Hehe, the shiver is back, isn't it? I love this blog. They take tap water, and then pretend to get it through filtering machines. Believe me, dear hipsters, you don't want the water to touch the insides of the machines.

 Have you ever heard about flies in beer cans? Well, the machines that Aqua International has, and doesn't start when there are no check-ups, have worse things in them. Like spiders and cobwebs.

No, honestly, they do. In one of our locations in Brazil, a tarantula's carcass got spat out of the faucet. Anyway, dying. Vampire attack, not fun, let me tell you. 

Now, you might think that I got attacked by an aristocrat wearing a cape. To those of you who live in Tralalandia I have to say this: I was attacked in Algeria, for Pete's sake! That is not to imply that there are no rich people in Algeria. Maybe there are even a couple of aristocratic vampires in there somewhere. 

What attacked me was a hobo vampire. Yes, that is a thing. Shaggy afro that had more lumps in it than hair. Dirty clothes, that were obviously taken from a local tribe. The guy had feathers in his shirt, for crying out loud. They were nice feathers too. The best thing on his outfit. White, probably from a chicken. 

Anyway, the hobo vampire snarled at me, showed me his fangs, and then pointed at me. 

 "You robbed my tribe! Now, I will rob you," funny thing to say to a guy who gives out water filtering machines for a living, right? Well, he does have the right of it. Considering the machines are knock-offs, and don't do much for the water. Think about it that way: tap water goes in, tap water goes out. 

You are reading story When you are dead, but not at novel35.com

In nations where the tap water is already treated, Aqua International can go unnoticed. The housewives love wasting electricity on water. But in villages in Algeria where there is no canalization, and the tap water is a light-brown color, if the villager in question is lucky? Yeah, good luck with getting away without anyone noticing. 

I tried to argue, I tried to run. There are many myths about vampires, but their superhuman speed is a truth. Another interesting tidbit is that they don't have to hide inside during the day. Dracula, why did you lie to me? Those were my thoughts, as I watched the sunrise, and the hobo vampire was latched on my throat. 

I think the man would have just drunk me dry, but I am a tough bastard. I bit him in the neck. Yes, you heard right. I took the initiative, and became a vampire. Do you know of a myth that no one will tell you? If a vampire makes another into a vampire, even if it is an accident, then they die...

Yeah, hobo vampire turned into dust, and I got a sharper set of canines. Scary, right? All those romance novels, where the main character turns his lover into his image... not the truth in the slightest.

Or, maybe the hobo vampire was weak? Until I get out of Algeria, and back to good old Germany, where my American parents emigrated back in the nineties, I won't be able to do any research. 

Why, you may ask? Sure, most of Algeria is covered with villages, but there are plenty of towns and cities too. I mean, Algeria is one big landmass. The answer to that is simple. I will stage my death. 

Again, you might wonder why? I am an immortal now, I think. Until I find one of them aristocratic vamps to show me the ropes, I have only myths to go on. Where does one find such vampires, but in the old continent?

They might turn their noses up on me, seeing as I am the product of someone who had fleas. I know because there are fleas in the hobo's ashes. Did you think I called him a hobo, just to be spiteful? Bloodsuckers on a bloodsucker. Irony, thy name is that hobo's whole existence.  

Anyway, I still have the payment of the last robbery. I mean, the last water filtering machine delivery. That is just one thousand euro, but in Algerian money that is a lot, I can assure you. If I can just get to Germany, things will be cleared out. It is not like I have family there. My parents are long dead, my distant relatives are back in the states. Not that I know them. 

I will let the villagers spread the news that there were two deaths. Someone will drop the fly that I have been eaten by a crocodile, and that will be that. No more Julius McMillan. Goodbye to that loser, who sold lies and on whose unmarked grave plenty of Algerians are going to dance. 

Hello Julius Miles, a vampire in the flesh. I will become an aristocratic vampire, and probably buy Aqua International, when I get the bank account for it. I have my afterlife all planned out. Watch out world, for there is another vampire on the prow!   

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