Chapter 2: Chapter 2: Getting to Algiers is not easy

Chapter 2: Getting to Algiers is not easy

 Backpacking as a vampire is not like backpacking as a human. For one, the people in Algeria are very superstitious. It is almost like they know I am now a demonic entity. I have been sprinkled with chicken blood twice, which tastes great now. Ironically enough, like chicken... Anyway, those were the good times. 

I also have been chased out of villages, by men who had torches in their hands. A couple tried to set my clothes on fire. Now, I am by no means an expert on all things' vampire, but I think that if I burn like kindling, I will die. That is what the villagers believe too, and they are all expert runners. 

That myth about people from Africa running like demons are chasing them is no myth. Let me tell you, they can go from sitting down to being next to you in a heartbeat. Or maybe a couple of heartbeats. I don't have a heartbeat anymore, and my skin is becoming pale. Which brings me to my current situation. 

I am not foolish enough to go around stealing chickens, and attempt cow slaughter. Cows can really kick, you know? Anyway, my bounty for the night is a rat.

A fat little thing, that is trying to bite me as I type on my phone with my right hand. Sidenote, I need to get rid of my phone. Good thing that no one knows I post in this blog. Otherwise, all of you hipsters would have had to search for me under stones, for the pleasure of reading my word vomit. 

Well, I think it is time to set aside the phone. So, that is what I did, and bit inside the rat. It gave a screech, and began to wiggle. Rat pelt, yes, it is as disgusting as it sounds. Tastes worse than it sounds.

Do you remember your old socks, that you found under your bed after that one time when you got your lazy ass up for a spring-cleaning in August? You know, those socks you have been missing for three years ago, or, in other words, since the last spring-cleaning? Yes, the taste of the rat fur is the same. 

The blood, on the other hand, is not so bad. It goes down my throat easily. Now, some of you might say: But Julius! You are a sensual killer. Go hunt a beautiful lady, and show her all the delights of the night! 

Hehe... you don't know me at all. For one, I like men. For another, I am fat. Yes, the swindler that deals with knock-off water filters is fat, you heard that right. In case any of you ladies have been fawning over me, and thinking I will come in your parent's basement, and we can have sex and I will bite you, then I have to disappoint. 

Not that I will have any fun times with men anytime soon, either. Twilight lied. I didn't become magically beautiful after I became a vampire. My beer belly is still there to be seen. I just hope that, now that I am on a liquid diet, I will lose the weight. Ah, blood smoothies, no forget the mixer, just blood will be ok.   

"Demon," I hear a screech come from the bush, and I take it that it is my time to scram. God darn it all, why did I catch the rat near the water? Usually, I keep watch on my phone to check the time. Yes, you guessed it. A whole horde of women is now running after me, still carrying their hampers with their dirty clothes. 

I bent, so a pair of pants could fly over me. Really, lady? Who do you think I am, to be stopped by dirty pants? A bedsheet manages to capture me then, and I fall on the ground.

Oh, shit. I feel the first stick on my back, and I get into a fetus position. Maybe, if I don't move too much, they will think I am dead? Where are the police when you need it? I paid my taxes! Well, Julius Miles hadn't paid a single cent, but Julius McMillan paid his taxes on time. I have rights, darn it! 

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

With a fury, I didn't know I am capable of, I stood, and tore through the sheet. That stopped the ladies. I assess the situation. They are five, I am one. If even a single one of them bites me, I am dead. Ironic, no?

 A vampire's worst fear is to be bitten. At least, that is what I believe it is. It undeniably bagged the hobo vampire. Or, should I call him sire? Chicken feather hobo vampire sounds better.  

"I will tear down your huts, curse your crops, and kill all your cattle, if you don't let me through," I threaten, and the women exchanged worried glances. I decide to up the ante.

 In my best imitation of one Mongolian documentary about shamanism, I began to chant nonsense. The ladies screamed in fear, and ran off. Forgetting their sticks and their washing. 

"And don't you come back!" I yell after them, and then brush imaginary dust off my shoulders. Looking around the washing, I pick up a couple of shorts and shirts, and stuff them in my backpack. I can always wash them in the river. No sense in wasting my money on clothes. 

What is that? Some of you are commenting: He is a hobo vampire! I hope the villagers get him! Stealing from the poor Africans! 

Well, that is cold. And I took precious time and battery power to type in my little misadventure with the women. Speaking about battery power, I really need to get myself checked into a motel.

Before the hobo vampire got me, I was near Algiers. My navigation would suck the life out of my battery faster than I suck the life out of a rat. Your fellowship on this blog is more important to me than civilization...

Suck up- killyourself89.

Why aren't you strapped to a pyre? - moosyMcMoose.

You are all so heartwarming, honestly, it makes my afterlife all sunshine and roses. I have to keep on walking. Hopefully, I will find Algiers soon, or end up in the stomach of a crocodile. 

Hooray!- killyourself89

Oh, killyourself89, you, I will visit. I cackle for a bit, and then hear running noises coming from the nearby village. Time to scram. 

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