Read Online Unmade: A Neo-Nihilist Vampire Tale by The Vocabulariast - Free Book Online

knee. He then contracted his muscles and raised himself
from the ground. It was a painstaking process full of constant sharp pain, but
he had done it. He took his time as he attempted to finish the short walk
across the freeway overpass. He paused to lean against the fence that kept the
crazies from splattering themselves all over the freeway. He had to catch his
breath; this whole adventure was really more tiring than he had thought it
would be. He watched as the red tail lights of cars hurtled into the distance
and around a corner to disappear. Even at this hour the highway had a steady
flow of traffic and the roar of the highway was a constant in his ears. He
leaned his face against the wire mesh trying to push his way through. He
wondered if he had it in him to climb over the fence. It was a hell of a way to
go, all smashed up and spread out over a freeway. He put the thought out of his
head for the time being. If he was going to kill himself it was going to be
with a full stomach. Even those bastards on death row got to die with a full
stomach.
                He
continued on his way to the downtown McDonald’s leaving the prospect of
permanent rest behind. He cruised among the skeletal remnants of empty office
buildings and parking garages. Even though they were empty, many of them still
blazed with fluorescent lights just as if they were filled with diligent
employees slaving away for broad multinational corporations that had the type
of money to waste on keeping an office building’s lights blazing 24 hours and
seven days a week.
                He
passed the huddled mass of a bum who was curled up inside a sleeping bag. You
had to admire the man that could go to sleep on the sidewalk without the fear
of some crazy bastard coming along and stomping his brains in. He wondered if
the man inside the sleeping bag was really fearless or if he had just passed
out drunk. He guessed it didn’t matter.
                He
had once tried to sleep on the sidewalk in a sleeping bag. It had been at the
gas station in Scappoose. The owner had paid someone to come in and strip the
floors of the mini-mart portion of the gas station. The store itself was
closed. He couldn’t even go inside while the two men that were cleaning the
floor were doing their business. The only reason he had been there was to keep
people from going inside while the doors were open and to make sure the floor
guys didn’t take anything.
                He
had curled up on the sidewalk in a sleeping bag, because it had been fall
outside and since it was the graveyard shift, he didn’t really have that much
to do. He hung up a “CLOSED” sign on the open front doors and curled up
underneath the overhang of the storefront. He never actually went to sleep that
night, but did learn an interesting fact: concrete is frequently referred to as
cold for a reason. Not even the thick insulation of his sleeping bag could keep
the creeping chill from his bones.
                He
gave one last glance of admiration to the huddled bum and shuffled down the
street to the accompaniment of a street sweeper that was doing its business a
couple of blocks over.
                The
streets were empty, except for the occasional car crossing intersections in the
distance. He finally rounded a corner to be greeted by the welcoming golden
glow of the McDonald’s. It was open and there were even a few people inside.
Not the type of people you’d want in your house, but people nonetheless. He
moved to the counter, fully realizing that he didn’t quite look like the type
of person anyone would want in their house.
                The
person running the counter approached cautiously.
                “May
I help you?” she asked with an air of suspicion. She looked like she was ready
to bolt at any second. He supposed Portland wasn’t as nice at night as it was
during the day. Most places