Life passing you by

A hunger grew, as time passed. It sat deep in the pit of his stomach and didn't allow for much thought outside of his own little world. A world that smelled of antibacterial wipes and rubbing alcohol. Test tubes scattered about, machines running at all times. He was working. It wasn't on anything that had to do with getting paid, but the whole point of research was deemed necessary. His own life and others were on the line. Not because he had some sort of mortal wound or disease that had to be understood, but because he was sick. Mentally, not physically. The blood lust was there, yearning, tearing at his own wants and needs. His drive to stay sane became a daily issue.

Dreams would take him rarely, but it always turned into his own waking nightmare. A feeling as if he had gone insane. Images of people and what he could do to them. How he would delight in the pain and anguish of others. The control and manipulation that would come with it. With great power came great responsibility and right now, his own responsibility was making sure that he did not become that monster. This specific one in his dreams.

Michael still had found himself working, only caring for what was before him. He worked better without the medication. The focus was unwanted. He needed to pool ideas and thoughts from so many different angles. This was easier. It helped him gain more insight. It was necessary, given what he was looking at. Through the microscopic lenses, he adjusted it, disbelieving what he was seeing. He had been right all along. Whenever he had last checked, it just hadn't happened yet. Whatever happened, whenever it did, it had now mutated. Everything about him was changing, he was changing, and now, he at least had physical evidence. Not a lot of good that would do him to show anyone, but it made him feel less crazy.

Watching the cells before him, he couldn't break his eyes away. It was beautiful and disturbing all at once. This was him. This was who he was now. Would there ever really be a change to this? Could he find a way to go back? This said no. There was a finality to it because how could you change this? It went above and beyond his own knowledge. These sorts of things weren't supposed to be real. These sorts of things didn't just happen. They were made or created. If anything, his first thought would be for biological warfare, but he wouldn't want to think about that now. He wasn't being tested on. His memories screamed other situations and that he was a monster. Not born this way, perhaps, but something else. What was a living vampire? It was the one question that continued to plague him as he continued on with his research.

Leaning over the table, he shook his head and finally pulled away. He needed to look at everything from a deeper level. Genetics and gene splicing or maybe how it reacted with a different sort of blood. Human blood. That entire phrase sent a chill up his spine. Did he just insinuate that he was no longer human? It was true though, the facts screamed it. His own hunger for blood now had done the same. It was strange enough that it was becoming all too easy to step into that mind set. That this was the norm. Not just him locked away in some room doing work. Stacks of paper with notes scribbled all over them, data entered only to be reentered his laptop. Files upon files of everything he could find over the subject. Plastic covering any and all hard surfaces, small trash cans littered full of scraps, used items, and crumpled paper.

He needed to eat, not just feed. Needed to sleep, not just work. His entire life turned upside down over this new revelation and the need to understand it. A drive he had only momentarily questioned to if he had gone overboard. A fleeting thought that was put out like the burning amber end of a cigarette. This was where his one real passion in life was set. There really was no pulling him away from it, without slowly pulling away each digit from the gripping cold. A painful maneuver that had yet to be truly tested.

The door had closed and he felt like the biggest idiot in the world. At the same time, there was so much blood pumping through his veins. It wasn't even because he fed, but because he had won. Whatever had been weighing him down, feeling as if it were overpowering him, it had not. The presence of one expected visit, only to lead to the most wonderful realization of them all. The blood lust would not be satiated. There was no real means of quenching that thirst. But what he could do, was dull it, to make it less of something so taxing on himself and his own fears.

Michael wanted to jump up and down, to yell and holler, to dance in place. It was as if he had made some special unknown discovery that couldn't be spoken of. Which, in truth, he sort of did. This wasn't something that could just be spoken of. No one would understand. The few that knew had only seen him during the a week that he thought hadn't been real. A fog of memories that didn't sit right and he had believed to be nothing but dreams. Questions that went unanswered, but they fell along the lines of his own ability to hypnotize others.

Locking up the door behind her, it was awkward and he should probably be kicking himself. It took everything in him not to sit there and just want to yell and scream that she needed to leave. He was sick. He had been sick. Everything wasn't what it was like before. He was sorry. He was sorry for everything that couldn't be changed. He wasn't who he was. He couldn't just do things that he used to do. He couldn't talk and relate to people the way he had been trying. The attempt was more than half the battle and his own annoyance and arrogance was always able to slither into the way. He didn't want to hurt anyone. Sometimes that felt as if he were the most sorry for. To just let loose and have that freedom. Sorry for being such a monster.

But for right now, none of that was going to matter. He was going to jump, shout, and try to remember that it was still after two in the morning. A celebratory blood bag was going to have to do. All he had besides that was coffee. He really needed to remember to have food brought in. Shopping wasn't high on his list of priorities with everything that had happened. Heading over to his kitchen, still digging through cabinets and cupboards, wondering if there had been anything left behind, he did find a bottle of wine. Now this, was probably a bad idea. But this sounded better than blood. This made him feel more like himself. One glass, just one glass. It would be like breathing air. The sort that wasn't in this room. Time to open a window.

A sniff taken, looking down at himself, she was right. He did look like shit. Hygiene wasn't on the list of priorities. Vanity wasn't something that mattered if it didn't have to do with work. He would deal with that next and later question if that wasn't really why she left. Maybe that was a good way to keep people at bay, after all. Be himself. Worked all these years anyway.

Life had taken another path, another turn. He was happy. What more could there be? There was freedom from his own apartment. At the same time, he didn't want to leave and risk it. It was all a back and forth issue. He was still a threat, still someone that could cause harm to others. But he could leave and not feel as if he were some sort of monster being locked up in a tower. He was a man, a real human being. Just, less on the human portion, given the story that his own blood told. Life would be forever changed and now was the time to begin taking those steps. To become more and more used to the adjustments. To see what he could do and where his actual boundaries lie.

The heat from the shower, the steam hugging him as if it were welcoming him home, it all felt like a story come to life. Feelings and thoughts bouncing all over, without a real care or thought in that moment. Just free to be who he was. There were no outer, noticeable physical traits to his condition. He could pretend to be normal and have these moments. To continue on with his life. When that would change, it was a worry, but not one that had to be dealt with now. It would come later, much like everything else. Impending doom wasn't something that sat right with him. Worse, he wasn't sure of anything outside of his monstrous memories. A life that wasn't his and wouldn't be, he hoped.

She had claimed to be a friend. He hardly believed it. The words spoken, knowingly too. The cracks made in regards to past events. He didn't know what was going on, had little control of his actions. It bothered him, hurt him in a way. The words set on his fears, the points of him being a monster. It was a simple point that he didn't expect from her. A coldness where he hadn't been trying to be as such for her. He wouldn't admit it though. Michael wanted to help, but he didn't know how. What do you tell to someone that is worried about another? When they know you're a monster and your first thought is that there could be more out there. More like him, feeding or preying on the population. The memories said so. They just weren't from here. Usual points of places to go to when something happened to a person, they seemed less likely. He hadn't ever met the guy and he didn't know anything about the relationship. Nothing other than how the word boyfriend was thrown around. He didn't care. He just wanted to help. Instead, all he felt like was more of a burden and a monster. A plague upon people that shouldn't know what he was.

Showing up at her door, he questioned his whole point of showing up. Why bother to want to help? Why care? Why try to be something more than he was? Why bother to do anything outside of being what monster he was becoming? His fate wasn't sealed yet. There were so many things out there in the world yet to experience. He wanted it all. Michael wanted to be selfish. To leave it all behind and continue on. But at the same time, this was a selfish course of action. To see if she hadn't been drunk the other night and watch her suffer. To hurt more by him being there than by him being angry and provoked by words stated. He was succeeding in a part of his life and dealing with his own blood lust, where she was just a child crying over a boyfriend.

It was bittersweet and short lived. He didn't know what it was like to put others before yourself. Not in that way. Feelings, caring, it only went so far. Putting yourself and your achievements were something that had a tendency to come first. Everything else fell flat. Unworthy, unwanting, suffering above all things. Maybe she was the one succeeding and he was the one failing. Maybe the guy was. At least someone missed him and actually cared that he was missing.

Sitting on his sofa, still surrounded by files and paperwork, Michael stared at his analyzed data. This was too big for him and he wasn't exactly sure where he needed to turn. He knew what his limitations were and really, he just wanted to begin emailing people that he knew. Colleagues, associates, anyone that might have a clue. He was making deals and setting aside time for things that were not for him. To what degree would it matter in the end? Would there be a payout and would it matter if there wasn't? His stomach rumbled, as he leaned over, pushing the papers across the coffee table.

Consistently the self involved one, he was coming to realize just what it meant to be around people. It brought a new meaning to the human condition for him. He felt so alien, lacking experiences and qualities that most people learned by his own age. Pressing his lips together, a sense of dry mouth was coming on. Images and thoughts that led to other ones. What had he been doing wrong all of this time? Should he proceed on this course for further analysis?

The last thing that Michael should be doing is using himself as a source of experimentation. It was a given. It changed results and how else were you supposed to keep a clear head over it all? But all of that had gone out the window a long time ago. He needed tot know what to do. Needed to know what it was he was doing. Getting up from his place, he slammed the papers down, only to end up pacing. Eyes catching something outside, he moved towards the window. The flicker of light and warmth that came with the sun landed on his skin. It didn't burn, it didn't change anything. He was who he was. Alive and well. Maybe this was part of the living vampire. Maybe there was more to it than data.

Michael Morgan. Morbius. Michael Morbius. A living vampire. A person to feed off of the living. A man that did more than just for himself. It just started with himself. It wouldn't end there though. It couldn't. There was more to this and he had to figure it out. It was as if he were looking through a dirty lens. Perhaps with cataracts. A spot that he just couldn't quite get or understand. Much like all of the people outside, below, moving along the streets. Each of them with some place to go, some person to meet, something on their mind. No one pushing or pulling at their strings.

Jealousy. There it was, feeding off of his core. He didn't even know how to enter that world. He didn't even know if he wanted to try. Answers were all that was needed right now. Everything else could be figured out accordingly. Life would go on. Everything would pass. These feelings, the urges, they could be fought against. He had proved it. He would again.