The Language Of Blood

The epiphanies that arise during a meal are, in essence, the final testament of the consumed.

Today’s bread was a bit overcooked. As took a bite, he could almost hear it complaining about how unbearably hot the oven was. The tomatoes whispered weakly about the pain of being sliced. Noah was long used to this.

He had just been discharged from the hospital last week. It was the last bus on a Monday night. The driver, suffering from cancer, had deliberately driven off a bridge to leave some money for his family, unaware that Noah had been dozing in a corner of the bus.

During the violent crash, Noah had gotten some of the driver’s blood on him, he discovered that consuming something that carried a person’s final moments allowed him to hear their last thoughts—not just food, but people too.

Not a word escaped Noah's lips.

The day before, using the excuse of visiting and gathering inspiration, he had stolen some blood from a victim under the watchful eye of his childhood friend, now a forensic scientist.

After drinking the blood, Noah took a deep breath and closed his eyes. At this moment, he would rather be a vampire than a criminal who steals blood.

“Noah, I know you can hear my final words. Don’t be surprised, and don’t doubt it—I’ll make you believe. I’ve prepared a vial of your mother’s blood for you, hidden in the wine cellar of your childhood friend’s old house. Once you drink it, you’ll learn the truth behind your mother’s death and the origin of your powers. Trust yourself; your abilities are far greater than you realize. I embrace the silence, the eternal silence.”

Noah suddenly opened his crimson eyes, and even the night sky seemed to be tinged with blood.