It was night, I was at my desk. The little stand light shone its scorching light on an empty paper in front of me. The rest of the room, shrouded in darkness. I tried to write a poem myself, but I couldn’t seem to get it right. It was like I was fishing in a dark pond, searching for a koi. But all I got were slimy, dark fish without a name. It frustrated me to the point I crumbled the empty page and threw it in the bin. For some reason, I felt like walking. To venture into the unknown. So I snuck past my mother’s room and got out of the house.


    The streets were lit with lanterns every few yards. In the dark, even the known world felt different. I walked around the block, thinking about poetry. When I was almost back in my street, my thoughts were disturbed by the noise of a car rumbling. I looked back and saw headlights peering through the darkness. I continued to walk. “Between the walls, echos of the past,” I murmured. “Calls to me from the shadows forces me to watch scenes that I wished to forget.”


    The car came closer and closer and I could see my shadow stretch in its light. My body was tense, as I listened carefully to the sound of the car. The noise came closer and closer still, until the car rattled next to me, matching my speed. I turned to see the passager window open.


    “Do you believe the ego manifests outside? I mean, that your body adapts to your personality.” It was the voice of a woman. I took a deep breath, letting my stomach expand outwards.


    “Excuse me,” I said. “But what if it’s the other way around? That you become what you look like?”


    She opened the door. “Get in.” I hesitated. Not just the thought of getting in a stranger’s car at night, but the idea of a car itself. I looked in the distance, my house was a sprint away.


    “I can bring you home.” She said.


    “Do I know you?” I asked.


    “Not as of yet.” With that, she speeded away. It was a sportscar. You could hear it as the engine roared to life. I saw its brake lights create this reddish glow before the car turned and disappeared. I quickly walked to the door and entered. I had forgotten all about being stealthy and stubbed my toe against the table. I immediately froze. She was still asleep.


    The next day I woke up at twelve. My mom already left for work. She worked in a laundry where she ironed. Sometimes, she had to work extra hours, depending on the amount of clothes and napkins and tablecloths. Usually, she came home around five. I felt guilty somehow for her, so I cleaned the house as good as I could. Starting small with dusting off, then vacuum-cleaning. I started cooking rice. In the fridge I found some chicken that I cut into small blocks and fried, after that, I made a curry sauce. When I tasted the sauce it needed more salt. Frankly, it needed more of everything. Cooking was something I regularly did, though I wouldn’t have called myself good at it.


    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.I ate the dish at the dinner table when I heard the car again. Soon, it passed the kitchen window at a snail’s pace. I could see the contours of the woman looking at the houses. She was looking for me. I dropped my fork and ran for the door. It was indeed the same car. A pitch-black 911 SC. The car turned onto a neighbouring lawn, then turned.


    The window opened like last time, only now I could see who was in there. A woman of around thirty with dark, curly hair. Her lips were devil red. She wore white, full-rimmed glasses. “Can I come in?”


    She parked the car on our drive. And I kept thinking the car was worth as much as our whole house. The first things I saw were her white shoes and sunkissed legs. She wore a skirt starting at the knees. She had beautiful knees. I never knew knees could be beautiful.


    “Are you going to invite me in?” she asked. I looked up. “Only vampires ask such questions.”


    I instantly regretted my response, but she laughed. “Don’t you worry, I’m not here to suck your blood.


    She got in and I cleaned the table. “So, who are you?” I asked after a moment of silence.


    “My name is Yasmine. I live nearby, in the villa close to the park.”


    This encounter didn’t feel like a coincidence at all. The more I thought about it, the more I felt Like I was the puppet of some evil puppeteer. Someone who changed the solid things by fake things, and the fake by the solid things.


    “If you want I will tell you my story.”


    “Why?” I asked. “Why should I know your story?”


    She smiled. “You can only be interested in my story once I tell it. Or at least hint at the unknown. So, do you want to know it or not?”


    I nodded. “Let me prepare some tea and you can share your story.” I had forgotten I was actually quite hungry. The hunger to sustain me was replaced by a different kind of hunger. The hunger of the unknown.


    That day I became addicted to Yasmine.