I just finished Breaking Dawn, the final book in the Twilight saga.
As per usual, when I watch a movie or read a book, I like to look up the reviews to see what other people thought. Sometimes, they’ll even bring up a topic about the book/movie that I’ll find interesting. It might ask a question I hadn’t thought of or bring up a point that causes me to appreciate it more. Sometimes, they might even answer a question or concern I have.
Well, the book got a lot of bad reviews. Lots of accusations of bad writing, bad plot, bad characters…pretty much bad everything. I started to feel bad for Stephenie Meyer because people are really trashing the book. Not just that one, either, but the whole series. Even though I feel bad, I can’t not agree, at least somewhat, with the reviews.
Frankly, I didn’t hate the book. It kept me interested (mostly) and I was able to read it in a few days. But, I went in having already read the first three and I knew I shouldn’t expect anything groundbreaking or life-changing. Pretty much my whole attitude toward the books have been that they are decent stories about vampires and love and that they are aimed toward preteen girls, whether that aim was intentional or not. So, using my preteen girl mind, I took the books for what they were and enjoyed them. They are safe, not asking you to think too much or feel too deeply. Outwardly, they don’t cause you to question people or relationships or life. It’s just good entertainment.
For some reason, it seems to me that books are judged much more harshly than movies. Have you ever watched a Friday the 13th film and expected it to touch your heart or enrich your life? Of course not. The movies are just good watches. So, why does every book, including the Twilight series, have to be a Shakespearean masterpiece? Why should the author be punished for her imperfect prose? I can’t speak for Ms. Meyer, as I don’t know her intentions while writing the books, but she probably wanted the books to be good and to touch people in their own way, but never thought they were going to be literary ambrosia.
And I’m not trying to make excuses for bad writing. Obviously, the more crap we allow to be put into the world, the more people will absorb it and accept it and start expecting it. We will gradually dumb ourselves down. In fact, I’m sure we already have. Just look at the reality television explosion. They’ve replaced well written shows that could entertain, teach and enlighten. But, I think there’s different forms of entertainment out there. I think all of those different forms of entertainment should be absorbed. Sure, you can have some mindless fun but you should also try to educate yourself as well. Watch a little Jersey Shore, then absorb a documentary. Listen to Britney Spears and follow it up with some Beethovan. Read Twilight and then check out Pride and Prejudice, which Twilight is loosely based on.
As I mentioned before, I feel bad for Stephenie Meyer. No matter what her intentions for the books, I’m sure they are incredibly special to her, especially considering what they’ve managed to accomplish. And to have people bash that must tarnish a bit of her happiness. Then again, she’s a multi-millionaire so she really shouldn’t have anything to feel bad about. Even if everyone thinks her work is crap, she’s still cashing those checks. It’s just that, as a wannabe writer, I know how it is to put stuff out there and hope people will like it and when they don’t, it’s a let down, especially when your writing is extremely personal to you. When people reject your work, it’s almost like they are rejecting you. And that hurts. And, as a wannabe writer, I don’t think I’m any more talented than Ms. Meyer. So, if people think she sucks then I guess I do, too! Of course, her books have been wildly successful so maybe that also means mine might be one day as well. Lastly, as a wannabe writer who happens to be working on a novel, I know it’s not easy to write a book. So to be able to write something that’s at least coherent and readable is an accomplishment itself.
And isn’t entertainment subjective? Not everyone is going to like the same thing. Not everyone is going to hate the same thing.
I guess feeling sorry for Meyer is a reflection of my own insecurities. If I ever get anything published or go the self-publishing route, I’m going to be terrified that I’ll suck, that people will be repulsed by my horrid writing. I’m terrified people will find out that I’m actually not talented at all, that I can’t handle anything more than an unorganized blog. It’s kind of funny because I actually found an editor willing to work on my novel I wrote for National Novel Writing Month and now that I’ve found one, I’m too scared to actually work with him. I don’t want him to read my stuff and think it’s crap, that I’m crap.
I suppose I really need to get over this self-loathing. It’s starting to get tired, I know. I can’t help it much, though. But, hey, if I could make the kind of cash the Mormon vamp lady is making, I think I’d be able to deal a lot better. In fact, I’m sure I’d feel pretty darn good about myself. But, it’ll never happen if I never submit the story to an editor, never have the guts to put my writing out there, put myself out there, believe in what I can do and share it with the world.
I guess I gotta suck it up and take a bite out of life.
See what I did there?
Although I was convinced vampires have no capacity to feel true love, something was definitely happening with this girl. I was wanting her, desiring her in a different way than all the rest. For some reason unbeknownst to me, I was the one spilling my guts. I wasn’t used to being on the other end of the unfurling. Was it possible that I was simply unloading on this dumb girl, that I had held in all these feelings for so long that I had to dump them on someone, anyone? Or was she special? Was she somehow bringing this out in me? Was this really happening? Was there a different kind of lust present, not just a blood lust, but a lust for love? I knew she was into me but I just couldn’t figure out if that feeling was being reciprocated. It had been so long since I had felt a genuine human emotion that didn’t involve negative energy. And despite my efforts to warn this girl against my kind, I hadn’t managed to scare her away. Dare I say, I admired that? Maybe she was too far gone, too far pathetic for me to get inside of her brain. No matter, that wasn’t the part I was interested in getting inside, anyway. This girl had affected me in a way no other human had before in my entire existence as a vampire. And the longer I let her live, the longer I talked, confided in her, the more she intrigued me. It was almost as if she could look into my empty eyes and feel the hurt I endure daily. Although it is impossible for her to know such pain, she seemed to think she did. And that was almost comforting. I had felt as if my emotions were on the brink of…humanity. Although I strike fear into the hearts of humans, I was actually the scared one in this situation. All these new feelings and emotions were trying so hard to tear themselves out of my cold corpse. Was I becoming the impossible, a vampire capable of loving a human, of loving at all? I was going to try one final time to convince this girl that being a vampire wasn’t the way to go. The fact that I even cared to tell her threw me off balance. Why should this even matter to her or anyone else? She was nothing but nourishment, yet I couldn’t help but to try to warn her, couldn’t help but to want to make her run away, to somehow free her from my unwilling hold over her heart. I think I was wanting to save her. Lesson three:
In the most basic sense, vampires are drawn to blood because blood is life. It’s a drug, yes. It’s a substitute for love, sure. But most of all, it’s the representation of life that runs through the veins. We vampires are without life and so we crave it just like we crave blood. Even in death, we crave to crawl back into skin that is warm and alive. With each neck we nurse, we gain a little bit of life back. Just as you humans cannot escape death, we cannot either. We do all we can to stop it. And even when we lose to death we cannot accept it. We are greedy for life. Vampires are always in a frenzy to be free from the shackles of our shells. Becoming a vampire is the equivalent of being locked in a coffin while you are still alive. It’s claustrophobic in this skin. When you’re human, you want to die, but when you become a vampire, you just want to live. It’s the ultimate irony. There are so many untapped desires the living have yet to explore and the dead aren’t ready to give that up just yet.
Vampires are still human in some respects. We walk and talk and put on the appearances of normality. The frustration is that we can cover up our curse as much as we’d like, but we can never be who we were. We can pass for human, yet we never will be. We don’t breathe, so our chests don’t ebb and flow in our sleep. We don’t cast a reflection. I don’t even remember what I look like anymore. I was turned before cameras were invented, so I don’t even have a picture to remind me of my features. I don’t know what color my hair is, what my lips looks like, even the hue of my eyes. Although vampires gain sustenance from blood, we can eat, yet eating isn’t necessarily recommended. Since our bodies cease to function upon death, the food isn’t digested and it just sits in our stomachs until we throw it back up. And perhaps the biggest disappointment, the thing I miss the most about being human, is the fact that vampires cannot participate in sex. Sex is destroyed in death. We have been compensated in other ways, although they pale in comparison to climaxing. We are granted new eyes, eyes that can see everything. Our eyes can pierce souls, can hypnotize and paralyze, eyes that draw the living to us. Upon our death, time dies as well. We are preserved in tight, youthful skin that holds our attractiveness. We are forever young and forever beautiful. We are given an insatiable lust, a lust that lingers on the flesh of our victims, an intoxication that dizzies and leaves them vulnerable. We smell of sex and seduction. It seeps from our skin. Our lips are full of flavor. Yet, what’s it all good for if we can’t indulge in our own attractiveness, if we can’t use it for sexual gain? Yes, it gets us the blood but what about the other parts? Oh, how I miss those other parts.
As I spoke, I became fixated on the tightness of her body, the tightness of her dress and realized this would be the point where my pants would become tight, if only my organ was functional. Just because I cannot become physically aroused anymore does not mean I don’t get hot in other ways. My hard on comes from my head. It’s a mental stimulation, a memory of what once was. And I could tell as I spoke of sex, she became hot as well. She crossed her legs and I noticed she wasn’t wearing any panties. She licked her already wet lips. The leather let out a dull squeak as she inched closer to me, as she looked into my eyes. Although I was the vampire, it seemed as if she was hypnotizing me. She reached out and touched my jaw, her warm fingers running down my face, a warmth I haven’t felt in so long. I’m always cold, so cold, and her fingers were like fire. She pressed to continue, to go on with all the ways in which I could make up for my vampiric impotence.
Oh, and to bite someone is to make love to them. It’s almost as good as the real thing. There are so many similarities between sucking necks and having intercourse. The neck is smooth and warm, the blood just under the surface of the skin provides the heat to initiate action . The neck throbs in ecstasy. It’s wet and delicious. And when we reach the point of penetration, after our teeth elongate and become firm, we sink into a state that is solidly sublime. Once I’m inside of her, our bodies are joined.
She began to get really turned on, her chest heaving out, close enough so that her breasts brushed against my chest. Both of her hands were on my face as she pulled me in for another kiss. This one felt so different, so much warmer, so much more tender. My lips tingled as our mouths mingled. She tore off my shirt and I ripped her dress off in one quick motion. We stood there, both topless, my stomach rock hard and her breasts like two perfect planets orbiting her torso. Our hands attacked each others bodies in a throbbing fever. I continued to talk in between kisses.
And for as long as I’m sucking the sweet sustenance from her, our veins pulse at the same time. She breathes life and love into my body and I finally feel I am alive once again. And I am human again for as long as I’m sucking, for as long as we both share this blood, this crimson creator of life. We are as one, hovering over a perfect harmony of pleasure and pain. God, don’t you want to feel it? Don’t you want to climax from the inside out, to feel the millions of nerves being tingled, to shudder from such ecstasy, to feel it flowing in and out of you, to feel me touching you from inside your skin?
Holding her body in my arms, something came over me, something so strong I was compelled to complete the task my body had ordered upon me. It was stronger than a sexual drive, more intense than any arousal I had ever felt. My lips made their way from her mouth to her neck. And she was lost in my arms again, just like all those hours ago on my couch. I ran my hand through the softness of her hair and gently pushed her head to one side. A line of translucent blue emerged from her satin skin. My canines carved themselves into points again and I lowered my sights onto that blue. In an instant, I had pierced her soft neck, my teeth passing the skin and flesh and landing in that line of blood. A small whimper passed her puckered lips and then an undecipherable moan filled my apartment. I couldn’t tell if it was from the pleasure or the pain. Where was she on this journey? Where was I? My teeth retracted as the punctured vein produced that sweet substance from her neck. It bubbled up like oil, thick and dark and revolting yet irresistible. The coppery crimson liquid flowed like a waterfall from her body and I sucked it down in satisfaction.
“Yes, yes,” she said. “You’re doing it. You’re turning me. And we’ll be together forever.”
I could feel the smile on her face injected into those disgusting words. Yes, I was going to change her, to keep her with me, explore her further. I was going to tear her apart and piece her back together, make her follow me, make her lick my feet and wash my hair. Oh, God, the blood was going to my head. Sweet, delicious, disgusting blood. My eyes rolled back from behind closed lids. It was all happening so fast, my brain buoyant in the red stuff. I was getting close, coming to the brink of her burning. I had to stop. Wet, sloppy noises took over her moaning. She grew silent, her breath easy and fluid.
“I love you,” she whispered in an exhalation of breath.
My blue or brown or black eyes shot open. My tongue ran over the puncture wounds like a vacuum. This girl had done something to me, something I wanted to learn more about. But, her words reminded me of her incessant ignorance and her vapid shallowness. If only she would have kept her mouth shut, just like most girls should. It seems every time they open their lips for anything other than insertion, they ruin everything. I continued sucking, let the moment overtake me as I was overtaking her. I would not turn her. I would not let her survive. I was reaching nirvana with every drop. And as the blood slowly drained from her body, the pain and the emptiness set in. And she knew it. She screamed but I muffled her mouth with my perfectly manicured hand. She bit my fingers in desperation, but the pain was insignificant and not enough to let me go. I was no where near hurting as much as she was. I began to bleed from her bite, my blood smearing all over her mouth. Choking. Wheezing. Muffled excruciation.
“How’s it taste?” I asked her.
When I first bit into this idiot child, I was reminded of the time I was the one on the receiving end of the puncture. And I realized I was just repeating history, doing the exact same thing that was done to me. This girl had fallen in love with me and I had strung her along, having made up my mind from the start that I would kill her. But, to my credit, some reservations did manage to seep into my thoughts. I played with the idea of turning her. I guess I forgot to tell her vampires are fickle as hell. She should have known it was coming. After explaining all that blood does, all that it means to us, how could she not understand our insane lust over the flow of red? And I knew that I would no longer string her along. I knew I could not turn her and then abandon her like was done to me. No, this girl was too pathetic. She only deserved to die. I felt a responsibility to end her sick sadness. I was doing her a favor. Letting her down not so gently. Community service.
I realized there was a lesson to be learned from my exchange with this empty, lonely girl. There was a clarity in the crimson. I had tried to change, had tried to love this bag of blood, but my carnal cravings had conquered this crush I had developed for her. I learned that you are who you are and there is nothing that can do to rearrange or interrupt the natural cycle of your existence. It is the blood, not love, that keeps me going, that preserves my pale skin, that maintains my sexual magnetism. I learned that love is found in a heart that beats and not a vampire that eats. I granted her a gift alright, just not the gift she wanted, not the gift that only I can give. I did not grant her the gift of eternal life, but that of death, a gift anyone could have granted her. It’s unfortunate she sought me out. Her mission for immortality was wasted. And so was her time. But, not mine. I benefited from our erotic encounter.
When her body was fully drained, before her last breath, she let out a scream reminiscent of ecstasy. Her body shuddered and I savored her death throes. And I realized that this was better than sex any day. To have a belly full of blood and a girl’s life climaxing in my arms is more enjoyable than any orgasm I’ve ever had in humanity. I wondered if it was as good for her as it was for me. I allowed her emptied and lifeless body to slip from my well defined arms and fall to the floor in a crumpled heap, her warm, wet juices dripping down my chin. And I thought of how it reminded me of old times…
I thought I had loved her but I realized I had mistaken love for hunger pains.
This tender and all too trusting young girl still wasn’t convinced. Yet, I was completely convinced of her utter incompetence. Sitting there, nothing more than a doggy bag of blood to me. Perky breasts. Glitter in her eyes. Wonder. Amazement. Idiocy. I guess my monologue on my mammoth obsession for blood wasn’t enough to turn her away from being turned. There she was, gripping the couch, her lacquered fingernails pressing hard into the leather. She was licking her lips, hanging on every word I said. My talk of addiction didn’t sway her, send her screaming for the door that she wouldn’t be able to escape. I suppose she has an addictive personality. Perhaps I had only reinforced her idea of being undead. Perhaps I only stoked the fire for her hopes of fangs. Perhaps her stupidity was only out-shined by her curiosity, a curiosity that fought against logic and fear. This girl had balls. I was a vampire who had brought her back to my place solely to suck on her neck yet she showed no signs of fear on her feather light features. And she was interested in me, in my lifestyle. And I couldn’t help but to feel something among all of this madness. Among this shroud of sheer absurdity over this situation, I saw something shining in her eyes. My powerful perception told me it was more than a curiosity. It was more than a yearning to be something else. It was an interest in the man behind the pale skin and seductive stare. And what was even more bizarre was the fact that I might have been feeling the same way about her. I wanted to know more about this girl, this empty headed and entirely fake girl. I wanted to see what was beyond all the plasticine and perfume. I wanted to see the girl’s insides. And for the first time in a long time, I meant it metaphorically. I was drowning out her droning on about becoming one of my kind, when I heard the word “love” bubble up from her plumped lips. My attention snapped back and I asked her to repeat herself. She said she would absolutely love to become a vampire. I told her that would be the last thing she’d ever love. Lesson two:
The problem with love is that vampires can’t. We are simply incapable of doing so. When the body dies, love is left to rot. The body is preserved, but the heart decays. You claim my condition is a gift you want me to give you. In fact, it’s no gift at all. It’s a curse. This curse of the vampire is that we are removed from love. Love originates from the heart and since our hearts don’t work anymore, neither does our capacity to care. I have feelings that are limited to anger and frustration. I’ve never felt warmth since turning. I have never felt happiness on my own, only that empty kind of happiness that seeps from strangers, the kind I lavishly lap up. Ultimately, though, it’s unsatisfying, like drinking chalk.
Although I am no longer human, I still carry some human attributes. Mainly, all the negative ones. It seems as if my emotions have been filtered, only leaving the offensive ones behind, bitterness being the biggest one. I’m bitter that I’m not alive, yet I’m not dead. I’m trapped. It’s like being stuck upside down in a hole. Your spine cramps and the bulk of your body weighs down your lungs. Breathing becomes labored. Your existence becomes miserable. I’m bitter that I have to hunt my food like an animal. I’m bitter that I have become something more, something powerful and wise, something superior to you humans yet I have to hide away like a lower class creature. It’s like discovering you can fly but you have to keep your feet glued to the ground. I’m bitter that I can feel what everyone else feels but I have no genuine feelings of my own, except those of rage and regret.
We seek out love but it is impossible. You see, love leaks into the veins. It’s pumped throughout the body by the heart. And for vampires to find love, we must seek it through sucking. Not to tarnish my image or display my weaknesses to you but we vampires are lonely creatures, too. This is another one of our human-like characteristics. What humans don’t understand is that death does not diminish the need to connect. We seek out victims, not with malicious intent, but with the need to feel close to someone. We are always so cold, always so ice cold. We can’t feel the sun and we can’t feel the skin of the living, not unless we are tearing it off. The only way to feel warm is to smear that blood on ourselves, to ingest it and feel that sickening syrup slowly slide through our bodies. God, doesn’t that sound pathetic? Another reason I hate myself. There’s this inner conflict, this tangle of superiority and human-like weakness that spins inside me like nails in a blender.
As much as I believe otherwise, vampires are viewed by the majority of you humans as a subspecies. I guess there are those like you who realize we are exceptional but by most we are unneeded and unwanted. No one would ever choose to love a vampire. And even if they did, we can’t love back. Since they don’t choose us, present company excluded, we must choose them, love them against their will, and force a love out of them that is empty and unsatisfying. It seems cruel but it is a means for survival. It’s no different from you humans. When I’m at that club, I see men stalking their prey just like I do. And at the end of the night, you are used up in very much the same way, just used for sex instead of blood. Except, with them, you live to tell about it. But, really, am I all that different? We are forced to feed on blood, not only for nourishment, but a little connection. Isn’t that all you men and women are looking for, a little connection, a little contact to make you feel less alone in this great red world? Without that connection, we are loveless. And without love, we are nothing. And nobody wants to be nothing, not the highest ranking creatures or the scum of the earth. Love, all consuming, all negating love is still at the center of everything. As much as I hate it, love does transcend death. Love still matters to every living, dying and dead thing. Although vampires have been ushered into the underworld, we still retain the knowledge of what is important in life, a life that has been robbed of us, a life we still yearn for. Although we cannot obtain love, it is still a goal of ours. We still want it just as much as we did when we were alive. And perhaps that is our ultimate punishment. Not only are we locked away from the light, but from love as well. And we seek that love, very much in vain, through the veins. But, don’t get so uppity. You humans do it, too. You all look for love in all the wrong places. Usually the wet ones.
I fell in love only once before I became a vampire. It was with the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Even after all these hundreds of years, I have never met anyone as beautiful as her. You don’t even come close. I was immediately smitten with this beauty. It wasn’t only her face, or her breasts, but it was her grace, her charm, her love that pulled me in to her. Unfortunately, the joke was on me. Turns out, she was a just another vampire and all those qualities of her character were a facade. She reeled me in just like I did to you. Do you get it yet? Are you paying attention, you twit? Don’t think I am interested in you. Don’t think my eyes shine for you. For as I said, vampires just don’t exhibit those kind of warm characteristics. It was just the mechanics of a vampire, those fake feelings that force unsuspecting victims to fall into their fangs. I wanted to give her my heart, but all she wanted was my blood. She strung me along for a few weeks before she bit me. Sometimes, I feel the greatest pain she plunged into me was not her teeth, but the hopes for some great love, a promise of something more than myself. She kept me around just long enough for me to fall in love with her. She had fooled me, had betrayed me into thinking I had found something real for the first time in my existence. I suppose my only consolation was the fact that she turned me and didn’t just kill me. Hm, some consolation. She even kept me around for a little while after I became a vampire. But, it was only long enough to teach me how to survive being a blood sucker. She soon left me and I was left so bitter. For the longest time I questioned her motives for turning me into a vampire. At first, I thought she was doing it so we’d be together forever. Then, I thought maybe she did it out of pity, that the time we had spent together maybe actually meant something to her and she didn’t have the…”heart” to just kill me. I’ll never know her true intentions. But, it couldn’t have been love. I am convinced of that. Love does not hurt. Love does not transform. Love does not kill.
But, it doesn’t stop me from seeking it. And the closest thing I’ve come to feeling love is feeding on lovers. I like to search out the most vulnerable, most desperate girls I can find. Those are the tastiest. They have so much love within them and no one to give it to. Their blood is spiked with it. So, I gladly take it. All that blood infused with so much love just tastes so sweet. It’s just like red sugar. And that drug effect takes place once again, lined with love. That bitterness inside, the remnants of humanity, dissipates for as long as the blood coats my cuspids. You see, I don’t just crave blood for the numbing properties, but for the bits of love that linger in the lining of the veins. It retards my regression into madness. Without that love located in the blood, I would disappear into the darkness.
My dinner sat across from me on my couch. I admit I was both intrigued and angered by her lack of fear in regards to my condition. My immediate reaction was to tear her to pieces. How dare she not tremble in my presence! But what had angered me had also sparked a curiosity within, a dull burning I had not felt in years. It was some sort of…desire, a lust for more than nourishment. It was a lust for knowledge, a lust to know more about this meal. It was a lust for expression. Instead of being scared, this girl was stupid with excitement over meeting me, an actual existing vampire. She even informed me I was the reason she went to that particular club. She had heard it was a popular vampire hang out. And that’s why she made sure she went alone. She then proceeded to deliver a sob story that I didn’t really care to hear. Something about intentionally making herself an easy target with the short dress that exposed most of her tight body, the hair that was styled within an inch of its life, the makeup like plaster. All of it in an effort to be picked up, all in an effort to find someone to show her a little love. Man after man had taken her and thrown her away, much like I was going to do, all because she thought she couldn’t do better. She felt her life was miserable, meaningless, so that’s why she wanted to become one of us. So utterly misguided. She had naive fantasies of how much better things would be for her as a night walker. She dreamed of the power and the strength and her ability to finally be the one in control. And of course, who wouldn’t want to live forever? Her pathetic story only made me want to kill her even more, to put her miserable existence to an end. And then she asked me about the blood. Did I truly crave it? Was it enjoyable? Did blood taste different from victim to victim? Oh, the blood. It is so much more than a liquid that spills down the throat. The power of blood cannot be comprehended until you have turned and tasted the intoxication of crimson. Until then, that wet matter that courses through your body cannot be truly appreciated. Lesson one:
Blood is actually a disgusting form of food. Vampires do not gain pleasure from piercing necks. Blood is thick and viscous, a texture that slips sickeningly past the tongue. It’s warmth is not satiating, but sickening. It’s coppery coating glues itself to the tongue and sticks to the roof of the mouth. It doesn’t go down easily. It’s a struggle to swallow, yet uncompromisingly irresistible.
Despite my immortality, I am dying every day. I am immortal, yet I am decaying. My skin is tight, but my mind is loose and unraveling. According to your narrow view of time, I have been a vampire quite a while, a few decades. But when you think about how long I’m going to be around, it only amounts to the bat of one of your fakes eyelashes. And despite time being a dead, obsolete device to me, I cannot imagine stretching myself into eternity. I cannot comprehend forever. I am locked into this body with no escape. For anyone else, it might be a dream come true but I am existing in a nightmare. Eternity isn’t such a dream for someone who hates themselves. You see, I have a slight problem with self-loathing. I’m a bit depressed. Or, I was when I was alive. Turning into a vampire didn’t change that. I grew stronger, sharper, but felt as discontent as ever. Don’t think you’ll change for the better, either. You’ll still be as sad and pathetic as you are now. You humans always dream of better things, always wait for some kind of mystical transformation that will never come. You don’t make the effort to change yourselves. You sit on your hands and wait for someone or some thing else to do it for you. When I realized my sadness would be my only true companion until the end of everything, I considered ending myself right then. I’ve played with the idea of stepping into the sun and smelling the sweet sulfur as my skin burns, cracks and dissolves in the daylight. But, there’s something that keeps me in the shade. It’s the drive to live, the drive to maintain. It’s a drive that is even stronger than the human will to live, that instinct to just exist. You see, there is evil in all of us, lurking in our limbs. It is while we are human that we learn to control this evil, to conquer or at least contain our foul tendencies. But, becoming a vampire unleashes that evil in us. It’s a door that comes off the rusted hinges, a gaping wound in which all the agony comes spilling out. It consumes our corpses and causes us to rise again, to spread our evil like a disease through the blood. And that evil is eternal. Weak humans have the choice of ending their lives. Vampires have no say in the matter. Evil has a will to live that is stronger than anything I have ever felt in my years of existence, in life and in death. It is a presence that shall never perish.
To make matters worse, vampires are ultra sensitive to everything around them. In a crowd, I can feel whatever anyone and everyone else is feeling. When I walk into a club, I am bombarded by sexual tension, excitement, obsession, depression and desperation. I’ve come to learn that these clubs and crowds of people are more messed up than they let on. Humans are blinded by bodies. They cannot see past flesh, cannot comprehend beyond the tongue and hands and genitals. Words so easily fool you. You all are not intuitive enough to see what people are like on the inside. Even more pathetic, you do not care enough to try. But as for me, I can’t help but to know what you all look like without the protective coating of flesh and clothing. Let me tell you that no one is normal. I can feel everyone’s flaws. I can tap into everyone’s pain and it’s sickening. Being human casts a veil of protection over your heart because you can’t handle the reality. Humanity hazes your vision of the true world. It numbs the nerves. But, for me, I can feel every prickling portion of pain of those around me. I am exposed to the suffering of souls. I am never at ease. The pain is ever present. But, that is just one part to my assortment of abilities.
We are also imbued with powers of persuasion. Our eyes can pierce souls. Our hands can provide pleasure. Our kisses are quite literally intoxicating. And these abilities are solely for the purpose of obtaining prey. These skills help us survive. And the pain gives us the drive to devour. For you see, the only substance that can stifle my suffering is blood. My sexually hypnotizing nature is what helps me get what I need, built into me like the speed of a cheetah or the powerful jaws of a shark, and the pain that pummels all of my parts is what keeps me coming back for more.
Blood is like a drug. It numbs these foul feelings that consume me. You know, I never realized how bad humans had it until I was surrounded by their suffering. I thought my own depression was as bad as I’d ever feel. Taking on the suffering of others only compounds the hatred I have for myself. It amazes me how you all can continue to live under the circumstances of the world. How you all don’t slit your wrists or shoot yourself in the head is a mystery to me. I wonder what keeps you all going, what makes you wake up into a world of chaos. It’s been so long since I’ve been human, I don’t even remember what it’s like to live for something. What do humans live for? What is there to live for, anyway? You all lug around your loneliness and carry your pain in your pocket and yet forge ahead in these frustrating times. It’s a conundrum. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you all don’t kill yourselves. If you did, I’d go hungry. I mean, you really don’t want to die, do you? It’s not the death you’re seeking, it’s the release from the pressure, that vice grip on your heart. You only see the end product, the vampire you’ll become. You don’t think about the process, how you’ll have to endure death to enter eternity, how my venom will trickle through you, burning at every cell, taking you over from the inside out, killing you endlessly. Is it worth it to you? You think you know pain. Your pain has all been in the mind. You have never tasted pain, never even come close.
No, blood is nothing you’d want to have taint your tongue. It has the texture of phlegm. It stains the mouth. It burns the throat. Yet, from the first sip, you’ll never recover. Believe me, there’s no going back. When I was human, I befriended several drug addicts, even ate a few after I turned, and their tales of drug lust are nothing compared to going too long without blood. That’s an indescribable pain that cannot be articulated. It’s worse than the pain of humanity, more searing than the flames of hell. Cigarettes, alcohol, methamphetamines, Coke, X, all dissolve in death. But, blood sticks to your bones. All those synthetic addictions pale in comparison to the taste of blood, how it transcends all troubles, how it temporarily kills that pain that crawls up my neck and digs into my brain. It’s something I hate, yet can’t “live” without, just like how I hate you humans but can’t go on without you, either. I’m in a constant struggle between lust and loathing. The thing I need the most, yet hate the most, can only be provided by the things I need the most, yet hate the most. As with any drug, the euphoria of flowing blood soon fades. Then, it’s time to kill again. I don’t particularly enjoy killing people, just so you know. Yes, I’m a monster but I’m not a monster just for the sake of being one. Don’t get me wrong, I could care less if you humans live or die. You all are as inconsequential to me as a cockroach. As long as there are enough of you blood bags to keep my belly full, I could care less about the rest of your population. Yet, I take no particular enjoyment in taking lives. I’m not some sick serial killer who seeks satisfaction from slashing throats. I only kill to live. Am I really any worse than you who kill animals for your sustenance? Sure, they are simple creatures in comparison to you but you are a simple creature in comparison to me. In fact, I’m doing humans a favor. Death opens the door to peace. I unlock that door. The question is, do you deserve death, that final path to peace? Maybe I don’t get much pleasure from killing but I do enjoy a little torture. You anger me. You make me out of my mind with your stupidity. Maybe I should grant your wish. If I were merciful, I’d drain you and let you die. But, maybe I should I extend your suffering into an incessant existence, present you with this “present” you have deemed the perfect solution to quell your crushed heart. Maybe I’ll make you my pet. Should I spare you the torment of a truly tortured existence or let you find out for yourself how horrific my “life” really is?
A work of fiction written July 2007.
When she asked me to tell her about myself, I thought why not. I had some time to…kill. After all, the night was still young and I had no need to go out again. I knew from the second I saw her that she’d be coming home with me.
I first noticed her across the dance floor in a trendy club uptown, some cramped building with monochromatic colors and minimalistic furniture. I was leaning against the wall with an overpriced drink in my hand, a few ounces of ruby-colored vodka. I was looking, waiting, salivating. Suddenly, like a curtain that unveils to reveal a grand prize, the sea of people parted, leaving her single in my sights. She was standing at the bar, a mixture of nerves and excitement along her brow, just above her immaculate eye makeup. I could tell this wasn’t the first time she had been in the club. She looked around, not as if she were new, only slightly uncomfortable. I guessed she had been here before, but with girl friends. This was the first time she had come alone. Her brunette stick straight hair was parted down the middle and arranged in front of her breasts which were barely covered by her tight fitting shimmer dress. The strobe lights illuminated her hair and skin in a technicolor of tints. Her face was lineless, clueless. Her body taut, tasty. She was young, tender, smooth. Most importantly, I could tell she was easy.
I slid my way past the gyrating bodies and headed straight for this girl, this tasty morsel who out-shined the rest of the plastic people who were slinging their drinks and grinding their crotches into each other. She noticed me coming toward her and turned away. A shy smile spread across her glossed lips. In that instant I knew she would do whatever I wanted. I slid my way next to her and introduced myself. Her smile grew wider and whiter. Perfect teeth. Fake. I knew she thought I was hottest guy in the club. I was. I wasted no time and quickly offered to buy her a few drinks. We engaged in small talk but I knew it was all just a formality and ultimately she’d be back at my place. It was all just meaningless dribble to me. I could care less about this girl and realized she would be a lot hotter without a tongue. Right from the first look into her cloudy eyes, I could see her desperation to be loved. I could smell the loneliness clinging to her clothes. It mingled with the mint in my drink and the delicate perfume which hovered over her like a halo. Her smell made me as intoxicated as I was trying to get her with every fresh drink I put in front of her. She lapped them up like a dog. Like a little bitch. She was my favorite type of girl: lonely, painfully insecure. These types were the easiest to bag. After I quelled her comprehension with a couple of Cosmos, I instructed her to leave with me. Yes, instructed. She was not in the right mind to deny me. The alcohol had allowed me to dominate this girl, although I imagine I could have without it. Still acting like a dog, eager to please me, she agreed to leave with me, a total stranger, a man she had never met yet intended to let screw her. She was desperate for a little attention, hungry for a little affection. I was hungry, too.
On the way to my apartment, she clung to me tighter than her dress clung to her hips. She was a really sad girl. Terribly insecure. She was looking for a strong, handsome man like me to suck away that sadness. I was more than obliged.
I opened the door to my place and she opened her mouth to tousle my tongue. She wasted no time. It had been a long time since she had been in the company of a man. Her hands were everywhere, her breath smelled Jolly Ranchers and innocence. She peppered my face with soft kisses, her lip gloss smearing across my cheek. I hate when girls do that. Disgusted, I pulled her face off of mine and pushed her onto my couch. She landed with a soft thud, a coy smile carved into her mouth, her eyes illuminated by lust. By this reaction, I could tell she liked it a bit rough. Not only was she pathetic and miserable, but there was a touch of kink in her as well. I could work with that.
I straddled her on the leather couch and with every deep kiss, her moans got louder and I became more aroused. She was dumb and disgusting but she was also smoking hot. I went down to her throat and tickled it with my lips, flicking my tongue over the length of her neck. Her head went back and her shimmering hair fell away from her shoulders. The couch squeaked in response to her wiggling. I love that sound. I placed my hand on her head and clutched a clump of hair, then roughly pulled her head to one side. A giggle floated up from her face. Yeah, she definitely liked it hard. Maybe she even enjoyed a little pain. I wondered how much she liked. I wondered how bad it would hurt before those screams of pleasure pushed into pain. I’d find out soon enough.
I licked her neck until it was nice and wet, ready for me to penetrate. A delicate blue vein ran right below her bejeweled ear, presenting itself like a gift. Just what I was looking for. I caressed it with my fingers, cajoled it to rise from her skin and finally knew it was time. With her eyes closed she would never see me coming. I opened my mouth and allowed my teeth to elongate. They pushed forth out of my gums and formed razor sharp tips. I went down on her neck slowly, savoring those last few seconds before desire turned into death, licking up and down, softening the skin for easier injection. Just before I could penetrate the soft flesh of her throat, she turned her head and opened her eyes.
Sometimes I have these girls in so much ecstasy they lose all sense of time and location. They usually close their eyes and submit to my seduction. Sometimes they do catch me right before I bite but it doesn’t stop me from doing the deed. I prefer them never to notice, as their screams disturb the neighbors. I then have to go to the trouble of speaking to those worthless bags of flesh and apologize to them by lying and say I was having rough, loud sex. That usually gets them off my back, although they are left feeling awkward by my direct openness. Idiots. I looked at this sexy, yet stupid girl and she wasn’t screaming. She didn’t look horrified at all. Actually, she looked quite amused. Her sparkly eyes lit up in wonder. I had to lean back in my perplexity. Her smile became huge. My teeth immediately retracted in disgust and confusion. An unfortunate case of involuntary shrinkage.
I didn’t really know how to go about dealing with this new turn of events so I simply asked her why she was smiling. She excitedly told me I was a vampire. She acted as if it were some revelation to me, as if she was telling me I had won a million dollars. I knew who I was but she had no idea the danger she was in. Her voice rose in an annoyingly high pitched tone that scraped my ears. She told me she had always wanted to meet a real vampire, always wanted to be turned into one herself. I had to laugh at her idiocy. Was she being serious or was she just delusional with fear? I shot a look into her eyes which caused the sparkle to fade. She became the confused one. I informed her that she in fact did not want to become a vampire. It was nothing like in the movies or in those homoerotic books. It was actually a sick existence. But, she only looked at me like I was lying to her, as if I was trying to convince her of something she knew to be untrue. I could tell she was stupid when I first met her, so I guess it was no shock that I couldn’t persuade her into believing something she had already made up her mind about. Stupid, ignorant, stubborn humans. She was in the dark on the issues and she was intent to remain that way. I’m I’m to be honest, I was slightly surprised, slightly intrigued to see there was no fear on her overly made up face. This confused me and when I get confused, I get angry. And when I get angry, I get mean. And when I get mean, I leave nothing left. I leave no nerve untouched, no vein uncharted until I place my meal into such unspeakable pain that they beg for death, pray for it. And I deliver it at a dawdling pace. Normally, these little girls only have two reactions to me: I make them hot and then I make them scared, which makes me hot. That was the way it has been for years and years. This one was ruining my rhythm. I was ready to kill her right then and there but something held me back, an indistinguishable something that prevented the puncture.
I guess this girl had piqued my curiosity. I guess there was nothing wrong with keeping her around a little longer, just to see how idiotic she could be. She’d be my entertainment before she was my dinner. She made herself comfortable on my couch and then propped her chin on her hand. She leaned forward and asked me to describe my “life” as a vampire. I had simply planned on tearing her throat out and after disposing of her body, catching up on some sleep. But, this girl’s stupidity was intriguing. I had never met anyone who was genuinely excited to meet the deliverer of their death. Perhaps it was her inebriation or sheer lack of brain cells, but I suppose she still believed I was interested in her for more than her body. I suppose she believed I wouldn’t harm her. I suppose she believed I’d even grant her my gift. She was lucky I wasn’t too hungry and didn’t have any plans for the rest of the night. I didn’t mind stringing her along for a few hours longer. I know it’s incredibly rude to play with your food, but I have to admit it was a different feeling knowing she was still so into me even after she knew what exactly I was. Besides, I hadn’t engaged in an actual conversation with anyone for years now, if you don’t count the usual small talk to lure unsuspecting blood bags back to my apartment. So, I decided to set her straight on what being a vampire truly meant. I leaned back on the other side of the couch and began to explain to her why exactly she should never want to be like me…
Acting was good. Cinematography was gorgeous. Gore was great. There’s one decapitation scene that is so graphic in its realism that I had to rewind it several times with my mouth agape in awe. That was worth a rental alone. The last block did pull me out of the film just a bit. The direction went from horror to almost a comic book feel with the decision of the main character. I suppose it sort of made sense and maybe it was pulled off better in the graphic novel but it just didn’t sit right with me in the movie. Fortunately, the final frames made up for it with some bittersweet gruesomeness. I honestly can’t remember the last vampire film I’ve scene (not counting New Moon) so this was a nice reintroduction to the vamp genre.
4 out of 5.