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I do not understand how you find anything glamorous
in my life, dear reader. You have so much more than I can ever hope for. So many
things are open to you that are forever closed to me. I live my life upside down.
When I most need something to occupy my time and alleviate the crushing solitude
of my existence, every shop has closed its doors. Every window is bolted against
me. Four am is the loneliest of times.
Envy me? Why? Envy nights of endless roaming, mile after mile with streetlights
and fluttering newspapers my only companions? The bright places, the loud places,
cheery bars and restaurants -- all these hold for me is a reminder of what I
can never be. It only brings me pain.
And yet you continue to romance me. Why? What is it about the dark that attracts
you so? Moths are drawn to flames, but what animal in creation is drawn by the
negation of light? And that is what I am, I assure you. I am negation. Of light.
Of life. Of energy. I consume it all. Yet you want me. So many of you want to
be me. I do not understand.
I came into this life like any other. I was born. I was raised by parents
more well-meaning than gentle. I had a childhood. I have my scars, but life
is pain. In these things, I am like every one of you. Yet it was sometime early
in this childhood that the first signs that I was different manifested themselves.
They were not events that clearly distinguished me from the rest of humanity.
I did not go out to swim with the other children only to be struck suddenly
down by the light of the sun. It was subtle.
I imagine a young boy who is just beginning to suspect that he is gay experiences
the same kind of nonevents that set him apart: Unbidden thoughts; Half-remembered
dreams; An incident among friends that held importance to no one save himself.
These were the things that distinguished me as well, in those early years. Suspicions.
Half-thoughts. Nothing clear, no definitive epiphany. It was not that easy (can
it ever be?). If my fate had leapt out at me and bludgeoned me over the head
with something so gloriously obvious, I would never have spent my adolescence
and early adulthood second guessing myself. I would not still suspect, occasionally,
that all of this is merely the result of some complex delusion. I would know.
But there is never any knowing. Not in the ways you would expect. This life
is not nearly as blatant as that. When I go out during the day, I do not burn
to cinders. My skin reddens and blisters faster, but not right before your eyes.
Yet the rays of the sun weigh heavily upon me, and the heat exhausts me in a
matter of minutes. I feel dizzy, nauseous. The muscles in my legs turn to water
and I tremble with the effort of every movement. If I am prepared for this,
casual observers will notice nothing amiss. Perhaps you will see the lines of
concentration around my eyes. Perhaps the deliberateness of each movement will
strike you as odd, but this is hardly proof, even in the most fanatical individual's
mind, of a supernatural condition. Given my unusual pallor, most will assume
me to have frail health. The truly suspicious will assume it's AIDS. Nothing
unusual in that - not in this day and age.
It is the same if I have not fed for a long while. I am dizzy. My stomach
churns. I can eat no solid foods. My color bleaches even further, and there
is a fever-bright sheen to my eyes. Some may perceive this as hunger, others
may simply pass it off as a look born of pain. And it is clear from the way
I hold myself that I am in pain. I will walk carefully, deliberately, but the
searing agony in my chest will sometimes catch me off guard. Then I will stop
and perhaps sway where I stand. I might hunch over a little, resisting the urge
to crumple to a fetal position on the floor. And after I have again mastered
myself, nothing will seem terribly wrong.
If you ask me, I might admit that I've been ill the past few days. But I'll
assure you it's nothing to be concerned about. It's just a condition that I
have. If pressed by the overcurious or those who would seek to play doctor,
I whisper solemnly that it is my heart and that there is nothing that can be
done. Given time, it will pass. It is amazing how quickly people will leave
you alone when they are faced with the fragility of the human body. Most people
find ailments of the heart especially disturbing. When I drop this hint, I am
almost guaranteed not to have anyone ask anything further for days to come.
My pallor is always with me, as is that peculiar intensity of the eyes that
so many people find unnerving. Ironically, for as many people that find the
predatory look in my eyes frightening, there are always those who are more fascinated
by it. This is especially true of people for whom the act of loving and acts
of violence are closely intertwined. I find such individuals instantly smitten
with me. And this makes it relatively easy for me to take what I need from them.
If I were to take only blood from them, my needs would be met whenever I desired
satiation. But it is not as simple as that. Blood is nothing. What is blood?
It is the effluvia of life. It is a salty-bitter soup of hormones and chemicals.
It is not what I need to sustain me. But life, the essence of vitality, is a
much harder thing to ask someone to give up. Most people do not even recognize
this force within themselves. Ignorant to it, I can hardly explain that I am
taking it, let alone ask permission to do so. And so I simply rape them of what
I need, offering no explanations, and hoping they will attribute their exhaustion
and lassitude the next morning to a long night of very rough sex.
Did you think it all came down to blood? How naive you all are! And yet you
have studied my kind with perhaps more vigor than I have. You have undoubtedly
read the folklore. Where does blood come into play in the tales about us? You
mistake movies and literature, with their blatant sensationalism, for the real
thing. For shame. If it were as simple as blood and being burned by the sun,
do you think there would be that element of doubt, even now, within myself?
I feed upon life, and I can take it from those I touch or I can choose to take
it from some distant victim in a dream. Even if they know me, they are not likely
to recall the dream. And if the dream stands out, who is likely to attribute
supernatural significance to something like that these days? More than likely,
the individual will e-mail me and recount the dream as an amusing bit of trivia.
They will think nothing of it, and aside from a moment's amusement, they will
expect me to think nothing of it as well.
It is so easy not to stand out in this day and age. It is so easy to fall
into the trap of believing myself deluded. You would believe me so, if you encountered
me and I revealed myself to you. I am not what you want me to be. I exist to
frustrate all your expectations. You would rather destroy me with the stake
of modern psychology than allow your fantasies to be dashed by stark reality.
Yet I am what you fantasize about. I am ancient, and in a way even I do not
understand. Although I was born like you and this body will die as surely as
your will, yet my mind, my soul lives on. It moves from lifetime to lifetime,
and for me, the body is merely a garment. An old set of clothes I wear out and
discard just prior to buying something new.
So I am immortal, as truly immortal as a being of flesh can be. Is it my immortality
alone that you desire so deeply? Do you understand what a double-edged gift
it truly is? You desire me, you desire to be me, because you are in some respect
dissatisfied with your own life. Yet I live my life no differently from anyone
else. I am subject to making mistakes. I make friends. I make enemies. I work.
I pay bills. I am not guaranteed riches or true love. On the contrary, I am
far more likely to be lonely than any of you. Aren't these the very things that
make you want to change your life for something else? And you have but one life
worth of mistakes and regrets, shattered hopes and unfulfilled dreams. Add to
that two lives. Four. Ten. Can you even imagine the burden of all those years?
Do not envy me my life. I have a secret that sets me apart, and it is a secret
that I cannot share. That which is a fundamental part of who I am must always
remain hidden, even from those I am closest to. I must always live "in
the closet." Do you think I do this to protect myself? Do you think my
silence about my nature is part of some ancient conspiracy or some time-honored
code? Hardly. I remain hidden among you because who among you would believe
in me, really? Modern man has no room for the extraordinary in his little life.
The extraordinary, when it occurs, inspires almost everyone to turn a blind
eye. When faced with undeniable proof of things outside the realm of your understanding,
you simply blink and go on with your lives, denying that such proof ever existed.
I am immortal. I am ancient. Do you think I am foolish enough to suppose that
it would be any different for me? I cannot expect your belief, even from those
of you closest to me. I could give you every proof of my reality, and it would
still not be enough. I could let you lay me out upon a medical table, let your
doctors carve me up and reduce me to chemicals and bits of meat, and it would
still not be enough. That is my greatest strength these days, but it is also
the greatest tragedy of my existence. For what is an existence that no one else
acknowledges? Is it any wonder even I doubt the validity of what I am?
I am nothing more than that elusive something which exists only in your faded
dreams. What am I? I am alone.
This article is presented as part of an ongoing effort to present other views outside of, as well as within, the online vampire community. Those of us who consider ourselves vampiric don't always look at things from the same viewpoint due to our life experiences. As such, the views and opinions contained in this article are entirely those of the author(s), and may not necessarily be shared by SphynxCatVP. The webmaster is not under obligation to update or otherwise keep current the contents of this article. Most importantly, only you can decide for yourself whether this article or any of the author(s) other views are useful or applicable to you - you are responsible for using your own reasoning and judgement, so judge wisely.
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