posted on Nov, 23 2003 @ 04:09 PM
This is my first story and I am no writer so go easy. I have to thank Anne Rice since I draw heavily from her style of writing.
I let the pale, lifeless body drop to the ground and licked the last drop of blood from my lips. Oh, the sweet taste of death ran back into my throat
and brought to me such euphoria that I was scarce able to keep myself from screaming out with joy. Ahh, it still gets to me even after 200 years.
In case this scene didn't let you in on the secret, I am a vampire. My name is Charles Romuald and I was a nobleman in France right before the
French Revolution. I am tall, even in this day, around 5'11" and I have short, black tresses of hair. I am immortal, more or less. A crucifix or
holy water won't kill me but the heat of the sun or the heat of fire might. Then again, they might not. Probably not knowing any supernatural
creature yourself, I would think you would be a little curious about me. It just so happens I have a story to tell that may interest you.
It was the 25th year of my life when I walked out on my mother's land and looked up at the great expanse of sky. My father had died of a crippling
disease just yesterday. How I hated that man! I felt no pity for him nor did I feel any pain for my brothers who mourned his loss. His old, stupid,
and ignorant ideals kept me from being what I really wanted which was to be an actor on the stage in Paris. He dismissed my ideas as "nonsense."
My father instead sent me to London to attend St. Paul's Cathedral School. I hated the arrogant and high-strung attitude of the students there. I
never said any of that to my dear mother though. She had sold one of her most precious diamonds in order to pay for my education. My God, my
brothers hated that I was to be educated and they would remain illiterate.
And now with my father dead, my mother encouraged me to leave and fulfill my dream in Paris. She gave me a few coins and sent me with some traders
who were going to Paris. I was overwhelmed with happiness as I saw them coming down the little dirt path. I was going to be an actor after all.
After a few days and nights, we reached the city. I had barely been there a fortnight when I started to compose a letter to my mother. I told her
of how I had already gotten a room and had been offered a job in a dilapidated old theater as a sort of "student. I also mentioned I had met a young
female actor named Beatrice. Beatrice was a fair 21-year-old, with pale skin and red, rosy cheeks. She was loved and adored by all the actors of the
theater. We had a room together to save money that I so desperately needed to sate my hunger for plays and operas. I loved to speak of such things
to the Beatrice and surprisingly, she never tired of my interests.
I was finally to act upon my dreams and after much begging with the theater manager to let me on the stage, he said, "Charles, you were meant for the
stage and the Devil himself could not keep you off."
When my name first appeared on the playbill, I was overcome with emotion. I was crying and laughing, at the very same time.
I'll add to my story a little bit later. This is but the first of many installments since I will probably never have the time to complete the whole
story at once.
[Edited on 23-11-2003 by maynardsthirdeye]
[Edited on 26-11-2003 by maynardsthirdeye]