I am Lestat, the Vampire. I am tragically immortal. For two hundred years I have been reclining deep in the belly of the earth, taking comfort in the solitude my coffin affords me. In the abundance of this time, I've been listening very intently to the thoughts, the desires, the motion of the human world above me as they labor endlessly on, as their theories and philosophies come and go, as they run here and there seeking pleasure and noise and distraction, and I can truthfully say that I'm just as nauseated with the 21st century as I was in the 18th which is the time I decided to go underground. Too tired and indifferent to hunt for humna blood, I collapsed drearilly into my coffin and slammed the lid shut.
Immortality--that's the idea that depressed me so utterly. To live forever upon this earth seems inviting, doesn't it? Well, it took only a handful of years to discover the horror in that. And I've been thoroughly depressed ever since. Nothing has been able to alleviate my wretchedness, and day after inevitable day, I moan my terrible fate and I suspect I will hate it for all eternity.
Yet lately, down here in my cellar where the sounds above me are muffled and unclear, I bend my ear towards the house three doors down the street, and I can hear music coming from its walls. Loud, eardrum-blasting music! I have discovered through careful deciphering of the voices beyond the brain-splitting electric guitars and voodoo drumbeats that they are three idiotic fools that call themselves, "Satan's Night Out".
If you can imagine how it is to be so miserable and lonely a vampire as I and then to have to listen day in and day out to that damnable noise of screeching vocals, the blistering hollering coming from this constipated teenager, not to mention the idiotic lyrics, --well, then, you must know how much I long to visit them and put an end to their very lives! I can envision the horrified look on their faces when I appear before them, and the thought gives me a delicious pleasure.
You see, it was this moronic rock band that awoke me from my centuries old slumber where I rested in a paralyzed state of gloom. It really shocked me and I awoke at once, my eyes forced open by this god-awful noise coming from there, the utter rudeness of it, the inconsideration of these three imbeciles! I had always been an admirer of good manners and I suppose this is what infuriated me so. In my day when I was a youngster way before I became a vampire, I did immoral things, but I was never rude and of that I'm still very proud.
Now, it occurs to me as I lay here that I could very well rise up from my satin bed and put an end to that noise. After accieving that, I could begin to rid the earth of all such worthless youth, a very lofty mission, I'm thinking. I had always been inlove with the idea of being a hero of some sort. Goodness of that nature appealed to me when I was a human. It was the evil consuming me that put an end to such great plans. I mean to say that it utterly bored me. What courage does it take to do murder, to recrute another victim in the realm of darkness only to repeat the cycle ad infinitum. There was nothing in it that awoke in me any sense of excitement or thrill. I was now just a faceless form, a zombie of sorts with no will of my own, a breed of animal that must kill to live and to live was to kill. There was no thundering romance in that, I can tell you! So, it all depressed me. It put me to sleep. I suppose I was quite unlike my vampire brothers, still stalking the earth above me, still playing their overblown evil little games of fighting for power and dominance among themselves. I was uninterested in all that and so, immortality was a hated thing if this was how it was to be.
But now I finally have an excellent reason to climb from this grave. I might as well try to squeeze some good out of my unfortunate situation.
It only took a flash of a moment to get there. I clawed my way through the earth as rapidly as a fiend from Hell, not bothering to go above and walk like a sensible vampire. I guess I was really livid by then. When I blew through their cellar walls, the plaster crumbling everywhere and the noise sounding like an explosion from an earhquake, I almost laughed in delight when i saw their befuddled expressions. It was unspeakable dread I saw--they were, indeed, beholding the Angel of Death and I could feel the blood in their hearts freeze in that second of panic.
But then, something quite inexplicable happened. Their faces returned to normal, or rather, they resumed their natural stupid expressions. They stood around me as I lay in a pile of rubble on the floor, at first, speechless, but then the girl spoke.
"Hey, dude, are you all right?"
The male beside her started to giggle ridiculously. "Woo, that was fucking cool , man!"
"Shit, how the fuck did you do that?" said the other idiot, wearing a ponytail and earring the size of a silver dollar.
The girl with the bleached orange hair tried to lift me but I shook her off, standing straight up, rising to the height of my glorious six feet. Their expressions changed abruptly to awe, I think, though I couldn't be sure. Awe could easily be confused with incomprehension from those who lack intelligence of any sort.
I reached out and grabbed the throat of the skinny one. He squirmed as I boomed into his ear, "I'm the Vampire, Lestat. You have disturbed me from a very deep sleep. I'm now going to end your pathetic life!"
I was just about to sink my fangs into him when the young man with the pony tale caught my hand. "You're really ARE a vampire! Oh, man!"
I stopped only to roll my eyes--their stupidity was worse than I had imagined. Of course I am a vampire, you blithering idiot!
I flashed my teeth at them and they flinched--not in horror but in gleeful anticipation. I half expected them to break into applause and shake my hand as awestruck as they were to behold me. Clearly, something here was very strange, indeed. I paused for a moment wondering how to proceed. Their lack of a typical reaction intrigued me.
"What is the matter with the three of you?" I demanded. "Why aren't you terrified?"
It was a suspended moment--the three darted glances between them and back at me as if they didn't understand my own bafflement at their odd behavior.
The girl broke the silence. "It's just that Lestat is a character from a book. At least, that's what we thought before you said who you are. We can't believe you're real!"
I didn't understand the meaning of her statement and turned to tower over her. "You are beginning to anger me, my dear. Explain yourself."
Suddenly she flew to the far side of the cluttered room and came racing back with a paperback novel. "Here! This is what I'm talking about! If you are Lestat, you are world famous! You are the greatest of all vampires! We bow down to you, O great one! Teach us to be worthy to enter into your unholy realm!"
I took the book from her and read the title of the cover, "Interview with the Vampire." My mind began to race as I thumbed through the pages. I saw Louis's name and mine intertwined and repeated throught the mass of pages and I started to howl in rage.
"I'm a character in a dime-store novel!" I shouted. "Louis, you gutless wretch!"
I slammed myself through the gaping hole in the cellar wall, and flew through the tunnel of cold earth, digging like an infuriated mole, and finally threw myself into the comfort of my coffin. There I wept and raged and beat against the walls of my doomed life.
How could Louis betray me? How could he sell us all into a commodity for profit and fame--I could envision little Lestat vampire dolls, vampire jewelry, tee shirts, I could see chiseled vampire fangs some nut would have done at a dentist's office. There would be countless impostors out there because of Lois and his unbearable big mouth. There is nothing much worse for an immortal, majestic vampire than to come upon a nightmare so hideous as this.
But then again, I thought as my sniffling finally ceased, maybe it wasn't as bad as
as all that. And I, ever an optimist, began to get the idea that something finally good could come from my insufferable existence even if it were due to Lois selling me out. I started to form an extraordinary plan. It was so incredibly fantastic, my white teeth gleamed in a grin of evil delight.
I would start right away in getting everything in order. I needed clothes, money, a bath, and ofcourse, human blood. My mission upon the earth stretched out in my mind like a glorious vision: there was I, Lestat, a rock star, luring hundreds of thousands of rude little disgusting youths to their annihilation , ridding the world of noise, insolence, and bad manners. It was too good to be true--it made me shiver and hoot in wild, demonic laughter.
The Early Education and Adventures of Lestat the Vampire, continued...(3)
Alright, so you must be thinking, why are you, Lestat, a dignified and aristocratic vampire, writing your own autobiography? Hadn't Louis' version sickened you to tears, the fact that this novel is in every popular bookstore in the world and that on television, there are countless fans dressed up like you, telling the world that THEY are vampires on such shows as Inside Edition and Geraldo? Doesn't this disgust you, Lestat, ? All these posers who think they can be initiated into the vampire world simply by drinking blood and confessing that they are such? Why add to it? Why not let it die down?
I must admit to you that my story is unimaginably fascinating. That can't be helped as a means of incentive. As a matter of fact for two hundred years I've enjoyed nothing better than to think about myself twenty four hours a week, seven days a week. But, beyond that, I believe MY story will put an end to Louis and his theory that there are so many others like us in the world, a clear open opportunity for posers who want to be like us. The Vampire realm is not that vast, and is clearly not that interesting, as I will attest.
As I told you earlier, it's a bore.
Louis just had to sensationalize this vampire kingdom to sell you his abominable book, probably because he is flat broke and having to live off the blood of hobos in some seedy flat. Only the wealthy can afford to dine on royal lineage and as I remember the last time I saw him, he was gorging himself on ten royals a day! With that kind of indulgence, you are bound to run out of money fast!
Now. The time is the 18th century. I was never very knowledgeable about history so all that I can tell you is that men at that time wore white wigs, shiny buckled shoes, and colorful tights. I lived in a secluded old castle with a dreary little village down the road. Since we rarely owned a newspaper (were they available back then, I can't remember) I didn't know much about life other that what I knew in this wretched little country world. My mother read Italian romances, but what good was that to me, being illiterate, and what good is that to you wanting know about life in the 18th century? All I can tell you is what I later read--the times were secular, the Age of Reason had dawned and the educated were warm-hearted atheists. Religious superstition had finally been destroyed, or so Voltaire proclaimed, and it seemed a glorious time in which to live as a conceited human being. We were The It Generation, you see. The ones who gave God the finger.
Of course, this meant very little to me at that time. I was a perfectly miserable youth and spent many a day brooding up in my room, gnawing at my fists and wishing with all my might that my blind father and my three foulmouthed brothers were dead. I hated them will all my being. It wasn't just their coarseness, their inability to appreciate even the simplest table manners, but their utter stupidity, their peasant outlook upon life that revolted me so. They hated me as well, It must have been, I think now, because I was so unlike them. They were big, hulking men with loud, booming manly voices, and legs the size of tree trunks. They belched and farted and did all the things men love to do, but I would have no part of that. No, indeed. To live like a mongrel was a monstrous thought, as distasteful to me as to live the life of a gutter rat.
And that's how I viewed them. I knew very well what they thought of me, they voiced their opinions too often for me to ignore which so infuriated me that I spent most of my young life in a pool of angry tears. Names like "Pansy!", "Fairyboy!" and "Mr. Smarty Pants!" were a great joke to them and they'd howl in boisterous laughter and slap their backs, doubling over in fits of coughing. At times, they would get so carried away they'd squeal like obnoxious hogs. In their presence I would merely glare at them, lifting up my defiant chin, and leaving without a word. I suppose I was trying to appear dignified, but this modest exit would only make them that more hysterical.
It must have been my soft golden locks and boyish physique that made them feel so threatened, the fact that I was intelligent even if I never read a book in my life, and that I was refined and respectful and cultured. All these excellent virtues were far beyond their scope and they envied me, I think. They pretended they didn't, but I know they did. I was light on my feet, like a cat, and pleasing to look at. Whereas they were rugged and leathery in their masculinity,I was frail and elegant in mine. I suppose that's what angered me so deeply--the fact that I was made to feel less than a man.
"I'll show those brutes," I swore to myself.
That's the day that I got it into my head to go a-wolf-hunting. It seemed a dangerous thing to do and I figured it was high time to prove to them that I was no girl. If I could kill myself a wolf and carry it back to throw at their feet, perhaps then the cruel jokes would stop and I could live in peace with these impossible idiots until I could get off on my own.
The Early Education and Adventures of Lestat the Vampire, continued...(4))
Category: Writing and Poetry
I felt like a brave warrior upon my mare as I started towards the forest with my two ferocious dogs at my feet. These animals gave me a great deal of comfort, if truth be known, and I think I would never had attempted this adventure had they not gone along. But, just to be sure I was well-protected, I carried with me a few old weapons I found hanging around the house--old armor from the middle ages, I think, but in good condition. The sack where I put in all the weapons--the spiked club, the flail and the iron ball attached to a chain--was incredibly heavy now as I rode along and once or twice before I arrived at my destination, I fell off the horse because of the load leaning me too far over the side. That was embarrassing, but since no one was lurking about, spying on me, I didn't feel the least bit discouraged.
I estimated that with my two dogs, the weapons and my fierce determination, I would find a wolf, kill it, and bring it home to my smug, self-righteous brothers. It was impossibly easy, I thought, and I rode along like a king.
I didn't have far to go before I spotted my lonely wolf standing upon the hillside. I smiled triumphantly and grabbed the sack of armor which tangled itself somehow over my shoulder and pulled me roughly to the ground. I dusted myself off, unperturbed, and went to my bag of armor. While I busied myself inside the sack, wondering which weapon to choose that would best suit my needs, I didn't take heed that the dogs were snarling or my horse was beginning to pace and ninny.
"Quiet," I scolded them, annoyed that they were disturbing my concentration. I toyed with the ball and chain, picking it up and turning it this way and that before finally tossing it aside as useless.
Suddenly, I looked up and just about jumped out of my breeches. My solitary wolf had vanished and a pack of eight had taken their place. I can't begin to describe my emotions, fear is too pale a word.
"O- my- God!" I panted in a little whisper. I felt a sickening sensation in my stomach and my mind raced in a state of utter chaos. I couldn't think of what to do next. My dogs were beside themselves with rage and my horse was rearing its hind legs and neighing fearfully.
The wolves were standing in a semi-circle, waiting, their teeth snarling wickedly. I was paralyzed, as helpless and defenseless as a newborn babe. I saw my dogs run, then, straight into that pack and in seconds they were killed and thrown aside.
At that moment, my horse bolted, leaving me standing there with my sack of useless weapons. When I looked back, I saw three wolves approaching me now. I grabbed for the spiked club, but it was so damn heavy I could barely lift it over my head. Throwing it at them, I cursed my ill-fated luck.
Now was the final moment and I braced myself for the excruciating pain ahead. I could feel the silence so deeply, I was in the heart of it.
Certain approaching death does curious things to the mind--it somehow gives life another dimension, as if all the ordinariness of the setting is swept away and all that's left are two subjects--you and your killer. I stared at mine for a good, hard moment before simply shutting my eyes. I kept them closed tight and prayed that the pain would be minimal and that death would be swift.
The icy wind whipped at my hair, froze my skin as I clenched my fists and waited with all my being for my own oncoming death. I thought of my mother, cold and bitter, and wondered if she would shed a tear for me. I thought of my brothers and saw them standing around my coffin, feeling like the guilty swine that they were for causing my death, and abruptly there was a horrible noise coming from one of the wolves.
The Early Education and Adventures of Lestat the Vampire ...continued.(5)
I opened my eyes and couldn't believe my good fortune. There stood before me a towering, hulking figure, fighting those hellish animals to the ground. He was a man of enormous size, and with his bare hands he tore open the jaws of one of the wolves and stabbed the two others simultaneously. It all was so dream-like and it took moment for me to take it all in. When all eight wolves lay in heaps around this lumbering huntsman, I ran to him and shook his hand, slapping him on the shoulder.
"My God, man, that was amazing!" I clamored as he smiled, sheepishly. "Thank you for saving my life! O, dear Saints, I thank you! I thought for certain I was about to meet my maker."
"It was nothing,a-tall," the man said, shaking his head. "I best be getting home. Me wife's waiting for me."
"Of course, of course," I said, and I waved as he mounted his horse and rode away.
It occurred to me in a bolt of terror that I didn't have a way back to the castle now that my horse was long dead. How on earth was I going to get the wolf back home?
Well, needless to say, I got him home, but it took me three days to do it, pulling his dead weight through mile upon mile of frosted ground. By the time I reached the castle, I was so exhausted, I swayed as I pounded upon the castle door.
Augustin finally threw it open and gasped suddenly as he caught sight of the dead wolf.
"Father!" he shouted. "Father!"
Everyone all at once appeared at the doorway. My mother shoved them away as she tried to approach me. I saw what I believed to be a tiny smile appearing at the corner of her mouth, but one could never be sure--it could be a sneer, a grin, a frown even. My mother was a stoney, bloodless woman and to show a hint of emotion was too much effort for her. Thus, whatever I saw in her face, I had to make a wild guess and keep it in context with the event--at this moment, I assumed she was pleased with my victorious conquest.
I began to feel dizzy then, while Augustin kicked at the dead animal, pulling its ears, twitching its nose and all sorts of other strange things to make certain that the thing was dead. He looked devastated, at last.
I was unable to hear what he was about to say when he opened his mouth for, in an instant, I was so light-headed from severe exhaustion that I fell into a pool of darkness.
It was a week later when I finally had gained strength enough to sit up in bed. The ordeal I had undergone with the wolves had quite undone me. Even though the news had reached the village and was followed by rejoicing in all the taverns and much exclaiming that I was hero, saying the moors were now safe because of my sheer bravery (they had found the other seven dead wolves and attributed their deaths to me), I knew the truth. I wondered how everyone could accept such an account of what happened so easily. I mean, it was a bit fantastic, don't you think? But everyone did--except Augustin. He began to taunt me straight away, telling me he was going to find out the truth and expose me for the liar I was.
Well, I can't tell you how depressed this made me. As soon as he collected evidence, I could only imagined how I would be teased from then on out. The laughter would never stop, and I would be not only the fool of my family but of the entire village, as well.
God, how I hated my life! Twice I had tried to run away--once to a monastery and the other time with a troupe of traveling actors--but was retrieved each time by my bullying family. They brought me back, kicking, screaming and cursing.
Misery spread all through me then, and I started to weep. I had to get away from this stinking, rotten village, away from my impossible family, away from narrow, monotonous existence. But I would never get away--I knew it. Paris would be a fleeting dream to me and my aspirations of becoming a great actor would always be a regrettable memory.
I clenched my teeth and spat on the floor.
Just then there was a soft knock on the door. My mother entered silently. She was a vision of eerie perfection, her long, blonde hair gleamed in the firelight and she glided across the floor effortlessly. Her face was expressionless, of course, as she moved towards my bed to sit down.
"Lestat," she said in a breathy, whispery tone. "I heard you weeping."
If you want this to be a parody, it has to be even more over the top. Take one trait of Lestat and then stretch it to unbelievable proportions. For examples, if Lestat talks all fancy and stuffs, then the people around him should not. Make Lestat stand out.
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