You see, I'm not as crazy as I seem to be. My life just seems full of abnormalities and paradoxes. I live, yet I am not alive. I am of the undead, yet the powerfully deadly rays of the bright sun do not harm me, as are others of my kind. I eat and drink; yet it does nothing for my hunger. I steal life, yet I do not kill. When I cry, my tears are not of clear water and salt, but of dark, rosettes of blood. I am insane, yet completely and totally sane. Would you like to live as I do?
My life of unlife began a mere five years ago. It was the day of my adulthood, the day of my birth, eighteen years past. A man of beautiful statue, appearing twelve years my elder, approached me in the dark, smoky room of the nightclub. He spoke smooth words of seduction, of love, of lust. He asked me for two things: the feel of my love, my sex; and a taste of my soul. As I already said, these words that he spoke were incredibly seductive. After a few drinks, I drove us to my newly inherited house. My grandmother was an eccentric, of gothic nature. All of the windows were, and still are, draped off by thick black velvet; the floors covered in plush black carpeting. The entire house is furnished in dark mahogany. Words of photographic art and beautiful watercolor portraits and landscapes alike, all created by members of my now non-existent family, hang upon the mural-painted walls of every room.
The man, whom I came to know as Josiah, fell deeply enthralled by each of the rooms he was shown; impressed by the pure colors of my family's art. I led him to my room, designed to appear as a faerie glen, from the point of an innocent child; complete with wondrous paintings of the faeries themselves. Once in this warm setting, we began getting to know one another: mentally, emotionally and of course, physically.
Josiah was beautiful, the typical Prince Charming come true: tall, dark and handsome. He had big blue eyes, warm as a funeral pyre, yet cold as the ices of the Arctic. His hair was long, black and fine, hair that most women would kill for. Of his skin, all I will say is that it reminds me of the most delicate porcelain I have ever seen. Josiah seemed to be of two separate people, one was carefree and somewhat reckless, while the other was quiet and withdrawn. Affection was poured upon me from his intelligent mind, his full lips and his delicate hands.
We quickly and silently prepared my room for the moment, and also for the coming day. He pulled the drapes shut to keep the morning's light from us. I went about my room lighting my many candles and sticks of incense: Nag Champa, my favorite, and by the look upon Josiah's face it was his favorite too.
Josiah sat on the edge of my bed and placed his hands on my hips as I stood before him. I looked deeply into his deep blue eyes, and then kissed his wonderfully soft lips. I stepped away from him and began a slow, enticing strip tease, of not only myself but Josiah as well. Soon I stood before him, clothed as I was at the time of my birth, appropriate due to the fact that it was still my birthday. I had removed his silk shirt and snug pants, and there he sat modestly covered by another layer of silk. After a slight seductive dance, I removed what remained upon him, to see his whole body.
I gently pushed him back onto my bed, and then crawled upon his sleek body. His neck was teasingly nibbled, his manhood roughly stroked. His hands roamed over my hot, wanting body. They explored everything from the top of my head to the moist crevice between my long legs.
The number of times we satisfied one another that night, I'm not sure; enough times that I could still feel him after he was gone.
We slept through the day and awoke just after sunset. I remained physically tired from the previous night, while he looked ready for more. He rolled over and whispered words that echoed the night previous: whispered seduction, words of love and eternal life. I disbelieved what he spoke of, claiming he obviously did not sleep nearly enough. His answer was a mere smile, which in turn flashed into razor sharp eyeteeth. I pulled back in shock, but only momentarily. Josiah, I whispered, please grant me the gift of life eternal. He whispered back that he had planned to since the moment he saw me.
This time he seduced me, kissed every inch of my warm flesh. I had not known at the time, but hunger pounded at his mind, screaming at him to feed upon my life, to take me into himself. I was unprepared when he struck my fragile neck with his deadly fangs, unprepared to feel the pain of my very soul being removed from my body, unprepared for the agony, the torture of the vampire's kiss.
Next thing I knew, I lay upon my bed feeling bloated as though I had just feasted upon a full Thanksgiving Day meal. I carefully touched my beck and it seared in agony. I licked my lips and tasted Josiah's coppery blood, drying upon my lips and chin.
Suddenly I let loose a maniacal laugh, lasting for an ageless infinity. My eyes glanced about my room and not to my surprised Josiah was no longer with me. His clothes no longer lay on my floor; his scent no longer lingered in my house. Why he left, I do not know, for I have not seen him since. Was he ashamed of what he had done, or was he fearful?
Emotions washed over me, and I ran outside, completely nude. Then I received the biggest shock of my unlife. This suicidal fledgling of a vampire did not spontaneously combust and fry into a small pile of ash, to be blown away beneath the high noon sun. Was Josiah a dream? No, the painful holes in my neck and the blood staining my chin were testament to his reality.
So, why did I not become ash? Were all the movies and stories about vampires purposely written by them to make them appear vulnerable to the sun? I later found on contrary when a fellow vampire and I watched the sun rise over the mountains. Sadly to say, she no longer lives but her ashes fly freely upon the warm Santa Ana winds.
As I said, my life is one of abnormalities and paradoxes. No longer mortal, but not completely a vampire. What am I to do?
I celebrate.