Thursday, November 1, 2007

Vampyre Tales

Whether you read Anne Rice or simply subscribe to the belief that a half-breed like Blade could possibily be real, nature loves diversity. With all the recent discoveries of the bones of ancient children and men, why can't a breed such as a vampire exist?

How does one become a vampire? I have been told two tales. So sit back and listen to the tale of two youngsters who are what many don't understand.

The Born:
I often venture into Starbucks when I have to drive over Laurel Canyon. It's not just that it's convienent. I would like a strong black tea to wake me up and to warm my blood. This particular night, I noticed a young woman seated by the window. She was huddled up with her face buried into her laptop. The glow from the screen was eerie. Her eyes sparkled with a multitude of colours everytime she clicked to a different website.

Maybe it was really how she looked in the light. She was dead looking. Or should I say undead. You know that look. Too pale. Too distant. Not vacant. She looked like a young woman who was lost in our world. She was struggling to belong -- to fit into a realm which was not hers. My heart felt an instant attachment and attraction to her. Not sexually, but as a mother to a child or as a sibling. I wanted to find out what made her this way.

She noticed that I was staring. She shifted uncomfortably in her chair. I smiled not at her more like to her. She was uneasy at first, then a smile slowly crept across her face. She knew that I recognized her. As I waited for my order, I glanced back at her, but she was gone. When I went to pick-up my order, she was standing next to me. I controlled my urge to jump sky-high. But I am sure the flushness which raced across my face gave my fear away.

She quietly introduced herself as Veronica. She made up some lame excuse that she saw the script in my hand and wanted to chat about it. I had some time to kill and did. The conversation meandered for sometime and over then next weeks we chatted via email and when I we could in person. She is kindred. She is born to the bloodline. She doesn't suffer from any "illness" or deformaty of blood. She is genetic. She is hypersensitive to light in general and sunlight. Any blue eyed person will tell you the sunglasses are a must.

Veronica doesn't really get tan. She burns and burns badly. Hence you'll be hard pressed to she her out at the beach. She has a keen sense of hearing. Okay, a scary sense. The littlest sniff or fart 500 yards away she can detect. She is strong. Makes it horrible to play raquetball against her. And quick, but that doesn't mean undefeatable. Speed and strength doesn't mean that you can't be beat. Remember a lion can be bested by an elephant. But what makes her different... What makes her not like most every other person....

2 comments:

Unknown said...

Very Cool!!! I like your descriptions!! Hey hey... I am the first comment... Good idea about the blog - keep it up!! = ) xoxo

Shahrazad said...

Trust me Kyle there are many a person who possess all of these qualities and are no "special". However there are several and especially in a city like LA who do possess either the gene or become.

There is a difference not only in how they handle what they are but in who they become once they realize the ramifications of what they are. Speaking only of the born... they are contemplative. Tend to talk less when they don't know you. It's not that they are arrognant or distrusting. They are studying you. Waiting. Watching.

They can sense your heart rate. Measure your breathing. It's like having a built in metal detector. Veronica, although she had experienced life differently, wanted to know what life was like from our perspective. The mundane was fascinating to her. How you learned to wash your clothes? Why you liked the style and color of underwear you had? Nothing was sacred. It wasn't that she didn't have her own ideas on the subject but her experiences were so hyper elevated that she liked being grounded being more human.

She was after all caught between her world and ours. She lives like a foreign exchange student in a world that both revers and fears her kind. It's like being an Iraqi. The culture is amazing, but what we have come to associate with it is something far from amazing but terrorizing. She knew that. So she was selective in choosing her human friends.

She asked me rather politely if I could be friendly with her and if I were comfortable. What exactly did that entail? What did it mean?