A Tribute To Anne Rice

                                                                            A Tribute To Anne Rice

         It was an evening of pallid gray skies and impish gales of mist that swirled down from the
courtyards of Heaven to gambol upon the common earth of mortality. This mingling of spirits sent many fine tunes of ancient wonder springing within my supernatural mind. Post-boxes rose from the fog-shrouded streets like somber tombstones, lining the path I strode upon. Echoing clicks sounded against the gaunt pavement as my patent-leather boots carried my lithe form along at a leisurely gate. Swift, roaring steeds of metal stampeded past me, the entrapped mortals within shouting vigorously: "Go back to Ren Faire, gaywad!" "Nice cape, asshole!" I chuckled at the quaint local greetings, bringing my cloak tightly about my form. A vague edifice in the distance caught my unnatural eye: the shoppe! My salvation from this maddening and repetitive scenery, and a momentary escape from... those terrible memories.

         A subtle twitching began in my mind. It must be time for another tragic flashback.

         Phantoms encircled my head, chanting strange rites and forming their dark coven of guilt. White-hot flashes of pain blinded my mind's eye, memories from three centuries of regret each like heated daggers slicing into my spirit - every scene a demon prodding at my sanity with its pitchfork, pronged with the horns of the Deer of the Melancholy. I saw frightened pale flesh, and pathetic squeaks of youth narrated the scene, until at last all tinged crimson as the spilt wine of a nobleman, and the slack, ivory-pale victim stared, unbelieving and lifeless, back at me.

         The reverie broke. Crying out, I thrusted my silk-cuffed arms to the sky, grasping at the heavens! To be that my manicured claws could reach the mocking gods above! To be that my enraged screams were loud enough to break this curse....

         The shoppe window faced me ignorantly. I had arrived. I squinted at the grand illuminated sign. Though strange to me at first, my long-ago studies with a cunning linguist of His Majesty's court returned to aid me:

                                                                              *BEER *SNACKS* ICE*

         With careful use of my strength, I pushed at the crystalline doorway and stepped gracefully inside. A peculiar box hanging from the ceiling recorded my activity, but not my image. 'Tis a shame, that it be deprived of such great beauty, but I must digress, for it is then that I heard a voice, gentle and helpful:

         "Welcome to Carpenter's Foods."

         With a fanged smirk, I gave my wild mane of rich, golden curls an artful toss, freeing a million glimmering spheres of water.

         "'Tis a good thing to be out of such smothering gloom, if only for a moment, no?" I offered.

         Miraculously, the rain had not layed ruin to my precise application of eyeliner.

         "Yeah, sure," said the young shopkeep. His face was the very sculpture of innocence, impossible that he be anything more than a boy still. "You in a band?" he queried.

         This I found amusing, and a chuckle boiled forth from my breast like a restless spring. I ran the tip of my blood-red tongue over the sensual curve of an elongated fang, pondering the bewildered blue eyes that examined my expertly-tailored garments of fine imported fabric.

         "In days long past, I was indeed a part of several roving bands of miscreants, and their lewd pagan festivals of the evening."

         "Whatever. Can I help you find something?"

         But the mortal had no time to receive my response - I was a mere flash of lace and masterful stitching, moving like the howling gales of the night to be instantly at the throat of this simple shopkeep. He tensed, and my fangs traced their way up the slender throat and played about coyly leading up to his--

         "DUDE, get off me!" the shopkeep protested, pressing in resistance at my cold, stone-hard chest.

         "But I merely wish--"

         "No way, man. I'm not like that!" The boy nearly fell backwards into his colorful stock of tobacco.

         My head fell into a bemused sigh. Mortals, always so concerned with the pleasures of the flesh.

         "Young fleshling, it is not within my wishes to consume the hot, pouring essence of your veins this day. No! I simply wish to purchase some of your finer wares."

         The shopkeep's palms turned outward against me.

         "Fine, just don't get all bitey again. I only went to Rocky Horror once, man."

         I smiled and straightened my collar, lilting:

         "I am in quite a mood, and my appetites are most exotic this day: I should inquire, do you stock something elegant, yet intoxicating, that would soothe my troubled memories and complement my seventeenth-century crystal? Perhaps the blood of a young Parisian street urchin? Or maybe the tears of orphans?"

         "We've got wine coolers."

         "Delightful."

         I was enlightened, pointed in the direction of my sought-after nourishment. With great speed and deft movements, I was gone and returned within seconds to the counter, burdened with many elixirs displaying the seal of one "Smirnoff".

         "Okay, that's a lot of girl drinks. Can I see your I.D.?" snorted the shopkeep.

         I could not help but laugh.

         "My dearest boy! You have know idea how deep your question seeks to penetrate. My life is best measured in centuries, in the ages of great empires! I am older than the ruins of Sparta, and have drank from the most powerful queens of ancient Egypt."

         "Okay, so you sucked a mummy. I need to see ID or you can't purchase alcoholic beverages, no matter how fruity they are."

         A frown is what I gave him.

         "What, your fancy French pants don't have pockets for  a wallet?"

         I snarled, and thought to lunge at the fool who dared to keep me from my desire! How I wanted to tear this insolent one apart; but alas, he was simply too beautiful a creature to destroy. What grand war conscience made with instinct this day! Shouts of rage degraded into sobs of pure self-loathing, as I was brought to my knees in remorse.

         "Don't cry, man - it's the law, I just wanna keep my job, y'know?" This was meant as comfort, but it brought me none.

                                                                                    *****************

         A chilling wind pressed insistantly against the crushed-velvet cloak upon my back. Ravens of self-doubt flocked to my ego, scavenging its remains. The slate-gray pavement was again beneath my heels. Humans laughed and jeered as they passed and entered the shop that had forsaken me. My steeled gaze rose to the foggy horizon, as if it held the secrets of my misery. My death march carried me onward, the empty footfalls sounding against the colorless sky. This was my damnation, and my bliss.