Creativity & Fiction
Fanfiction of Interview with a Vampire by Anne Rice:
Claudia:
I never lived. My heart barely started to beat before it was halted. My pale body has never known the warmth of a mother’s hug, my hands have never held another’s out of love. Love. Is love truly voluntary? Or are we just accepting our circumstances and telling ourselves that we are happy to live a life that is tolerable?
“My beautiful little doll,” Louis drawled from the downstairs salon in his familiar Southern accent.
Maybe I do know love. Who needs a mother, or a family or a soulmate when you have Louis. My sweet Louis. Clinging to a conscience that has no room in the life of a vampire. Or so I read. Why care for human life when their death is inevitable? He’ll learn soon enough.
I crave for his attention because who else will love me. Love who I am. Love WHAT I am.
“Oh Louis, you never use my name” I quipped.
“But you love it when I call you a doll, my magical, timeless doll. You love that name when Lestat buys you those beautiful dresses, and you seem to not complain when that name gets you free treats at those festival carts.” He seemed amused, but the serious tone threw me off.
“Ah yes, a beautiful mindless plastic doll is the best compliment.” My attitude was not suited for my youthful appearance, unsettling the average observer. But Louis was used to my language, the one part of my identity I can control was the words coming out of my mouth. So I take advantage of my “free will”.
“Oh enough about that, you know I care about your happiness. I love you darlin, I was checking in about the whereabouts of Lestat. His obsession with that musician boy is quite… disturbing”
“Louis, I don’t stalk Lestat. My time is spent doing more productive things. Speaking of, I am famished. I want to go grab a bite, tourist season is just starting, so fresh blood. Would you want to come with me?”
He looks at me with horror, with a gross expression, but I look past the facade to see his hunger, his thirst, his carnal need.
He is denying his identity, a life of guilt. But yet, at least it’s a life.
I walk down the streets of New Orleans, taking in the familiar scene that greets me every night. A woman holding a stroller in a worn out pair of stockings and maid uniform was trudging home with her child, her heart beating fast from exhaustion and anxiety. She suddenly looks up as my footsteps become noticeable, her eyes wide with surprise and alarm. Taking in my size and appearance, her shoulders sag with relief as she thought that no danger roamed here. Her eyes held a brave gleam as she approached me with the tenderness of a puppy.
“Miss, are you okay? Honey, where are your parents?” She asked with concern. I get tired of the same old questions night after night. But for the sake of getting a meal, I turn on my doe eyes and hunch my shoulders of a scared, timid child.
“Pu-pl-pl-please help, I want my mommy” I reenact my usual script, the most effective way for getting my victims away from the public view. I quickly glance at the baby in the stroller, and we make eye contact.
Wow, that could easily have been me. That WAS me. All I had was my mom whom I don’t even remember, and now I have Louis… and Lestat, I guess. My mind became a battle between getting those answers that my soul yearned for and the blood that my body needed.
I need.. I need a break from all this. Maybe I should call it a night. Go to the comfort of Louis’s coffin and forget about this irritating woman and her stupid child that looks too much like me. This is too human for a Thursday night. With any luck I’ll find the woman tomorrow, with a clearer conscience.
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