The following monologue is the third installment of an ongoing creative project called "The Vampire Monologues" by Wade Bradford. It is an original monologue series published exclusively at About.com.
What Has Happened So Far:
In Part One, three recently "turned" vampires enter a funeral parlor. They meet Cunningham the Minion, who briefly tells them some words of wisdom. Mangle the Half Zombie enters to take the "new bloods" things.
In Part Two, Morgenroth the Elder enters. She is a stunning, young-looking vampire from ancient days. She welcomes the new bloods, warning them that not many survive their first few months of being a vampire, and that she (being the eldest in North America) eliminates any vampire unsuitable for existence. Morgenroth then requests to hear each of the new blood's stories.
Monologue #3 begins as Morgenroth glares at them, her gaze burning into them, until the one of the new bloods (the only girl vampire of the three new arrivals) begins to speak.
Here is what she says:
ARIA:
Okay! Okay, fine! I'll go first. I'll talk. I'll do whatever you want, just stop looking at us like that. Please! Please? Thank you. So, am I supposed to tell you who I am and how I got here? Like, you want to know my name and how long I've been a vampire? Hi, my name is Aria. I have been a vampire for two months, three days. This is like Alcoholic Anonymous, except with blood instead of booze. Okay, I guess I should start by saying I was an idiot fifteen year old girl who wanted to find trouble. All of the guys at my school are complete wusses and posers. When I was twelve years old I tossed my Barbie doll in the trash, fed my Ken doll to the neighbor's Rottweiler, and set fire to Barbie's malibu mansion. Once I hit puberty, anything girly made me puke. Same with so-called nice guys. They made my skin crawl. Because I know every guys wants the exact same thing, but most of them try mask it all, cover up all those perverted thoughts. That's why I wanted a bad boy. Someone who would be open and honest about his dark side. It seemed purer that way. So I'm fifteen, no one worth hooking up with, lost in suburbia, where the definition of rebellion is to your grandma's smoke medicinal marijuana without her permission. I'm walking our dog around the block, just after sun down, and this guy drives by on his Harley. It's a beautiful piece of work. Both the bike and the guy. I didn't notice him much at first, only that he was some hot twenty-something on a motorcycle, long brown hair, no helmet, smoldering, dark eyes. Okay, maybe I noticed quite a bit of him. But it was just a guy riding by. Then, the next week, same day, same time, walking home again, he passed by, and this time, even though it was getting dark, I could tell he was checking me out too. This happens every Thursday. Same time, every time. My stupid mom is so happy because she thinks I'm walking the dog for exercise. But I'm going out every night hoping that I'm going to see him, and he's going to see me. Until finally I'm sixteen; my stupid Dad finally relents the car keys, and from 5pm to 8pm, as long as I have my homework finished, I am free to move about the suburbs. My first trip by myself was on a Thursday night, and instead of walking the dog that evening, I waited until Mr Harley rode by. And then I followed him. And you know what? Even though I was trying to drive stealth mode, I knew he knew that I was following him. He wanted me to follow him. And based upon these two little puncture scars on the side of my neck, you can guess why he wanted me to follow him. He led me to a place, out of town, a place my mom would have called the wrong side of the tracks. It was mostly an industrial complex with old, closed down factories, but there was one storefront with a few signs of life, or so I thought. He parked his bike at a tattoo parlor. That's where he worked, which made him even hotter. I was parked across the street, still in a pathetic attempt at playing secret agent. Before he disappeared inside, he paused in the doorway, turned around, and from over a hundred yards away, gazed right into my eyes. Then disappeared inside the most dangerous looking biker tat-shop I had ever seen. And of course, that was the same night I decided to get a tattoo. It's a butterfly with cobweb wings. That's what I had always wanted, and that's what I got that night. And much, much more.
