A Vampire's Curse

     Darren shoved open the wooden door and carried his paper coffee cup to the back of the room. It had become a ritual. Every Tuesday morning he would buy a large mocha at the kiosk on the corner and walk another two blocks to his early morning creative writing class. The class began at 5 in the morning and convened at 7, so the sun was usually just rising by the time he arrived at his one-room apartment. He slid into his normal seat at the back of the small classroom, next to the window and wiped the sleep from his eyes. The air conditioning blew directly on him, but he had grown used to it. It was a small price to pay for the perfect view of the plaza and of Rochelle Lonai. He shivered slightly from the cold and pulled his jacket collar up around his neck. Students gradually began to arrive and sat down in their designated seats around the room.
     Rochelle sat in the second row, third over from the right, in between her two best friends Ciara Connelly and Kalena Genova. Darren watched as the three took their seats and started chatting animatedly in hushed voices. He could see Rochelle’s profile perfectly. She had slicked on clear lipgloss and the gold powder she had dusted on brought out the green in her eyes. Her waist-length ebony hair cascaded down her back, perfectly straight and shiny. He tore his eyes away and diverted his vision out the dusty window. Dark clouds hovered over the plaza, heavy with rain, casting a gloomy shadow over the terrain. Darren had an aching feeling in the pit of his stomach. He tried to avert his attention to other matters.
     There was the soft sound of plodding footsteps in the hall. A few minutes later, his professor walked in and placed his well-worn, leather briefcase on the front desk. “Good morning class,” he said in a clear voice. “Today we’ll be starting on a new assignment. You’ll be composing a piece of prose to turn into me at our next class meeting. One of the most difficult tasks is coming up with a good original idea, so this piece can be about anything you want, but must be under five hundred words. I want you to come up with something that is unique and imaginative. The purpose of today’s class will be to give you time to brainstorm. Keep the noise level to a minimum.” The professor then took his seat at his desk and began to enter homework scores into his computer.
     The classroom was filled with the rustling of papers and the scratching of pencils. However, most people abandoned the assignment and commenced talking. Darren sat staring stoically at a blank notebook page for a few moments, then grabbed a blue pen and began to write.
     Darren arrived to class a few weeks later. As usual the professor entered after a few minutes. “Good morning class,” said the professor, like he did every morning. He announced to the students that he had graded their prose and that, as a class tradition, he would read a piece he found to be exceptional. Darren had always considered this to be a free period because the work that the professor chose was always written by the same two people. Darren yawned drowsily and sat back comfortably in his seat.
     “Before I pass back your papers, let me just say that the majority of them were highly disappointing. There were not many pieces that had a point to them. They ended up being descriptive vignettes. While the majority of your writing was very professional, you didn’t have an innovative idea.” He emphasized the words, pausing every couple phrases. “However, there was one piece that I did happened to like.” Darren rested his chin in the palm of his hand and considered resting his eyes while his professor read. “There are problems with mechanics and the style is not the best, but the idea struck my interest. That is what you should all be striving to improve because original ideas are the basis of a good story.” He picked up a piece of paper, put on a pair of rectangle spectacles, and began to read.
     “Three years ago, she asked me if there was anything wrong,” the professor read. Darren felt the blood drain from his face. “A sharp pain hit me like an electric jolt and I felt like my stomach was doing a series of acrobatic tricks. There are so many things I wanted to tell her, but it seemed impossible to say. I wanted to reveal everything, scream it out loud like some jabbering fool so that the whole world could hear. But I feared that if I did that, then I would have lost my stoic mask and finally realized the atrocities that life had left me with.
     There are things that people just don’t understand. There are problems I have that few others have ever had to face. They’re not typical adolescent problems. In fact, they’re not even human problems. I have to restrain myself from the current lust for blood. I’m required to remain concealed from the sun. I need to isolate myself because, despite my state of mind, it is in my nature to harm others. It’s a burden I neither asked for nor wanted, yet it encompasses my entire being. It’s a vampire’s curse. My own people shunned me because unlike most I refuse to fully succumb to the boundaries that my condition imposes. I’m torn between these two worlds and there doesn’t appear to be any manner of escape. I’ve no real emotion, merely apathy, plain and simple.
     There are times when I’m sitting in my room with the blinds drawn to obscure the garish light that I begin to wish I hadn’t been so impetuous. If I had eluded my impassive ways then maybe I wouldn’t be going through life with the feeling of constant emptiness. It’s like being hollow. Every time I see her, I know that memories of us have faded in her mind. It doesn’t matter to her that she’s lost contact, but to me it’s everything in the world. It’s as close as I come to emotion, though I don’t think that aching could ever be construed as such. With each passing day, my abrasions bleed with a fresh new pain and I want to go back to where we were before. But I know that nothing I say can ever fix it. I had my one chance, and it seems like the world refuses to give me a second chance. I tell myself that eventually I’ll accept that this is a vampire’s life, and maybe then I’ll be able to control the hysteria that comes with missing the one person who ever attempted to reach out.”
     The professor removed his glasses and placed the paper on his desk. “This piece of writing was written by Darren. Darren, can you tell us how you came up with this idea? It’s rather intriguing, taking the point of view of a vampire who resents his origin.”
Darren slouched down in his chair. “Oh… you know. Vampire books and movies.”
     “Interesting. Well, very good job on the assignment. Can one of you help me with passing out these papers?” The professor handed the top half the pile to Rochelle. She walked slowly to the back of the room, her boots clunking in a monotonous rhythm. She placed Darren’s paper on his desk. “I really liked your work,” she said with a smile, then continued passing out the assignments. Darren stared at her retreating back and could feel pressure gathering behind his eyes and in his throat. He blinked profusely to hold back the tears. He had been right. There are some things people just don’t understand. But maybe it was better that they didn’t know that story had been his own.
     Class ended and Darren walked out of the old building, keeping his head cast downward. Rain began to spatter the ground and grew to a steady downpour. He walked out into the heavy shower, trying desperately to hide the pain.