Yes. We got asked to basically write fan fiction for our English Language homework. Technically, we had to pick a book we enjoyed and add an imagined extract to it in the author's style of writing to prepare us for our coursework, where we have to imitate a writer's style and produce a commentary on it. Anyway, I chose Anne Rice's Interview with the Vampire, enjoy!
The vampire looked down at the boy’s limp form, a smile lacking of any real humour crossing the rose of his limps. The luminous green of his eyes focused on his lifeless body for a second, before flitting to the tape, reels still turning slowly. He could hear them. He could feel them. He settled back in the chair where he had sat all night, as if nothing had happened, and cleared his throat.
“You see, there was one thing I forgot to mention. Well, not forgot, but simply neglected. There was a long gap of time between tonight and my parting with Armand. I say a long time, it simply feels like the slow ticking of a clock to me, a day an hour, an hour a minute, each minute a second. But I suppose it has been a while, well over twenty years I do believe…How time flies when you’re having ‘fun’”
He paused for a second, as if expecting the boy to stir and interrupt. Another short, slightly exasperated intake of breath before continuing.
“Now, it was one or two years after Armand and I took our leave, and I came across one of the most curious things when I was stalking the streets. I didn’t care to feed that night, I had left early and sated my thirst. It was unusually quiet for the time, midnight was when the latest generation of drunks and vagabonds tended to flood the streets after a hard night on the ale or wine, or whatever took their fancy. I was going nowhere in particular, following in the footsteps of my feet before me, when I heard the most achingly familiar noise. The streets were narrowed and winding, the sound resounded off the stone walls that surrounded and towered above me, house built upon house built upon house. It was the sound of a child crying, a little girl crying. The scent was fresh, and I was filled with the aching of a longing which I had numbed for what felt like a millennia. I followed the sound of loneliness, and for once I felt the naivety of what once had been, the aloofness of my youthful days return. My legs began to ache with the effort, pacing through the winding, desolate backstreets, the smell of rot and scum and a long forgotten death flooding my senses. But then there was the sweet, powdery smell of youth, the aching wails of a small child, it encouraged me, it made me stronger, more alert more…alive.”
He shook his head at the irony, a low, hollow laugh passing through the flushed lips. The boy remained motionless on the floor, though his breathing was becoming audible. He would live.
“I found her eventually, hidden within one of the dozen crooked, neglected stone houses. The rotten stench of death twisted in the air with the torrents of thick dust that circled around with each step, fading as it settled. In the centre of the first room I came to was an aged chair, the fabric torn and mangled, the wood marred with chips, dints and scratches. The tiniest of footprints lay imprinted in the dank dust, reminiscent of the snow of a European winter, a painful memory. I could see the child quivering behind the chair, the worn, dull fabric revealing hints to her form: soft skin that glowed within the darkness of the room; dark hair, glossy and thick; one beady brown eye behind a curtain of curling lashes. For a moment, I had the strangest sense of déjà vu.
“ ‘Come out little child, I wont hurt you.’” I called, lowering myself onto one knee, the crisp black of my suit sullied by the white flecks of decay and waste that littered the floor. The child peeked around the chair, her heart-shaped face rounded and fearful, tear tracks caressing the flushed cheeks as my hand had caressed dear Claudia’s. The child paused for a moment, before rounding the corner and dashing to me in a clumsy way that almost took my by surprise, wrapping her soft arms around my neck. ‘I lost my mummy mister, they took her away and then they took me away.’ I didn’t say a word, but drew back to look into the dark brown eyes, wide with worry and fear. There was the ache for that softness, that warmth, that innocence to corrupt and steal, and the echo of reminiscence. With soft thick curls of dark bronze and skin pearly and peachy, she embodied that which I loved in Claudia. The sweetness, the purity, the plump, childish beauty. I could do now what I couldn’t Claudia. I could leave her, let her own life without the pain and torment that Lestat and I inflicted on the last innocent who crossed our paths.
“I stood and turned to walk away, but she held onto my trouser leg, the stifled sobs rising up again in the back of her throat, begging me not to leave her. I wanted to protect her, claim my past self by claiming this child for my own. But I didn’t. I shook her off and left her, as I should have done Claudia.”
The vampire rose slowly and looked to the window, the sun’s heat beginning to burst through the murky clouds that littered the New Orleans’ skyline. One long white finger stretched to stop the twisting reels of the tape recorder, another outstretched to grab a heavy overcoat and hat, to place over the slender shoulders and the slick black hair. Green eyes bore down on the boy once more, and the minimalist lines that formed the pale, stark skin shifted slightly into a wry look of pity. “It was wonderful to speak with you, I can only hope it wasn’t all in vain.” with that, the tall and slender vampire vanished from the room, the slamming of the door being the only indication that he hadn’t twisted into smoke.
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