The woes of an Italian vampire -- Gallifreya
[AN: Trying to write this without sounding racist]
I didn't know what I'd become when I stumbled home to Mama. I could remember an attack. I remember that the early dawn light burned my skin. I remember... being ill. Not being able to take in Mama's cooking. Being so thirsty. And always tired during the day.
Mama did what she could. She kept the sun away from me. She went through ingredients one by one until she found the one that upset me most. Garlic. She didn't understand why the crosses and holy icons on the walls upset me, but she took them down for me.
Poor Mama. She must have had a fit when she found me drinking from the pig.
I was scared, too. Terrified. The mirrors didn't show me my face, any more. The light didn't make my shadow. I couldn't step into the church without my legs feeling like they were breaking in a million places.
I can talk to the pastor. At his house. If I'm invited in. I can confess. I can't say the prayers. They make blisters on my tongue when I try.
I don't want to be like this. The vampire that stole my soul also stole everything in my life. I can't... be me.
Mama's getting very old, now. Any day, my last link to the life I remember will be gone. I'll have nothing to keep me... stable. And I will deserve to burn.
That's my plan, now. After she has gone... I will throw open the doors and the curtains and let the sunshine burn me into ash. It will hurt, yes. But I imagine it would hurt less than it has hurt in these past years... missing out on everything I used to love.
And if I burn with a prayer on my lips... I may yet have a chance to gain Heaven.