Opening Monologue to..something

A Story by Katarra

It started off as the opening page to a novel I was going to write. Now I'm staring at it, and thinking it might do better as a starting monologue to a screenplay, or cut up into snippits of dialogue through a script.

It ain't always like you see in the movies. Don't think anyone knows that better than I do. Many a times I've sat in those dark rooms, sticky floors beneath my boots, and laughed. It's rude of me to do so, I know, I really do. Someone hears me or directs a nasty shush my way and I apologize.

Not really sorry, though. Maybe if you were in my position, you'd laugh too – hell, a few of you probably are, I don't know.

It's entertainment, can't deny that. But you can't tell me a president won't laugh watching Air Force One, or them CIA, FBI, IBM or whatever people aren't tickled pink by their ridiculous portrayals in Hollywood. They're glamorized; everything is. I can't expect to be treated any different.

Hollywood ain't to blame, really. I'm not pointing a finger, just exposing a truth. It's why I'm doin' this, you see. You just can't expect someone to write about something they ain't never met, seen, or had a decent conversation with over a beer or two.

Although, I don't think a whole lot of vampires like beer all that much. Not really our drink of choice., but it'll do on a hot night.

I bet no one's reading this anymore after that. It's alright; I figured it'd turn people off. Those who've kept going that think I'm playin' or crazy: I'm not. 'Least I've never thought so. You're free to disagree after I'm all said and done; it's a free country.

I 'spose this is where I quit bein' vague and just get on with it. Name's Nestor Jameson. American, rancher, and for the purpose of this memoir, even though I don't think so, I'm most importantly a vampire. To get a few things out of the way: I can see quite clearly how ugly I am upon waking in the evening, ain't no one ever been bold - or perhaps dumb – enough to try and stake me in the heart (although it'd just hurt all to hell, that's all,) I don't sleep in no coffin, and garlic tastes damn good.

I do, however, have a skin condition. Going outside at high noon is a pretty piss poor idea for me. I'm man enough to admit I'm a tad too delicate to stay out in the sun...in the sense that my flesh starts to sizzle like bacon after about a minute. It's fine, though. My cattle are as happy as can be grazin' under moonlight and sleeping under some shade during the day.

While it's been noted I dabble in some beer and food now and then, I don't recommend habits like those to another of my nature. Goes down real fine, no problem – it's the coming back up that ain't so pleasant. I ain't really equipped to digest nothing, especially buffalo wings, as I learned one time long, long ago.

That brings us, of course, to the issue of blood. Has to be mentioned sometime, don't it? For me, I don't like to complicate things. I've got over a hundred head, have for years, each of them full of the stuff. It can't compare to...well, I don't need to explain it. I take a heifer and drain her a bit into a flask. The cows don't mind it; it don't hurt much. Tastes like s**t, especially cold, but it lasts me the night.

My life probably ain't what people hope it is. I start things wrong by being named Nestor, sorry folks. Nothing exciting happens to a Nestor. Unlike the pale heartthrobs y'all have grown to love, I don't spend my evenings brooding about my dark, dreary existence. Never resolved myself to spend eternity all by my lonesome because I can't bear to share my curse with another. Certainly don't fly around and over skyscrapers where I know for damn sure I'd get my a*s shot down. Where in the hell did people get it in their heads that we even fly? Last I checked, I got arms, not wings. Quack.

Eh, but that ain't important. Misconceptions ain't never important unless they're harmful. Don't hurt me to have people thinkin' I flap my magical arms and soar in the clouds. Or that I ponder my demonic purpose on this earth through s****y poetry. I can guaran-damn-tee you that if I ever did write poetry, it'd be s****y. Probably about horseback riding or football rather than hell and eternal suffering, but still s****y.