Sunday, December 21, 2003

My Father is Robert Smith!

Not really, but I do remember wanting to be him when I was a teenager. The Cure was all the rage here in the mid-to-late eighties. Well, at least, to goths like my younger self. I desperately wanted to have corpse-white skin, bad hair, a dark, romantic and commanding presence. Trouble was, I was Asian, geeky, hated makeup and was too timid to walk into a club full of goths-- waitaminute: there were no clubs filled with goths here back then! AT least, no clubs I was aware of.

I had fantasies of being a vampire or werewolf. Acts like The Cure and shows like Forever Knight were pivotal in those same fantasies, paving the way for a novella and comic book I made in high school.

They were about a seemingly unstoppable (teenage) vampire whose nobility kept the bloodlust at bay by a hair's breadth; and a crazy (teenage) guy whose will was --literally-- indomitable. They hated each other with a passion and came to blows whenever they met. (Okay, Batman was an influence too.) Strangely, they always fought to a standstill just as dawn would break. Then they both had to flee-- one to escape a fiery second death, the other to nurse his broken body back to health.

It's a shame I lost the manuscript. The beginning --with the girl in the red dress and matching red Pontiac Fierro-- was bad and I don't miss it. It was the middle chapter that I was proud of. Our vampire, sick of his (un)life, stands over his own grave and patiently waits "to see the dawn." When it comes, we see him looking at the sun and marvelling at the color of the sky. He then watches, at peace now, his body slowly crumble to dust.

His story didn't end there: too bad for him, I was also influenced by The Uncanny X-Men.

Perhaps one day, I'll find the time to rewrite his story, though it's not that likely. Anne Rice overmined the genre (yes, with great work), and relegated future attempts at the vampire story into rough equivalents of... (eeeughhh!) Blade.

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