Yesterday I picked up a copy of Bazaar, the fashion magazine. It was on a table in a public place. It wasn’t mine. I would have been better off if I’d picked up a copy of “S&M Fun.”
The pages were filled with images that reminded me of death. Unhealthy thin girls, painted up, looking without expression at the camera. They were all underweight to the point of being uncomfortable to look at. Not just thin but skeletal thin.
Their faces showed no expression. Their eyes were dead. Expensive clothing hung off of loose and unflattering. In one image a young woman wore a lace bra filled with obvious artificial breasts, her own had been starved off of her body.
I’d seen bodies in crypts that looked more alive than these phantom like creatures that were supposed to represent beauty. They were a vision of horror. Zombies without the scabs. But I wondered what drugs would be found in the blood of these pathetically thin strange dead girls.
I was on the phone with my brother Val and told him about the dead girls of fashion. He said he stays away from women like that. “I’d kill them if I tried to take a teaspoon of blood much less have sex with them. Honestly Jewels, they scare me.”
In the mail yesterday there was a spring/summer catalog from Delia’s, a clothing company my daughter likes to shop at. The models were healthy looking. Thank goodness.
I look down at my own pale hand and small wrists. Cold to the touch but even the coldest Vampire is no match to the dead girls of fashion.
Pulling up a file from a novel I’m writing I think about what my character is wearing and how she looks. I try to set the scene. A figure comes up beside me and stands in the dark over my shoulder.
“Mom, what are you doing?”
“Writing on my book.”
“Is it about Vampires?”
“No. I don’t write books about Vampires.”
“Hows it going?”
“Can I use your computer?”
“What about yours?”
“The connection is slow. I need to finish my homework.”
This is why I’m not on the NYT best seller list yet.
I give my son the computer and find my husband. His heart starts to beat when he sees me. My Vampire love.
I wonder if the dead girls of fashion have beating hearts behind those dead eyes or blood moving through their bony arms.
Then I turn my thoughts back to my husband and put the horrors of regular humans out of my mind.
~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman