Today I found myself facing the ethical conundrum which has recently been associated with hormonal centenary teenage vampires: to eat, or not to eat. I’m assuming for you humans the answer is always quite straight-forward: you can decide which organisms cannot be sacrificed to your digestive system, and eat anything that doesn’t belong to that list. For most other mystical creatures the problem solves it-self too. Take the werewolves for example: they eat like humans unless they have the misfortune of being under the spell of the moon, in which case they turn into fluffy little pets with a craving for vampires. But hey, even if they do end up eating a few vampires nobody minds too much: vampires eat humans, so if vampires die, it’s a win-win for all. It really all made sense until Twilight, and Vampire Diaries, and True Blood appeared on your screens. Suddenly vampires with a good heart were born. Vampires that dramatically fell in love with their food (I don’t think there is a human equivalent for that, unless you ever found a burger attractive), and decided not to eat it, only to valiantly eat squirrels and grizzly bears instead (I wonder how often they found a hair in their meal). Humans promptly forgave the sins of their past, and, sighting in awe, wished they too could have their very own vegetarian vampire that would love them for eternity.
Well in my case, I feel like I’m the good vampire. Not because I’m an extremely attractive cancer cell that starts sparkling when exposed to sun-light. My thing has nothing to do with super-human speed and strength, or random fangs sticking out of my membrane. Like most vampires, my survival would mean the end of my human host. Yet still, I feel like I am the good vampire. And no, it’s not because I’ve fallen in love with some oxygen molecule or nutrient surrounding me. I mean, how can you fall for atoms? As tiny and perfectly shaped they could be, they still don’t do it for me. I feel like I’m that good vampire because I don’t want to have to destroy a life in order to survive. Only I’m a cancer cell, and I don’t have my vegetarian options. Eating wouldn’t mean the destruction of a human...not in the short term. But once I become like them, like the other cells around me, once I start proliferating...well, then it becomes a matter of time before I cause the end of my host. And ultimately, of my-self.
I spent quite a while torn by the dilemma, fighting the monster that I was to become. And yet at no point was I able to end it all, and succumb to apoptosis. There was always this little voice inside me that cried in injustice. And that’s when it came to me: I will not become what I was created to be. I will fight the monster with all that I have, every minute of every hour that I live. And I will find a way to become a normal cell, to get rid of the mutations in my nucleus (heart).
People have learned to love a monster, when the monster proved to have more heart than its prey. Maybe people will learn to love me too, one day. When the time is right.