How I discovered P.Z.B.

The tale of an angste teen.
Some things in life we forget, never to remember again. Some things however we do not. They are stored in a special place. One that we can't always access, but comes to us when we need it most and lets us regress back into a time when bills and changing nappies were alien and getting wasted and dying are hair purple were everything!
I was sixteen. Sixteen and miserable. It seemed to be the "trend" back then in the "90's". I had left home, left college, practically left my mind. I spent all my time reading French poetry and pouring my soul out onto tattered pieces of paper. Long flowing tie dyed clothes were my "thing" and purple streaks in my blonde hair was just how I liked it. A mess? Hmm, we shall call it Beatnik!
His name was Richard, he was twenty-five, and so gorgeous you almost lost your eyesight when you looked at him. He was a bit of a hippy mixed with a delicious blend of grunge and a hint of vampire. For me, the perfect combination. And he was the one. The one who lent me the book. Lost Souls.
It almost sounds funny now when I think it. Like something out of a book. Still, I guess in a way it was. Chartreuse. Bright green Chartreuse. The drink of Vampires and all who walk the night. That was the drink we chose. We drunk the green liquid whilst sifting through the pages of Lost Souls, amazed by her descriptive ability and her talent for transporting you to New Orleans. You could smell it. New age Vampires...Brilliant!
That was it, I was totally blown away. I spent a week immersed in that book. It seemed like years although it ended far too suddenly. Reality, as always butting in and taking over. Uninvited may I add.
Steve and Ghost had become my best friends, and Nothing was like a little brother. Of course one can not help but fall in love with Zillah. Albeit reluctantly. Even longing for the filed fangs of the modern day Vampire to plunge into the soft folds of your flesh and make you feel alive. Drowning in the green of his eyes that matched the iridescent colour of the alcohol that was flowing down our throats.
Yes, sixteen was the age I was. Perhaps the best age. It's an age when you're not a child but nor are you an adult. A limbo age. A time when you want to feel everything. Live everything. Experience is you're second name and danger is something that's unheard of. Yes, sixteen was the age I was.
What happened to Richard? Well, I kissed the Prince and he turned into a frog. I cried rivers of tears. Wrote letters and got heavily stoned. That I found, was the cure. But I will always think very kindly of the nights spent in his room drinking and reciting poetry, but most of all for the introduction to Poppy Z Brite.