[The story is based on Anne Rice's Interview With The Vampire the AMC series]
During the 1870s and '80s, it gave rise to the Industrial Revolution which paved way to the concept of capitalism dominated by social elites: the aristocrats - who played...
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DEATH. WHAT WAS DEATH? It's the only thing that was permanent in this world, because as long as there's life... nothing lasted forever.
No matter how rich you were, no matter how poor you were - no matter the social classes that divided us all, we would still be all equal in the eyes of Death. Because at the end of the day, we're only humans, and the equality that we always wanted to achieve would end to our tombstones. Our mortal flesh was made for the maggots to devour, and our bones as the fertilizer for the ground. Nothing would be left of us, because even the memory of us could fade. But what about the immortal soul? - many would ask.
Christian faith told me that only the body dies, but the soul lives on either in heaven or hell. The good would flourish with the Lord, and the bad would burn with Lucifer. But people were always the two; we were always good and bad... after all, we were given free will to act what we desired. It would always be in our soul to sin.
Death and sin. It connected people. Because they're what we had in common. We're just mortal sinners trying to survive life - and die and rot at the end. And in the afterlife - either attain happiness or eternal damnation.
What would be of Rose? Would the Lord see her as a kind woman who's only trying to survive what life threw upon her and bring her to heaven? Or would He see her as a filthy whore who's corrupting men to further sin and bring her to hell?
The uncertainty continued to haunt me as they began to descend her coffin six feet in the ground back in her small home village in Bon Temps. Her friends threw white roses while the undertakers sprinkled soil with their shovels, beginning to finally seal her in the earth.
The people who attended her funeral was not many. It's just me, and some of her friends in Mardi's... and to think the men who often visited her would come - I shook my head. They probably only saw her as just another whore who kicked the bucket. She's nothing to them... but she was my everything.
I dropped on my knees in front of her tombstone when everyone left. I placed a bouquet of red roses just below the cross of her tomb. I whispered brokenly how she used to love red roses and how I would get her some whenever there's a special occasion. Now I could only give her red roses on this mournful day and the days to come.
I gripped the soil beneath me, trying desperately hard to feel her again. We had a life waiting for us in Mississippi. We had plans. We had dreams. And now it's just me. Alone again. I wanted to cry, but there was nothing dripping out of my eyes, but the sky wept for me, and its tears flooded everywhere around me; but I stayed still to where I knelt, never minding the rain that continued to soak me.
I traveled alone back to New Orleans, still wet and dirtied with mud, eyes blank and tired. However, when I got to Mardi's, the place did not seem to mourn with me. It went on with its business: entertaining people with laughter and music and liquor and sex. It was as if Rose didn't exist at all to them. How could they forget her so easily?
