I remember first coming about when I was reborn more or less, a filthy skeleton. Where was I? Oh yes, I recall. I was in Greece walking towards Athens, my bare bones enmeshed in tight rubbery veins. The whole frightening spectacle was covered by toughened white preternatural flesh. Perhaps the crowd was less afraid when I wrapped rags around my skin and cranium only making holes for my eyes and mouth. I had covered my filthy black hair with a gray felt hat. At the time I remember thinking I had the same look of my dead beloved cousin back in the kingdom of Kemet that I had wrapped and mummified with these very same hands and laid to rest in the ground deep in the sands of Egypt. I suppose after I wrapped my flesh that the people now and then only stood and stared instead of running away and screaming in horror. When I came back, everyone looked so different. Such dark hair and dark skin, that I assumed could have only came from the mixture of Turkish blood over the centuries. And the fear, when I finally saw my face when my flesh filled in as hard as stone. This face that I see.......when I finally saw it after centuries of sleep, when I take off the rags, it is my face, my old face. The tears came in streams of blood when I realized who I was once again. The face I used to see staring back at me in the reflection of the calmest of waters. It was such a kind, welcoming face with those straight narrow eyebrows and lips so capable of the warmest smile. It had such room and space and such broad statement that would welcome anyone passing by. I didn't remember where exactly I had gotten my name. For some reason I told people I was Khayman. I do remember another name in life that I went by, that name was Benjamin.

I remember when I discovered my long forgotten powers. I once in the beginning of my time in this period threw an automobile hurtling through the air. I started to wonder if I remembered any past occurrences of these powers before, and then it struck me that I vaguely remembered floating through the clouds and flying as if I was weightless and brittle as if there were no gravity at all! I just can't remember when it happened......I even remember reading peoples minds from long distances away. Some nights when I would awaken from my sleep I would even accidentally stumble upon many voices that I didn't even choose to listen to. I felt then as if I were some God being robbed of my own thought and forced into hearing jabbled wishes and prayers of many, many mortals with voices overlapping one another. That is when the shock came. That is when I remembered being locked away, shut away with only all of those voices as my company. I felt as if I was being burned, imprisoned as many other men and other names. Forcing to hear and live their lives. I remember even one occasion when I literally destroyed a fledgling in my rage just because I had heard his conversation with other immortals. I couldn't help it really, all I did was merely look at him. Then after that it seemed it happened again and again, that is until I came to control it once again, if I ever even had control is beyond me.

As I slipped even farther into my cursed reality I learned of my interest in so many different numbers of appliances and electrical devices. I remember a fun experiment I had after mastering each and every crevice of these technological wonders when I would toyingly ball up and squeeze together these devices into a fine sphere then throw them into someone's window and disappear like a childish shadow. I was quite impulsive from time to time, as I suspect all of us have been. I used to watch the yellow animal machines that would dig in the ground at night. I loved the paintings of peoples' faces that would talk to me and make me feel friendship through the wonder called television. I remember back in that time when I walked through Damascus in the evening and saw sudden flashes of disconnected memories. I saw the ancient city of the Romans, Greeks, Persians and Egyptians in these streets that I walked. I would wander about in Libraries looking at all the old statues and monuments in big books that smelled good. I even actually remembered seeing these statues when they were made. I remember how ungraceful all of the clothing looked in those books. I do remember how the clothes actually looked and they weren't rags such as that. I loved seeing young girls in their pretty dresses walking out of the church from Christmas mass. I remember walking outside of a young man's window and crept to see what was inside. He played such gloomy music with the violin, I almost wanted to dance with him, either that or drink his blood. But that would have been a problem because I don't like to talk to my victims before I kill them. I don't want to know them at all in any sort. Death is not amusing to me. I stalk my prey in silence and if they so much as even speak to me I walk away. It's not a pleasure of mine by any means to have a conversation with these sweet, soft eyed beings and then gobble their blood, break their bones, and then lick the marrow after squeezing their limbs to a dripping pulp, even when I didn't need blood but wanted it.

Before Lestat's concert when I saw the others, Jesse, Mael, even Lestat himself as I read his thoughts, not a spark of my past came to mind. Maybe when I saw all of them it wasn't just merely human emotion I was trying to feel. Maybe it was human ambition as well. Somehow back then I couldn't state the words of Descartes, "I think therefore I am," because I was not. Even though this was so, I still did have a supernatural understanding of things at least. When human beings looked at complex machines they could not understand their nature and principles as I could. It seemed I had had the power to know things even way before I comprehended the idea of living here. Now I know why, now I remember, but I wish it wasn't so. For some reason I knew to myself that Quantum physics didn't surprise me, nor did theories of evolution, or processes of children being inoculated with germs to prevent them from getting disease. Even the paintings of Picasso didn't surprise me. I have always felt human pain with an eerie frightening perfection with the human perspective I always have. I used to know what it meant to be loved as well as what it meant to be lonely. I still do. It seems back in those early times after awakening the more blood I drank the more surprised I would get when I saw those very human emotions turn into filling flesh and stone before my eyes. But how I wish! How I wish ever so much that I felt the same now. I wish that I was still the same, without pain, without rancor or hatred or remembrance of those things that caused me to feel these things. After all, ignorance is bliss. Every day in this span of never-ending time I try to put my pieces back together and learn more and more, but it seems it will never be the same again. Every night I wish I had never even laid eyes on her brooding hatred when she destroyed so many. I remember screaming and running towards Lestat as she grabbed him and flew away with him like a hawk swooping for the prey. I think everyone was afraid for him, I do not think anyone understood the love they held for each other. Sometimes I don't even think Lestat himself even understood. That night is the worst I have ever experienced since I came back from the ground. And I will never forget her hateful menacing resemblance like some kind of fiery God taking shape and form from a statue and coming to destroy us all for our sins. These days I pray to my ancestors in my anxieties. And I try to forget the dust and the trail. I try to live again with the immortals that inhabit the earth with me now, and maybe together, only together, we can find some purpose that would suit us all............