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the Itch

The Itch
I awoke to the sound of the school bell going off. I crawled out of the hollowed out dictionary I had been living in for since I was born. Today is by far the worst day of the hunger strike. For some sadistic reason the first thing I do every morning is fly down to the cafeteria and just watch all of those pudgy little children eat their fat little breakfast, while my stomach roars like a lion thirsty for blood.


For the rest of the day I usually walk on the ceilings in a hunger day dream. I listen in on some of the classes, but most of them are uninteresting. When classes don't take my mind of the rumbling I stalk my innocent pray; Charles. Charles is an especially obese child who gets abused whenever I am behind him. The other children exclude him and drop insults when the teachers aren't looking. But during recess old Charles gets it bad. The boys always play a large soccer game including most of the student body and Charles always ends up getting picked by default. Old pudgy Charles is bound to make a dozen mistakes during each game, and the other boys end up giving into their savage side that is in all of us. After the fourth day of watching this, the savage side that is more prominent in my kind finally took over, and I took part in these savage beatings of poor old Charles.


You have to understand, I've seen what my kind does to humans, and I swore I would never do it again. But when I saw that fat little boy, I couldn't stop thinking that he deserved it. I flew down and stabbed him with all my might. And as sure as the sun rising in the east, that bountiful ruby red flowed into my mouth. My blood thirst was finally filled.


After I took my fill, I drunkenly flew back to the dictionary and passed out. The next morning, I awoke and replayed the events of last night in my head. How could I have been such a savage beast, who preys on the weak and young only to make himself feel relieved?


As this thought become more and more prominent in my mind, my constant pain of hunger was replaced by the million ton weight of guilt and regret, I had finally relapsed.


When I was finally able to overcome my disgust for myself, I left the dictionary and went down to lunch only to find that the cafeteria was empty. Happy to investigate something other than my self loathing, I set out to find the children.


I checked the classrooms, and the hallways, but found no results. Then a soul crushing idea popped into my horrible little mind, 'recesses.'

I flew out an open window only to find the worst true. As my curiosity began to take over my wings I flew down to see the gentle un-expecting, pudgy face of non other than Charles, getting kicked and punched by the other savages not unlike me. My eyesight focused on Charles' upper right forearm, in which a small tumescent shape had formed. This horrible little badge of pain that I had left on Charles caused this horrible wave of guilt that came crushing through me like a rock falling from the sky. I tucked my wings in, and began a downward descent, that I did not plan on stopping with my wings.





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