The Hunger

September 18, 2016

Slowly, she walks down the street in an old tattered white dress, covered in dirt and dried brown substance as people gawk at her thin frame and awkward position of her limbs. She has no name and therefore wanders the earth as a lonely soul. A man walks up to her, as many select people have, and she does to him what she has done to all the others. She tugs at his arm and motions for him to follow her to her home, her dark, damp, hovel, covered in filth, reeking of a vile odor located in between the two buildings, that, for as long as she could remember, she had lived between. The man screws up his face, puts a hand over his mouth, and looks down at the nameless girl. Just as all the others had. She stares back at the man with her lifeless, cold, eyes and breaks into an all too familiar grin. A smile that stretches her underused facial muscles, cracks her dry, bleeding, lips, and reveals two rows of, surprisingly clean, sharp, dagger-like teeth. The man routinely steps back in horror at the sight and the girl slowly walks behind the man and blocks his path. By now, the girl feels the man should be feeling the sudden kick of adrenaline matted with fear, as she, unbeknownst to him, backs him into the big, cardboard, dirt covered and blood-stained box. Under the dim street light, that slightly brightens the dark night, the girl feels that by now, she must look truly terrifying and knows it is time to start. She pounces, already anticipating that blood-curdling scream that escapes her victim’s lungs. She rolls her eyes as her teeth sink into her prey’s leg through his pants and meet soft, succulent, flesh. The man falls back, into the box. Louder, the futile screams of the man ring out through the brick walls of the two buildings. As she pulls up she hears and feels tendons rip and snap. Hot, red, liquid rush to greet her dirt-caked cheeks. As if even possible the man’s screams reach a crescendo of pain and volume. Finding this action increasingly more annoying, the girl takes a sharp, blood caked fingernail, and runs it along the man’s jugular thoughtfully, then pushes it down under the thin skin. Similar to the sound of biting into a crisp, green, apple, her nail wriggles into the ready-made hole, stretching it wider. Blood gushes out of his throat forever silencing the man. The girl finishes her meal and places each meat stripped bone neatly beside her home, in a corner; careful as not to crush the decaying older bones beneath. Then she slowly raises up and walks out of her alleyway. Each step using up the food energy she recently consumed. Finally, walking back into the street, she feels the hunger gnawing at her belly.  

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