" SKIN "
It was a cold and rainy night in New York City, but it didn't stop the drug addicts, hobo's, and prostitutes from roaming the streets. On every corner, each dark deserted street, a forgotten soul unexpectedly awaits their fate.
I sought the undesirable society. The homeless, the druggies, ladies of the night, because nobody cared about these people. Just as they didn't care about me. It made it easy for me to fulfill my desire without drawing attention to the authorities.
Living in a secluded area of New York, I sit here at my window, and look out at the rain. Tears began to fill my eyes. I felt regret, hurt, and I lived a painful life. You see, I have no skin. Only hideous veins embedded in bloody tissue.
Skin graphs had failed, and the doctors couldn't explain why or how I was still alive. But deep down inside, I knew. Some kind of force possessed my body on that tragic day. A power so profound, that it drove me to want to live, to destroy, to skin my victims alive.
The fresh skin of my victims soothed the pain my body has endured all these years. My only escape from the constant severity of it, was to keep it satisfied. Each new skin graph would last for twenty-four hours. I was able to go out in public and mingle with normal humans without them realizing who, or what I was.
The only problem is... My decaying odor. It Is horribly foul and repulsive. The rotting skin was a sign it was time for another kill. Even I can't live with this smell.
Midnight was approaching, as I perched behind a garbage bin. I knew sooner or later a hobo or hooker would be coming along, and It wasn't long before a victim was headed for their doom. Dressed in a black hooded cape, I grabbed the homeless man. I didn't want to kill the man just yet, so I taped his mouth, and drug him to my apartment. I had to have my victims alive If the skin was to take.
I took the man to my cellar, and tied the homeless mans feet, hanging him upside down in the air from the ceiling. The man was screaming as loud as he could, but it was no use. Nobody could hear his cries for help. I had sound proofed the cellar years ago. I took off my hooded cape revealing my hideous face. The man began to scream louder, so I grabbed my deer knife and started cutting the skin away from the tissue. The horrific screams from the man ended, as I began pulling the skin from his bleeding body.
It was a perfect cut, a perfect suit. I hang it on a clothes hanger, and disposed of the homeless mans body. A deep dark well was his final resting place. A man no-one will miss, a forgotten soul. Then I tightened and sealed the lid. A grave which held many skinless souls.
Then I sprayed the skin to soften its texture, and put it on my pain wrenched body. I sighed with relief. It felt so good to feel human again. There was nothing that could ease my pain like a fresh coat of skin.
I had twenty four hours to enjoy the classy part of New York. I walked the streets like any normal human being. Striking conversation as if I lived a normal life. It was my most desired dream, to be loved, to be held, to feel wanted. Within the pores of my nameless skin, there will forever be, another poor souls worst nightmare.