Another Pound of Flesh

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic

A short story about addiction, craving, and dependency. Warnings of explicit descriptions of cannibalism and self-harm. Read at your own discretion.

Once again I cut out a small chunk of my own skin, blood oozing out of my body as I slowly chew on its rough, almost leathery texture. I savor every bite as the juices starts flowing in the insides of my mouth, granting me the euphoria that I so desperately crave. The pain is always there, like an annoying aunt that keeps reminding you of your faults, but if you learn to ignore it, you learn to enjoy it.

It started off innocent enough, small nibbles of of my thumb to satiate my oral fixation, but I've started craving for so much more. Now I don't even bother being careful, I take a bite straight off of my arm and I notice that the taste is much more intense. The scent of rusty metal wafts over me as I bite down deep enough to taste my own flesh.

Each time I take a piece of myself I am left with less than who I was before but this is the only way I know how I could ever feel complete. There'll come a time that I'll be left with nothing. It's not a problem though, I can stop whenever I want to. I don't think I could even if I did. How could you ever stop doing the only thing that's keep you going? 


Submitted: December 14, 2020

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