Hello, my name is Tom.
If you don’t know me, I’m sure I know you. I’m staring right into your eyes as you read my story. It saddens me to inform you that my story has reached an end. Apparently, in this inane society, murder is illegal. Isn’t that ridiculous? I was hungry, so it would seem that’s a crime. Yet we allow whores on our streets, war, and people to rot in the sewers. And trust me they are there rotting…I’ve smelled them…tasted them. The taste of rotting flesh is immensely difficult to describe. It’s salty yet…sweet. Addicting yet repulsive. I hate it, yet I love it.
But of course you can never understand.
When I was seventeen I lived in the streets. But I grew weary of the imbeciles that wondered into my alley. They were…good hearted which made no sense. They tasted so disgusting I couldn’t even eat them…I starved for months at a time. So I decided on a change in venue.
A graveyard, my feast house, my mess hall, my home.
I stumbled there one night because I heard sobbing. Their “precious baby boy” had been murdered. Their tears were taunting me. They had a sign flashing on their heads: Eat me, eat me. I was in wonderland. I could feel the revenge in the husband’s heart when I licked his neck. He spun around and aimed a punch at me but I ducked and tackled him.
I held him down and stared into his eyes.
“Hello, my name is Tom.”
“I don’t care who you are, get the FUCK off of me!”
I dug my canines into his nostrils and he screamed, he cried.
Tears are for the weak.
I leaned forward and whispered into his ear.
I smiled and sweetly told him, “I’m going to kill your wife, fuck your daughters like the whores they’ll become, and shit on your son’s grave.”
He looked infuriated. His eyes narrowed and I could feel his heartbeat accelerate. I bit into his ear. He wanted to kill me, I could feel it, and I could taste it. His anger seasoned my meal. His hatred for me only thickened his blood and satisfied my hunger. I swallowed his ear whole and finished off his nose.
I looked back at his family, drenched in tears.
“How large is your husband’s penis?”
She stared at me, dumbfounded. She wouldn’t answer me.
“Your nudity would be appreciated.”
She still stood still. So I bit her husband and the neck and gouged out his Adams apple. It was tough and meaty but I forced it down to make a point.
Finally she listened. Why don’t people just listen the first time I speak?
I sat her husband upright and made him watch. Of course, as fickle humans do, he forgot I was there. His penis was erect. I bit down on it, gnawed around the edges and tore it off.
Screams, glorious screams echoed through the night. I felt myself erecting as well.
I held his penis, if you could call it that, in my hand. I devoured the first six inches and tossed the head towards her.
“It would make a lovely ketchup squirter.” This made me giggle.
She looked at me so strangely. Nothing that had happened was odd so why did she seem so surprised?
Her husband bled out and I sopped up the blood with my tongue. At this point I was fully erect. I removed my pants and turned to the wife. I cocked my head a bit to the left, examining her body. I chewed the left over penal skin as gum, the flavor actually lasted a lot longer. I walked over to her, her body trembling and sweating; her crabby bush completely moist. I jabbed my long fingernail inside of her vagina and forcefully bit down on her nipples until they bled. Blood leaked out and I bit deeper until the tissue began to drip from her naked breasts. I shoved my penis inside of her and released every bit of anger I had in a silent growl. I leaned back until she was off the ground balanced solely on my penis and then I threw her to the ground. I dove on her, consuming every ounce of fat her body held. Every juicy inch, every delicious morsel, every scrumptious drop of blood now filled my appetite.
Yummy yummy yummy in my tummy tummy tummy.
I looked back at the daughters, dessert.
One ran, now I know she’d run to call the police but I had no interest in chasing her. I stared one daughter down.
“Hello, my name is Tom.”
She trembled and spoke to me, “I’m Adelane.” She looked my directly in the eye and stopped shaking. “I don’t want to die Tom.”
“I don’t want to starve Adelane.”
“Why do people have to die for you to survive?”
I pondered this question for a few moments then responded, “Would you rather have me die? Would you rather me go against the norm? People die everyday I’m merely padding the statistics, moving the world along.”
“You are a monster.”
“Are you any better? Your kind murders innocent creatures for sport, for game, for food. You call them animals when in fact you are the animals. Your hearts are dark and your intentions are cruel!”
She was silent. Adelane stood there unmoving, save her eyes. They were dancing around her head, processing her thoughts, trying to understand what I’d just said. She held out her hand and I bit it. I sunk my teeth deep into her warm pasty flesh.
I abhorred it. I detested her taste.
“You are not evil Adelane.”
“You are not hungry anymore Tom.”
My left eye twitched and my hand followed. My nostrils flared and an intoxicating aroma tickled my olfactory sense. Beings particularly evil were near. I spun around to see those delectable boys in blue. The second daughter stood silhouetted by the darkness, pointing to me.
“There he is,” she shook.
“Diane no,” I heard Adelane scream.
They opened fire and I ducked behind a headstone. Then it occurred to me how weak I was acting. I heard the firing stop and they reloaded. They made arbitrary threats over some infernal noise maker. They wanted to kill me and there was no escaping that.
I stood up and bowed. Then I looked up and locked eyes with the policemen.
“Hello, my name is Tom.”
© Copyright 2016 Atton Brown. All rights reserved.
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