Ready. Set. Go!
Die ran as fast she could, her feet hitting hard against the cement, not daring to let herself get caught. This was so wrong, yet it felt so right, the taste something to literally die for. It was a simple prefrence until it became an obession. The way the meat clung to her teeth As she ate the forbiden meal. The skin full with little veins and little sueprises of different juices and flavors per content. Each tasted differently, and nothing tasted quite the same. Chickens, cows, pigs-no matter what happened to them, they were exactly the same. However, the conscience thoughts of looking healthy and working out, or to live a relaxed lifestyle chose the darkness of the meat. Older people had a more dried out feel to their ekin as their bodies began to shut down, while the younger seemed to have more then enough flavor to offer.
Die leaned against the cool metal side of her apartment, hoping to simply disapper.
She knew that her time with these delights were limited. So many people wanted the precious to themselves and refused to share.
The idiotic,the mean, and those who waste their lives don't truely deserve these precious treasures and therefore, Die found it much easier to take from them since they abuse Their gifts. Die always treated her meals with respect, and dared not to live to the steryotype of her kind.
There were just so many pigs to slaughter, and not enough time to cut them up perfectly.
She had a wonderful moral conscince, and would never kill. She'd visit the morge late at night, and take her fill. However, she couldn't help but yearn, want the heart beating in her hand. To feel and taste the salted skin when someone was sweating with fear.
And yet..she couldn't kill amyone.
You killed Mother. What would mother think of you?
The thought entered her mind, and she quickly shoved it out, refusing to listen to the negative voice in her head.
She had work to do.
Walking into the apartment, she held serveal plastic bags, which the desk manager shrugged off as innocent grocerry and let her up into her room.
Die entered the barely funrished room, a mere old fabric marron couch and a black coffee table.
She had invested all her money in a kitchen that would make the best foods of all, and hide the truth of her appetite.
A up to date kitchen with all nesscaties..but Die invested in many small no name goreme appilicanes that would make even the lagrest intistine look like a mere sausage, to grinders and pressure cookers, blood removers, all appilcances ment for heavy meat duty.
Dropping the bag on the cutting table, she opened it up, pulling out a large half heart shaped damask lung, and began to cut the tissue with a butchers knife, the cutting sound first water logged with the amount of mucus, then became more and more sharp and audioable with each slice, until it sounded like she was cutting carrots. Set it off to the side. She grabbed carrots, onions, tomatoes, and other vegtables and cut them on a seperate cutting board and began to mice. Once done, she began to mix them together with egg yolk, making a lung meatloaf.
"What's for dinner sweet pea?!" a familiar voice , and the girl stopped quickly, and moved her meats qucikly to the fridge and returned to the uninvited guest. A tall male who had seen a tattoo shop more then once, his sleeves worn out and his black tee shirt tight enough to see he was as thin as a rail. Yet he ate all her food..black eyes like his soul, and firehouse red choppy hair that framed his face asymetrically.
"I am having meatloaf, your getting-"
"A butt load of shit from you? I'm starving woman!"
"I'm not in the mood to entertain you."
"Come on baby, let's talk about this! Are you still mad at me or something?"
"Yeah, I am. Your stuff has been generously been donated to the incenarator downstairs."
"Diana! All my good tee shirts are here! You little bi-"
"Curse all you like, your not welcome in this kitchen anymore."
"I'm going to kill you-"
"Funny, I thought the feeling was one sided."
Die smiled, remembering the man. Funny how her day dreams came back to him even now as she was baking his lungs in her own little oven. Guess he was welcomed back into this kitchen after all. She rubbed her newly added bruise, a gentle purple with a tint of blue, a bit contrasting to the orange and red hickies he had been sworn to cover her in. Rubbing her acking neck, she smeared a bit of his precious negative B blood onto her pearly white skin.
Her first real kill. Yet, even though it tugged at her conscience and made knots in her stomach-or that her body was hurting from the lack Of food these days. All she knew was..there were no Turning back.
@baconluver143 @plasticlizard022 @i-love-stan-the-man