Skin

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She hungrily licked at her lips with her glossy and wet tongue, her freshly polished nails clawing their way through the fabric of the plush sofa. Her pearly white teeth grinded against one another while she stared straight ahead at the crackling fireplace, her eyes and face flickering from the live fire. Her chocolate brown eyes had dark circles underneath them and her once flawless face was now breaking out with pimples. Her creamy lily white skin was no long present for it had turned pale and her long dark brown hair was greasy and damaged, especially at the ends. It looked more like a rat’s nest. Her stomach grumbles in a disturbing manner but she doesn’t notice it for she feels like hell, her head pounding. 5

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It had been exactly one month since she had been completely full and feeling satisfied. Her skin had been glowy and completely creamy smooth and flawless, not one blemish on her skin. Her brown hair had been shiny and golden to perfection, not damaged in any shape or form and not to mention that she felt incredible. It was the feeling of being scrumptious (as she loved to call herself as she would check herself out in the mirror), and of being strong as well. There was no feeling like it, except for the wonderful experience of sex. But now that she was tired and running on empty, she was becoming ugly. It was like having a hang over or being sick, but worse. She was weak. 7

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She was hungry. 9

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Being hungry was not all it was cut out for. Not only did it mean she was becoming hideous for herself and plain-looking (which really what being hungry made her look like) and becoming weak, but she was also the poster girl for bad acne. Upon staring in the mirror this morning while in the process of getting dressed, she smeared makeup on her face to beautify herself, to only scream inside, “Somebody help me, please. I want to be somebody else, somebody who is perfect in ever form.” But there was no one to help her out and there was no way on the face of the Earth that she could become someone else, no matter how much she pleaded to the Heavens. 11

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She hated having to feed herself whenever she grew hungry to stay and look as the stunning and semi-popular girl that she was in school. She loved looking beautiful and looking at her slim figure in the mirror every morning and night and brushing her luscious shiny hair. Normally she didn’t mind picking out the perfect meal but only up until now was it a pain in the ass. She couldn’t just open up her fridge and pull out a simple meal to cook. She couldn’t walk to the supermarket and buy food to prepare. If she was starving, she had to pluck a guy off of the streets, whether he went to her school or lived right around the corner from her house. 13

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And it couldn’t be any guy. Not any guy would do for her. The meal of the week or month had to be someone had she was very much attracted to. She had a major thing for guys who cute and had long hair while others had to be muscular or captain of the football team. And sometimes, he had to be wearing eye liner or was in some type of rock band. It had to be the lead singer or base player because they were salty* and she loved her men salty and fit. 15

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That was why she was flipping through her senior yearbook, searching for her temporary soul mate that sat lifeless on her lap. In her left hand, she held an uncapped red sharpie and circled those who she took a liking to and wrote the word yummy next to their photographs. She passed through the sports section but quickly dismissed it, not feeling in a jock mood tonight. The creative writing section, however, caught her interest instantly. Smiling his charming smile ever so proudly and cutely was Kyle Homolka, a gorgeous boy in her creative writing and English classes. He had a thing for her. Kyle wrote dark and emotional short stories and poems and once he even wrote one for her. It had been the most vivid and phenomenal piece of writing that she has ever written. He had sleek arms and a broad body and he also wore black eye liner and black nail polish. 17

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Circling his picture in the black and white colored yearbook, she wrote yummy next to him in bold red letters. She titled her head back and bit her lower lip before she ravenously licked at her lips again. Throwing the yearbook and red sharpie down on the floor, she leaned over the plush sofa and grabbed her pink phonebook. She tore it open and rummaged through until Kyle’s number came in view. Grabbing the phone to dial his phone number, Christina’s chocolate brown eyes suddenly flickered to a yellowish demonic color and the irises turned pitch black as a low but eerie growl escaped from her lips. They were the eyes of a beast. 21

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