An Unquenchable Thirst

     THERE IS SOMEONE knocking at your door. And for some reason you're nervous, even though you were expecting them, called them even and gave them your address. But, you mean, could anyone blame you for ordering food delivery? You're starving, have been starving for the past 4 days. You tried dieting, you really did, but you couldn't last a week without wanting human flesh so bad that you ate your old G.I. Joe ARAH action figure, just because it reminded you of it. And heck, you can practically taste the flesh that's sitting at your porch, the smell is that strong. Besides, it's not really your fault that you're half Wendigo, half human, a fact that defies everything you were ever taught in theology. A fact that also doesn't make sense because you eat humans. You are what you eat and all that, you guess. And who knows what was going on in your demon-cannibal mother's head when she decided to marry a human lawyer. A lawyer, of all things. Just as well, you suppose, because it prevents you from getting sued every time you eat someone. Plus, apparently Wendigoes can't eat lawyers due to some contract or something. You know because you saw it on Discovery network.

     You hear the knocking again. You better get the flesh from the delivery Minotaur before it goes bad. He's been waiting for a while. Serves him right. Minotaurs are always so rude, glowering all the time as if you had just kicked their puppy. You go down the stairs and open the door.

     A guy your age is standing on your porch.

     "H-hey," the guy stammers, his hand raised as though he was just about to knock again. He lowers it. The essence hits you like Hulk's fist. Now you know why the smell was so strong, there is an actual human on your porch, not the packaged flesh you normally get. You're still waiting for a Minotaur ensconced in the bushes to pop out like a daisy, brandish the delivery, and say, "Gotcha!" You wonder why the guy is here, and where your goddamn food is. You don't have time for this.

     "Hi. Can I help you?" you say, your voice hostile.

     "Um, yeah. The guys at that weird delivery place, Human Food - which is a strange name because it's kind of implied that the food is for humans - sent me here. They said that you may have seen my dog since you're there a lot. They also said for me to tell you that the delivery has arrived, and killing two birds with one stone or something like that. Anyways, I really need to find my dog, my parents will kill me if I don't," the guy says, matter-of-factly. You're surprised he's not intimidated by your less than welcoming behaviour. Now that you get a better look at him, you notice that the guy is hot, all skin the colour of burnt sienna and hazel eyes you could drown in. It also doesn't hurt that you'd jump his bones; it's obvious that he works out. Good, because you don't like a lot of fat on your meals. What are you thinking? You can't eat him, no matter how mouth-wateringly succulent he looks. You've been trying so hard to stop eating live humans, the first step to purging the part of you that is a monster. The first step to finally being a normal teenage guy.

     And it's just like Human Food to send him to you to get rid of him and get a delivery done in the process. They're just that lazy. They think they're being clever by sending you a human, when really they're just being annoying. Sure you've eaten countless humans before, but that was, well, before. It made you feel too much like a vampire with a living blood bag, and too little like someone who's memorized the answers from all 31 seasons of Jeopardy.

     Besides. You don't sparkle.

     "Uh, I might have. What does the dog look like?"

     What are you doing? You haven't seen a dog, you haven't seen anything that breathes since you locked yourself in your room to avoid temptation. So why can't you just tell him the truth and pretend this never happened?  

     "Grayson's like," he gestures to his mid-thigh, "yay big. Shaggy blond hair. Kinda like mine. 'Cept mine's dyed. He's a golden lab. Oh, and my name's Jack, by the way."

     Right, it's because he's the biggest piece of eye candy you've seen in months, even though you only started dieting a week ago. You think you're slobbering. Slobbering for goodness sakes. It's like you're Dukey from Johnny Test, and Jack is a big juicy steak...wrapped in freakin' bacon. You swear your stomach just expanded to make room for him. What. The. Heck.

     "Nick," you grunt. "I may have seen him." Well, no wonder you have no friends. You just grunted. You're a cannibal, not a caveman. There's a difference.

     "Really? Great. Where? Do you remember?" Did a vein in his neck just pulse? Crap. You're so screwed. "You'll have to draw me a map because I have a horrible sense of direction. I got lost like, 50 times trying to get to your house. I kept ending up at drug joints. Don't even get me started on the last place I went to. I swear it was-" You step forward, snap his neck in half, and devour him on the spot.

     Screw dieting. You have an unquenchable thirst.

[Hey guys, so this is me procrastinating, I've been putting off working on my actual full-length story, so short stories are all that you'll get for now. Also the pacing in this is really bad. Sorry.]