Patrick sighed, the arms of Frank, Eva, Jessie, and Anthony weighing down his black trench coat. He only started this business when he needed to get a birthday present for a close friend but Patrick soon fell down the hole of having a side business.
He doesn't sell them for money though - oh no, not anymore. He sells them for souls and lungs and voices. You see, he needed more lungs and soul voices.
Patrick fell sick a while back recently and his lungs wasn't the same as it ised to be; he needed more lungs and soul voices. As for the souls, there was no reason for those; he just liked them.
After grabbing everything he needed, Patrick left his house quietly and went to an alleyway where his lastest buyer was waiting for him and his arms.
"You have them?" the mysterious man asked, licking his crusty dry lips with an even dryer tongue. Patrick nodded.
"They're fresh too. You have the lungs?" Patrick asked.
"Yup." The man lied though, he only had half of a lung, but he needed those lungs. You see, the mystery man has an arm addiction. He likes looking at them, licking them, collecting them. One might say it's a fetish rather than an addiction.
Patrick went in closer to the man and handed the fresh bloody arms to the man. And he handed the half lung to Patrick, hoping it would be enough.
"This is only half."
"I'm sorry, I couldn't get the other half."
Patrick sighed. "It's okay."
The man nodded and ran off, the arms in his army green jacket.
He sighed again, and went off to find another victim to put in his basement and get another arm to sell.
