Hunger Pangs

Part 9: After Narcisse

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It has been three months since I discovered who I really am. Mirrianna Shelley, half human and half monster. Half ghoul to be more specific.

So far no one has arrested me setting for the largest arson on record in this county. That doesn't stop my heart from nearly beating out of my chest when I see a police car.

The newspaper said that the investigators found two bodies but only identified the hunter, Adam Forbo. Mostly because his nasty old car filled with fast food wrappers and beer cans was parked outside.The fire got so hot that it burned the tires then melted the windows and the cheap vinyl seating. A cleansing fire.

Narcisse's remains were not identified and probably were still sitting in the county morgue. Good.

Still have to be cautious when chewing. I'm biting my cheek and tongue less now. Stupid razor teeth. Stupid Narcisse. Stupid me.

Glowering at the sink, I stare at my reflection in the chrome. A gold ring bounces against my collarbone on a chain. I found it in Narcisse's jewelry box, an intricately carved moonstone seal of crossed daggers. Wonder who he stole it from. I could pawn it, I guess, but I wear it to remember. Like I could really ever forget what I did that day.

I'm not rationing my food intake. After years of crippling guilt and fear, I'm eating until I'm sated. Really I look so better now, more human. Better camouflage. I'm no longer emaciated like a famine victim. My scrub pants are staying up due to my sudden sprouting of hips. I actually have a bit of a butt now. I can identify scents much more keenly. Minor cuts heal within seconds. Unfortunately, I'm probably fertile now. Imagine my surprise when I had to buy tampons for the first time in my life.

Just a totally harmless half-ghoul girl and I'm not hurting anybody. Really. I won't. No matter how tasty the scent of their skin is and how much I want to nibble just a little bit on an earlobe... Stop that, Mirri. Stop that.

I considered getting a second job as a crime scene cleaner or going to night school in mortuary science, but I just cannot beat the quality of human flesh that I find here at the surgical center. Gobbets of fat, strips of rubbery skin speckled with tiny moles, even a tumor or two. I am so damn lucky that this place didn't catch on fire. Nobody has to die to feed me. Every donor here is paying to have these tasty bits removed. Mmm medical waste! Pretty sweet setup.

I really don't want to go back to picking bloody things out of public restrooms to eat. Dark times. Very dark times.

"Sometimes I think that you're not listening to me. You're just nodding your head and zoning out. I bet you haven't heard two words that I've said to you in the last hour." Zola stops, puts her hands on her hips, glares and purses her pink shellacked lips in a pout. She looks like a pissed off blond owl.

She's right, I wasn't listening. I don't think I've been actively listening to her since my adventure in murder. I've always been withdrawn and reclusive, can you blame me? But now I've become rather callous towards my normal human interactions. Maybe I've lost my empathy, my milk of human kindness has soured. I can't be a weirdo human because I'm a weirdo half-ghoul now.

Perhaps I left my humanity in that body-filled burning storage complex a few months ago. The smell of blood still lingers in my nostrils and my dreams, more often than not, are just as bloody. Sometimes I wake up from my nightmares ravenously hungry, sometimes I want to puke my guts out.

My hands clench as I remember shoving and stuffing pills inside pieces of Forbo's small intestine. Good Lord, that was so messed up and I can't talk about it with anyone. Imagine the nutballs on the internet I'd end up talking to? I do not want to talk to strangers who could empathize with anything that I do.

"You're right Zola, I wasn't listening. I've been going through some major crap lately, but that's no excuse. I've been an ass." I take a deep breath. I can't cut myself off from everyone. I'll end up like crazy, lonely Narcisse, preying on the innocent. I need to stay grounded, even if that means attending another Zola arranged social event. This could be painful, but hopefully not as bad as getting my teeth knocked out of my head. "You were saying?" I prompt her and she gives me another deservedly dirty look.

"You'd know if you'd been listening. I invited you to go out with us for Halloween! We're going to do the bar thing and you'd be my drunk wrangler. I know you don't drink anymore, so I thought you'd like to just socialize or something. You're so moody these days, a total downer! I like you Mirri and I think you really need to have some fun." I feel like I'm being strong-armed by a puppy wearing false eyelashes.

Jesus, was it already Halloween?

Why anyone would want to be a drunk wrangler? I did have a built in costume this year. A new look that I could sport, even flaunt on this one day with no suspicions. It seemed so delightfully subversive. A real monster among all the pretend ones!

But a little clarification never hurts, "Do I have to dress up slutty?" I don't do slutty well. I get tired of being asked if I'm being ironic. Although with my new assets I might be a bit more convincing. Weird, I actually feel like showing off a bit.

Zola brightens, "Nope! Anything you want! And I'm getting a bunch of my pals together too. You might meet someone, Mirri!" Her cheer is infectious, just like the plague. I palm some dermal punch tissue from a surgical tray to nibble on later.

I really have been too moody, wallowing in self-pity. Sure, I'm a flesh-eating ghoul but I shouldn't rake myself over the proverbial coals. I mean, it's not my fault that I was born this way. Hell, I've done much, much stupider things than anything Zola can mix me up in. 

She's only human.