Violette
To Bite
1986, New York City
Oh, there is that feeling again: I have to bite someone. Its not a want. Its not a craving. Its an "I have to bite someone. Now. Or I can't live." Its a mild obsession. Don't look at me that way. Others get these, too.
It happens late at night. I could have eaten or not eaten. It doesn't care about the full stomach. It doesn't want to kill or maim. Not really. My lips just desire to feel the soft skin. My teeth desire to be bared on the delicate delicious yielding flesh.
It can not just be anyone. It has to be the One.
"The One" is someone of whom I get a matching feeling of desire. Someone splendidly gorgeous. Someone who is worthy of my silky lips. For this feeling is not one of the killing. Its for an act which borders on love, but it is not love. Oh, is that strange to you? I would expect it would be. It is not an act which is so familiar to humans. At least not in most circles.
I'll take your perfect skin and gnaw on it for a while. I'll suck on your skin and leave little bruises from being too eager. You are so pretty, I get eager. It should be flattering, but I can see from your eyes that it just makes you uncomfortable. So uncomfortable.
YOU ARE READING
Demon Stories
Short StoryKilling: an act of love so sweet your body falls victim to such an ecstasy the staccato of the heart bursts your very soul and you perish into the stars above like so many unfortunates who have met the one called demon. Beau, Violette, Diana, Josep...
