This is a FridayFlashFiction story written in response to terribleminds.com challenge; link 3 photos from a site and use them in a story. I’m not sure all the links will work so I’ll describe them. Word limit 1000, mine 999.
shortlink for this story http://wp.me/s1BAlV-gurrrl
http://flickr.com/photos/23530118@N04/3658433623 Paint Me Beautiful
http://www.flickr.com/photos/21713761@N00/5348334452/ two guys, one’s face is wreathed in smoke
http://www.flickr.com/photos/34743263@N08/5185388794/ a log fallen over the milky white water of a fast moving stream.
Gurrrl Louise Sorensen January 24, 2012
I was camping with my parents and two brothers the night of the attack. The next morning I woke up face down in a fast flowing stream, washed up against a fallen log, starving. I stood up, stumbled over the falls, and landed at the bottom with a broken back. Three days later, subsisting on minnows and snakes in the icy water, I was ready to give up and really die, but a mother raccoon with six babies wandered close enough for me to reach. Hairy. But my back healed within minutes of my feeding.
After fighting through the tangled undergrowth, following my nose to my family campsite, I found no survivors. And when I got down on my hands and knees, sniffing around like a dog and snapping up morsels of rotting human flesh, I finally realized I had changed. The reality of my family’s deaths hit me; I wept, but had no tears.
The picture of ghouls as rotting monsters with sewer breath who lumber around slaughtering people in Achy-Breaky Bars makes me smile a little. We love, we feel pain, and provided we consume a human being once or twice a month, we stay young and well groomed.
My name is Honey, and I am a ghoul.
I munched my way to a big city. The hunting is good here, and as long as you clean up after yourself, no one notices anyone going missing. The trick is to not leave any scraps. So I try to choose someone I know I can finish in one meal. Afterwards I look like I’m ten and a half months pregnant with octuplets, but no one picks on a petite blonde staggering along the sidewalk, with her stomach sticking out three feet in front of her. Especially when that cute blonde, to cheer herself up, has painted her face with all the colors of the rainbow, and they’re dripping down like melted ice cream. People tend to steer clear of people who look like that.
Before I died, fast food was my passion. Pizza, cheese burgers, chili dogs, New York fries; so good. But those days are over. Now, it’s homo sapiens all the way. My mouth waters just thinking about their sweet succulent mmmmm…
Anyway, The City. I went to the interesting side of town. The places where you can buy anything. Drugs, whores, your uncle’s sister. I could have preyed on them, the druggies and whores. But I thought to myself, Self, you dint ask for this, did you? Noser-doodles, I said, I sure as hell dint. And Self, you were always a good person, outside of your love of greasy delicious fast food? Yupp. That was me… a good girl. So I said to myself, just because I find myself in reduced circumstances, as the Victorians would say (I’ve been catching up on my reading) doesn’t mean that some good can’t come out of this. So, to make a long story short, I’ve been feeding on Pushers and Pimps.
This sounds pretty straight forward. Eat the bad guys and do a little good in the world, right?
True, up to a point. But you are what you eat. Graze on vegetables and you’ll turn into a really brainy carrot. Devour only meat and you’ll become a Road-rage-a-saurus. Just an observation of mine. Dine off drug pushers and pimps too long, and you’ll become a selfish, drug addled, blingster with a taste for violence.
It was only after I’d established a reputation for Freaky-stay-out-of-this-bitch’s-way and a stable of thirty girls that I realized what had happened.
Sometimes it seems like you can’t see how to make a difference no matter what you do. So I asked one of my girls for advice.
“Miy-Ella,” I said. “You starting to look pretty tasty to me lately.”
“I thought so,” she said, hand on hip, toe tapping, giving me the stink eye.
“The way I see it, Honey, you got two choices. You give in to your nature. Or you fight back. Which it gonna be?” She was one smart woman; always understood the question.
I knew she was right. I just didn’t know how to go about it. “I don’t know what to do, Miy.” I would have cried on her shoulder, but I couldn’t trust myself not to take a big juicy bite out of it.
“Well, Hon,” she said, “You strong, you already dead, no one can’t hurt you.” She strummed her long nails on her chin while she thought. “You made a safe place here for your girls what with the detox and Clinic and all. The only thing I can think is that you just keep on keeping us safe. If you gotta snack on someone good every now an then, just make sure they got some terminal disease or something. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind if they knew it was for a good cause.” She smiled down at me with that fire you see in people’s eyes when they know they’ve nailed a problem. “The girls and I will pray for you. We’ll always remember you in our prayers.”
I nodded okay. Works for me. With my enhanced ghoul senses I can smell a cancer, Alzheimers or incipient aneurism a mile away.
So I’m a watchdog now, a kind of caped crusader without the cape, keeping my girls safe in the low streets of The City. If I have to take out a Boy Scout or a Saint every now and then, when I get to feeling all selfish and nasty, I do. I try to make it easy for them. But it’s starting to get to me. I’m not sure what the girls would do without me, but it’s time to think about moving on. Find out more about what makes this world tick. Maybe find my old self along the way. They say that ‘Life’s a bitch and then you die.’ I should be so lucky.