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Trouble
The clouds cleared the next day. I pulled the violet curtain of my room, blocking the light of night. At least, it kept the beast at bay, but the constant crave for blood plagued my mind. Pork’s blood was the closest I could get, but I wasn’t enough to satisfy me.
I constantly reminded myself of what I did to Florice. The image of the girl I saw in that convertible circulated along with it. Countless questions outweighed my hunger. I hoped to meet her again someday. Maybe then will the questions be answered.
Dad entrusted me with the groceries
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“Good morning Crimson Stone,” a man in tight, grayish white suit sternly looked at the screen of our flat TV, “Six months have passed, but the police have found no leads to the untimely death of two boys a few months ago.” The camera panned to the sharply dressed woman, “Another incident happened at the small town of Crimson Stone during the week. The residents feared of a possible crazy man on the loose or worse, another Tyrone Netherwell incident.”
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The question caught me off guard, “I could only stay here for one night.” “Can’t you extend your stay?” “My father must be hounding the streets as we speak.”
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Countless hours and people passed by the other side of the metal rods. They tossed me a meal meant for pets—a viscous chowder with chunks of meat. Like my soul, it was empty after the contents slid through my throat. It tasted horrible—it reflected the monster inside of me. Yellowed light emanating from the square window threatened to grab me. I felt around the walls and shrunk into one corner. Cradling like a child hiding from his mother—if I get caught, it would spell trouble. I held my simmering heart for who know
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