Maria’s Moon

It was supposed to be plainly fettileria.

I bought herbs derived from lust and soft touches of rigid skin. Some fruit extract and maybe some of my blood.

He promised divorce, should the remedy fail his excitement. Never for mine. Never for mine.

I hated the sight of even a single drop of blood, let alone my own. The dealine, midnight of mid-october, was dancing its way throughout the day. Dancing in circles like the little girl I spotted at 11:50 pm on the docks. 

A piece of Hershey’s removed her timidness, but I was barely able to hide her screams. 

Five minutes until midnight, I had all my ingredients and mixed them into a purple solution with a sweet cinnamon odor. 

He swiped the cup from my hands.

A shock of paralysis engorged his spine and sent him to the filthy grounds of his studio room. 

From the ground, I slurpped the nectar and stood tall with blackening nails and a sudden hunger for adulterous flesh.

Why? Why? Why? He kept asking as I sunk my teeth into his flimsy throat. I didn’t bite so hard to puncture the trachea, but I sunk my teeth inside anyways to feel the esophagus and vertebrae snap. The moon was as bright and pale

like my radiant skin.


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