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Rated: 18+ · Short Story · Horror/Scary · #1757093
The beast needs the man, but does the man need the beast?
                                                                                            Salvation                                                                               

    It’s storming out. Tonight we get the full hammer and anvil treatment.  Every thirty seconds or so lightning flashes leaving stars behind my eyes. I’ve been in this room for over three hours with nothing but thunder for company.  Thunder and, of course, the gun.  It’s dead in my hands and won’t answer any of my questions.  I’m hoping that by the end of the night it’ll answer my prayers though.

    When I was twelve, my mother gave me a silver crucifix for my confirmation.  I loved it.  Dragged it with me everywhere I’ve ever gone.  Tonight I melted it down with a half empty propane torch I found in a dumpster.  I used it to coat a hollow point and loaded the cylinder of my ‘38.  It waits patiently for me to finally let go and do what needs to be done.  Jesus redeems at the speed of sound.

I know what I am.  The change comes when it wants to. Whenever the beast wants out.  My bones crack and contort.  I scream and it becomes a howl.  My face breaks and my teeth grow too long and sharp for my mouth.  I hit the floor vomiting and convulsing.  When I’m finally able to stand it’s on four legs, not two, and I’m not really me anymore.

      I’m Him.
   
      I’m It.

      And I’m hungry.

    The first one that I can recall I found behind a Piggly Wiggly in Alabama.  It was the smell that called me.  Hot, wet and delicious.  I crept out of a thicket and into the dimly lit back lot using a Ford for cover. There they were.  Her hands were against the wall and her skirt was pulled up to her waist.  He was panting so hard I thought his heart would give out.  He reeked of desperation.  Her scent was colder, more mercenary.  The stink of  impatience and resignment.  My memory told me that she was every girl that had ever laughed at me.

      Called me weird.

      Rejected me.

      He tried to kiss her, a show of tenderness.  She shoved his face away.

      I wanted her. 

      He finished and stumbled around the corner.  I crept into the open.  Body low.  She was counting a wad of cash and turned to me as I sprang.  She gasped as my fangs found her throat and I landed on top of her.  I ripped through her shirt.  Through the soft flesh of her breast and the chemical bag underneath.  Through meat and bones.  I chewed her heart slowly and sang my joy to the country sky.
 
      Since then I’ve eaten toes in Topeka.  Livers in Louisville.  Nipples in Naples.  On and on.  I’m more than an animal but less than a man. 

      So here I sit.

      I can taste the tang of the metal barrel in my mouth.  The safety’s off.

      I’m ready. 

      I love you mom.

      I’m sorry.
© Copyright 2011 Jim Ibershoff (devilsknot at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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