Wynona
I've lost weight since leaving my ex. It's something I should be proud of, but now when I look in the mirror I'm not sure if I'm.... I don't know. Gaunt? It's impossible to find that perfect place it seems. I'm either insatiable for food or insatiable for perfection. Not much in between. I guess that's something good about me though. I either go all the way or I don't go at all.
One person just isn't enough for me, I've found. I don't have anything against monogamous people, of course. It's just not for me. My ex wanted that for us, and I tried to make it work, but I just couldn't be happy in that situation. I kept finding myself drawn to other people, men or women, and sometimes found myself more than drawn to them. I crave excitement, attention, new experiences, and connection. How am I supposed to get that from one person? I move quickly, mentally and emotionally at least. Something that excites me now may bore me next week, and I don't think that's anything I should have to apologize for. It just means I need to look out for myself, is all. Make sure I'm getting what I need. It's not my responsibility to handle anyone else's expectations of me. It's also not my responsibility to never change my mind, even if it changes often. That's why it didn't work. "I just want you to put more into this relationship.", he'd always tell me. Why would I do that, though? There's so much more out there for me. I take what I want, and that's what makes me a stronger woman than most of the ones I graduated with. I'm not chained down, I don't owe anyone anything, and I'm going to live my life the way I want to.
I step out onto the front porch of my small ranch style home and feel a surge of energy move through me as the brisk autumn air hits my face. I never feel quite alive until I know winter is coming. My lips burn a little. The weather has been keeping them chapped. Well, that, and it doesn't help that I tend to chew on them unconsciously all the time. I take a deep breath of that incredible cool air and make my way to my little white Ford Fiesta. I take a moment to admire all the pins I've collected on the roof of the little car while I let it warm up. Pictures of my friends, or the ones I've been spending the most time with lately, are scattered throughout the nooks and crannies of this utilitarian vehicle. I try to make it feel as much like "me" as I can, shitty as this car is sometimes. I plug in my phone to the stereo and start the playlist I made for me and my friends the day they helped me move out from my ex's condo.
I named it, "Sorry, Pal", since he hated being called that. I didn't tell him I was leaving, of course. I had already moved on emotionally. And physically. Why would I draw things out with some big dramatic exit? No. Just leave the keys on the counter and fade away. It's easier, and it's what I'm good at, anyway. Move quick, move forward. Always something, or someone, new. Take what you can from your time with them, and leave before they can disappoint you. Or before you disappoint them.
I think I'll get my nails done today. Sharpen the old claws. Then I'll see who I'm getting into tonight, I suppose, since I don't have to wait tables today. There's something satisfying to me about having these nails, and keeping them nice. As I pull up to my usual spot on Main and walk through the door I'm relieved to see the lady I like working here. The other woman is always a little too aggressive. I pay enough money here, I want to enjoy the experience, not have to grit through it. I always tip well, though, either way. I know they still have bills to pay, and families to feed, so I make sure to give what I can. I depend on tips, so I know how hard it is to get by on them. That's how I know I'm still a good person. Regardless of what anyone else thinks. I told my ex one time that I was a good person and he just laughed at me. "You devour people, Wyn. Your heart is good, but I don't know if the things you do are." Fuck him. I leave a ten dollar tip for the woman as I leave. I'm a good person.
I see something in the mirror as I'm leaving out of the corner of my eye. As I walk by my reflection seemed...off. I seemed...taller, skinnier, paler. I double take, though, and no. It's still me. I must not be getting enough sleep. I don't plan on getting much more tonight, though, if things go my way. I walk to my car and call Mel. She's been my best friend for the last few months, and I spend half of my nights with her anyway. Her boyfriend doesn't know it, but she and I sometimes mess around, and given the state of the world right now with the quarantine and all, I think that's gonna be happening a lot more.
After I've had all I want from Mel, I fade out next to her and slip quickly into dreaming. At first I can't see anything, but I hear this...disgusting crunching sound. There's this smell. It's dull, mundane, putrid. I lift my head and dim blue light makes it's way into my eyes as I gather what I've been hearing and smelling. Below me is the body of a man in his early thirties maybe, a little overweight and short, but familiar. In the center of his body, however, is a massive hole with edges messy and uneven from claws and teeth tearing him open. I begin to taste the distinct iron-like flavor of blood on my tongue, mixed with the indistinguishable mix of tastes that can only be described as gore making it's way down my throat. I look around to see if anyone has seen what I've done. I'm surrounded by a snow-quiet moonlit forest, dead from the relentless gnashing of winter against its vibrance. I'm alone save the owl sitting on the branch of the nearest tree, and things are still under the slow dusting of snow on the floor of this small sanctuary. I look back to the body and see red staining the snow around my feet which are....not my feet.
They are almost grey in this light, and larger than I'm used to. My legs are longer than normal, and smaller. Everything seems elongated and unhealthy about what I can see. Long, sharpened fingers protrude from an almost skeletal arm that is about twice as long as it should be. I can't focus much on my appearance though before I realize how desperately hungry I am. Is that why I'm doing this? Did I kill this man? From the looks of it he tried to run away. Fresh snow is slowly erasing the tracks of flailing arms and frantic kicks. His glasses are five or so feet away from us, and there is a look of absolute horror frozen beneath his bearded face. I can't remember ever being as hungry as I am now, though, so almost without thought I go back to find parts of him I deem edible. He's dead already, anyway, and clearly I'm close to starving, so either way this makes the most sense practically.
When there's not much left of the man to devour I find myself still incredibly hungry, though. I just ate the better part of an entire person, yet for some reason I feel as though I haven't eaten in a decade. I wonder off in search of something that might sate this pain. Despite my hunger I find I can move incredibly quickly, and choose to look for anything else that might serve as an emergency meal. I come across a frozen lake a few miles south of where I started, and finally see a reflection of the form my dreaming self has taken. A pale, sickly version of my own face looks back at me, hairless and with a shining green reflective halo in my eyes. I register the horror of my appearance in waves. My cheekbones are far too pronounced in this reflection, and my eyes are far too sunken. My collar bones are essentially spikes protruding from skin that seems both paper thin and leathery at the same time.
At that moment a whiff of something hits my nose, though, and I'm too hungry to ignore the possibility that this could lead to food. I dart off in the direction of the smell, finding it far more comfortable to use all fours to handle the speed I can manage. I run for what seems to be miles, which surprises me, given that I was led here by a smell. Dream logic, I suppose. I see a small tribe of people around a campfire as I approach, and decide to hide behind a large tree nearby. As I look harder, though, I begin to realize this is a group of people I know. Old friends, people I got bored with, or who decided they wanted nothing to do with me anymore. People I just stopped talking to, or people who wanted more than I could offer. I briefly wonder why they're here, but before I can find any reasonable answer I feel my stomach pains and almost on instinct decide to lure one away somehow. I have to eat. I can't not eat right now.
I find that I can mimic my actual voice with ease, and call out from the woods for help in the sweetest, most sincere tone I can conjure. A girl I went to high school with hears it, says something to the group, and against their protests moves toward the sound. Out of sight from the fire, but close enough that the girl won't give up her search and turn back, I perch on a sturdy branch above the path between her and my cry for help. Just as she's below me, I think only for an instant that perhaps I should hunt for wild game or something other than my old friends, but only for an instant. I leap down onto the girl and grind my teeth into her throat before she can use it to cry out for help.
I wake up in a cold sweat beside Mel and immediately try to remember what we had eaten the night before. I stare at the owl tattoo on the wrist of my right arm while I gather my thoughts....Thai food. That's what it was. Surely something in that Thai food wasn't agreeing with me, since my dream focused so heavily on food and hunger. I guess we shouldn't go back to that place for a while. I try to go back to sleep, though just before I drift off I remember what he said to me again. "You devour people, Wyn." Still. Fuck him. This is why I left, isn't it? I don't need that shit. I don't need name calling from anyone, no matter how creative he got about it. Wendigo. That's what he'd say when he was upset with me. Told me he was tired of being let down, tired of being used. Well I was tired of being compared to make-believe cryptids. Fuck him. I'm a good person. I'm just hungry, is all. That Thai food didn't sit right, and now I'm feeling hungry, and that's what caused the dream. I'm a good person.
One person just isn't enough for me, I've found. I don't have anything against monogamous people, of course. It's just not for me. My ex wanted that for us, and I tried to make it work, but I just couldn't be happy in that situation. I kept finding myself drawn to other people, men or women, and sometimes found myself more than drawn to them. I crave excitement, attention, new experiences, and connection. How am I supposed to get that from one person? I move quickly, mentally and emotionally at least. Something that excites me now may bore me next week, and I don't think that's anything I should have to apologize for. It just means I need to look out for myself, is all. Make sure I'm getting what I need. It's not my responsibility to handle anyone else's expectations of me. It's also not my responsibility to never change my mind, even if it changes often. That's why it didn't work. "I just want you to put more into this relationship.", he'd always tell me. Why would I do that, though? There's so much more out there for me. I take what I want, and that's what makes me a stronger woman than most of the ones I graduated with. I'm not chained down, I don't owe anyone anything, and I'm going to live my life the way I want to.
I step out onto the front porch of my small ranch style home and feel a surge of energy move through me as the brisk autumn air hits my face. I never feel quite alive until I know winter is coming. My lips burn a little. The weather has been keeping them chapped. Well, that, and it doesn't help that I tend to chew on them unconsciously all the time. I take a deep breath of that incredible cool air and make my way to my little white Ford Fiesta. I take a moment to admire all the pins I've collected on the roof of the little car while I let it warm up. Pictures of my friends, or the ones I've been spending the most time with lately, are scattered throughout the nooks and crannies of this utilitarian vehicle. I try to make it feel as much like "me" as I can, shitty as this car is sometimes. I plug in my phone to the stereo and start the playlist I made for me and my friends the day they helped me move out from my ex's condo.
I named it, "Sorry, Pal", since he hated being called that. I didn't tell him I was leaving, of course. I had already moved on emotionally. And physically. Why would I draw things out with some big dramatic exit? No. Just leave the keys on the counter and fade away. It's easier, and it's what I'm good at, anyway. Move quick, move forward. Always something, or someone, new. Take what you can from your time with them, and leave before they can disappoint you. Or before you disappoint them.
I think I'll get my nails done today. Sharpen the old claws. Then I'll see who I'm getting into tonight, I suppose, since I don't have to wait tables today. There's something satisfying to me about having these nails, and keeping them nice. As I pull up to my usual spot on Main and walk through the door I'm relieved to see the lady I like working here. The other woman is always a little too aggressive. I pay enough money here, I want to enjoy the experience, not have to grit through it. I always tip well, though, either way. I know they still have bills to pay, and families to feed, so I make sure to give what I can. I depend on tips, so I know how hard it is to get by on them. That's how I know I'm still a good person. Regardless of what anyone else thinks. I told my ex one time that I was a good person and he just laughed at me. "You devour people, Wyn. Your heart is good, but I don't know if the things you do are." Fuck him. I leave a ten dollar tip for the woman as I leave. I'm a good person.
I see something in the mirror as I'm leaving out of the corner of my eye. As I walk by my reflection seemed...off. I seemed...taller, skinnier, paler. I double take, though, and no. It's still me. I must not be getting enough sleep. I don't plan on getting much more tonight, though, if things go my way. I walk to my car and call Mel. She's been my best friend for the last few months, and I spend half of my nights with her anyway. Her boyfriend doesn't know it, but she and I sometimes mess around, and given the state of the world right now with the quarantine and all, I think that's gonna be happening a lot more.
After I've had all I want from Mel, I fade out next to her and slip quickly into dreaming. At first I can't see anything, but I hear this...disgusting crunching sound. There's this smell. It's dull, mundane, putrid. I lift my head and dim blue light makes it's way into my eyes as I gather what I've been hearing and smelling. Below me is the body of a man in his early thirties maybe, a little overweight and short, but familiar. In the center of his body, however, is a massive hole with edges messy and uneven from claws and teeth tearing him open. I begin to taste the distinct iron-like flavor of blood on my tongue, mixed with the indistinguishable mix of tastes that can only be described as gore making it's way down my throat. I look around to see if anyone has seen what I've done. I'm surrounded by a snow-quiet moonlit forest, dead from the relentless gnashing of winter against its vibrance. I'm alone save the owl sitting on the branch of the nearest tree, and things are still under the slow dusting of snow on the floor of this small sanctuary. I look back to the body and see red staining the snow around my feet which are....not my feet.
They are almost grey in this light, and larger than I'm used to. My legs are longer than normal, and smaller. Everything seems elongated and unhealthy about what I can see. Long, sharpened fingers protrude from an almost skeletal arm that is about twice as long as it should be. I can't focus much on my appearance though before I realize how desperately hungry I am. Is that why I'm doing this? Did I kill this man? From the looks of it he tried to run away. Fresh snow is slowly erasing the tracks of flailing arms and frantic kicks. His glasses are five or so feet away from us, and there is a look of absolute horror frozen beneath his bearded face. I can't remember ever being as hungry as I am now, though, so almost without thought I go back to find parts of him I deem edible. He's dead already, anyway, and clearly I'm close to starving, so either way this makes the most sense practically.
When there's not much left of the man to devour I find myself still incredibly hungry, though. I just ate the better part of an entire person, yet for some reason I feel as though I haven't eaten in a decade. I wonder off in search of something that might sate this pain. Despite my hunger I find I can move incredibly quickly, and choose to look for anything else that might serve as an emergency meal. I come across a frozen lake a few miles south of where I started, and finally see a reflection of the form my dreaming self has taken. A pale, sickly version of my own face looks back at me, hairless and with a shining green reflective halo in my eyes. I register the horror of my appearance in waves. My cheekbones are far too pronounced in this reflection, and my eyes are far too sunken. My collar bones are essentially spikes protruding from skin that seems both paper thin and leathery at the same time.
At that moment a whiff of something hits my nose, though, and I'm too hungry to ignore the possibility that this could lead to food. I dart off in the direction of the smell, finding it far more comfortable to use all fours to handle the speed I can manage. I run for what seems to be miles, which surprises me, given that I was led here by a smell. Dream logic, I suppose. I see a small tribe of people around a campfire as I approach, and decide to hide behind a large tree nearby. As I look harder, though, I begin to realize this is a group of people I know. Old friends, people I got bored with, or who decided they wanted nothing to do with me anymore. People I just stopped talking to, or people who wanted more than I could offer. I briefly wonder why they're here, but before I can find any reasonable answer I feel my stomach pains and almost on instinct decide to lure one away somehow. I have to eat. I can't not eat right now.
I find that I can mimic my actual voice with ease, and call out from the woods for help in the sweetest, most sincere tone I can conjure. A girl I went to high school with hears it, says something to the group, and against their protests moves toward the sound. Out of sight from the fire, but close enough that the girl won't give up her search and turn back, I perch on a sturdy branch above the path between her and my cry for help. Just as she's below me, I think only for an instant that perhaps I should hunt for wild game or something other than my old friends, but only for an instant. I leap down onto the girl and grind my teeth into her throat before she can use it to cry out for help.
I wake up in a cold sweat beside Mel and immediately try to remember what we had eaten the night before. I stare at the owl tattoo on the wrist of my right arm while I gather my thoughts....Thai food. That's what it was. Surely something in that Thai food wasn't agreeing with me, since my dream focused so heavily on food and hunger. I guess we shouldn't go back to that place for a while. I try to go back to sleep, though just before I drift off I remember what he said to me again. "You devour people, Wyn." Still. Fuck him. This is why I left, isn't it? I don't need that shit. I don't need name calling from anyone, no matter how creative he got about it. Wendigo. That's what he'd say when he was upset with me. Told me he was tired of being let down, tired of being used. Well I was tired of being compared to make-believe cryptids. Fuck him. I'm a good person. I'm just hungry, is all. That Thai food didn't sit right, and now I'm feeling hungry, and that's what caused the dream. I'm a good person.
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