Notes: Written in my Creative Writing class during my high school senior year, sometime in 2006. Has some creepiness
“Do you have it?” asked the seated figure in a harsh whisper. A mesh of scarves shrouded its head, leaving the face in shadow, with only a pale, hooked nose sticking out of the darkness to indicate the presence of a human facade.
She peered at the face, wondering if its owner was male or female. The raspy voice didn’t help her determine this, and neither did the thick, black cloak swathing the figure’s body. Her conversation partner could be anyone covering his or her appearance and wearing a fake nose.
“Yeah, yeah, I’ve got it in my pocket,” she replied, lips thinned in a grimace as the crackling fire’s purple drifted into her nose.
“Hold it out for me.”
Her lips unfolded into a flashy white-teethed smile. “Wait just a second,” she muttered, hand diving into a jean pocket. It was a narrowly designed pocket, for she had to wiggle and flex her waist in order to get her fingers around the object. Getting it out was another issue. “Just wait one more second,” she promised.
The cloaked figure bowed its head down, but did not respond. A forceful yank and a few mumbled swear words later, she successfully got it out of her pocket.
“Got it!” she announced triumphantly, holding her prize forth. It was thumb of a sickly white color, with red, wiry blood vessels streaming along the bone, sometimes hopping outside the skin before diving back into the flesh.
A hand lurked from the depths of the cloak and crept out into the air, palms up.
She stared at the smoothness of the skin and plopped the thumb into the fleshy hands. “Is it good enough?” she asked nervously as the figure’s other hand emerged from the cloak and pinched the thumb with green, neatly trimmed nails.
The figure held it up, observing. A scarlet-feathered parrot cawed from above and flapped down to rest on the mound of cloth around its shoulders. It arched its neck around to peer at the thumb.
Finally, the figure decided. “It will do,” it croaked.
“It will do, as in, it’s perfect, right?” she pressed.
“It will do,” it repeated, with little inflection.
She wrung her hands in her lap, flinching as a purple spark blew narrowly past her fingers. “I mean, I’m just worried, you know?” she commented. “Tell me again, this thing you’re doing will make sure I develop a sex life, right?”
The scarlet parrot cawed again and ruffled its wings, but the figure said nothing. He or she merely tossed the thumb into fire, which gave a sharp snap and turned green.
“It’s my sister’s thumb, and she has a busy sex life…” she mused.
The figure reached into the shelves of vague chemicals and herbs in glass beakers and tossed a red flower into the fire.
“Did you remove the thumb using the proper procedure?” it questioned.
“Yes, I used the silver butcher knife and everything,” she answered.
The bundle of scarves bobbed down and then up, which she took to be a nod. Green nails fluttered around the fire in a frenzied choreography.
“So how long is this going to take?” she asked. “I haven’t felt horny for ages. And I’m not even out of college yet! God, I miss sex.”
“Right after I’ve fed,” the figure murmured.
But the figure offered no further clarification. It reached behind and came back grasping a gleaming, red apple, which tt was tossed into the fire.
“Um, I kind of have other things to do,” she fretted, scooting as far from the licking tendrils of flame.
Blinking, she reminded herself that she was here for a meaningful cause on a continual basis, for the air bundled her like a wet, foggy cocoon. She dragged a wrist across her forehead, but the sweat kept coming. An oven probably felt like this. Why, oh why was the fire growing bigger? If this wasn’t a fire hazard, then she didn’t know what was. The sex she was going to have in the future had better be worth this heated experience. Oh, but the sweat was horrible. It was like a lake between her clothes and skin.
But luckily, the experience was short. However, that was as much as her luck decided to run. In a faint, her eyes rolled up, eyelids lolling, and she fell face forward into the fire.
The figure glanced at her and gave an experimental poke. The parrot screeched gleefully.
“She’s not ready yet,” it scolded.
“But I’m hungry!” the parrot cried.
But after just a few minutes, the figure reached forward, dragging her body through the flames and into the depths of the cloak. Somehow, nothing caught on fire. It leaned forward, a grey tongue glinting in the light as it salivated. The parrot swiped quickly at her hair for a quick nip before her body disappeared completely within the folds.
The figure burped quietly.
“They taste better when they’re virgins,” it croaked to itself. “Can’t be helped, though. These girls grow up younger and younger.”
“At least this one wasn’t married yet,” the parrot remarked.
“Can’t I have a bit of the thumb? You know I love thumbs.”
The thumb glowed in the flames, and the figure swiped it from the fire and gulped it down.
“Sorry,” it croaked. “It’s my favorite dessert too.”