My stomach growled in pain, I ached in emptiness. Laying in my lonely bed, I glanced at the clock. 12:17 am. Perfect. I grabbed my bag from the floor and stumbled out the bed. I walked towards the front door and made sure to lock it behind me. 

I stared out into the darkness of night, just taking in the sweet smells of fresh rain and the sounds of midnight creatures, all while gazing at the stars. Across the street from my home, there's a blue bus stop sign. Looking both ways, I make sure to take every step carefully so I don't step on any precious creatures. The bus is supposed to arrive at 12:20 every night but it is running late today.

I wait for a bit, dreaming about a fresh meal, yum. Until I hear the squeaking noise of the bus coming to a stop. The doors fly open and I hop onto the stairs. I grab a dollar from my pocket to pay for my ride.

The bus driver smiles when he sees me, "Good evening, Oz! It's great to see you!" 

Dave has on a Beatles shirt with cheap sunglasses dangling at the pocket. He has his usual pink and purple bracelet that his daughter made him on. Oh, how sweet. 

"It's great to see you too! Love the top," I smile back at him. 

Walking down the aisle of the bus, I see my usual seat in the back, right next to the windows. I examined the many houses as the bus zoomed by. I had to pick the perfect one. Soon after, the bus wheels shrieked as it came to a stop. I hopped off and started to walk.

The sky cried in darkness, I could hardly see anything except for this one lonely house. This is it, Oz, I said to myself as I stared at it. 

The house was fairly small. One story. With blue paint dripped on. The flower garden in the front was cute. It brought joy to the loneliness. It had blue hyacinths and dying yellow calendulas; the flower garden looked well forgotten, except for two small toy trucks that laid next to the rotting plants.

One light tried to light up the front porch, but did not do too well of a job. The light kept flickering, it felt as if I was in a horror movie. There wasn't much life left for that light, it's bound to go out soon.

 As I approached the door, I grabbed my bag, took out a bobby pin and played with the lock until the door slowly creaked open. Ever so slightly, I watched my feet to make sure I took each step very carefully. I explored the house; dirty dishes laid on the counter, goldfish crackers were spilled on the couch, toys filled the floor, and drawings were made on the walls out of crayons and markers. The hallways were long and dark, filled with trash and dirty clothes. Walking through the hallway, I found one door creaked open. As I entered the room, I saw a pillow on the ground next to my feet. With the pillow now in my hand I walk up to a woman. She was sound asleep on her bed, her head facing mine. Her sweet, long blonde hair draped on the sheets, her old pink care bear shirt with rips in it covered her body. People won't really miss her, right?

I grabbed the pillow and shoved it on her beautiful face. After minutes of her screams piercing the air, they began to die down, until no breath was left in her. It was fairly easy to suffocate her with that pillow. A nice, slow and painful death with no evidence. The hard part was done. Now it's time for a feast. 

Her lifeless body lies in my arms. I dragged the body off the bed and hung it on a coat hook by her pink pajamas. From my bag, I pulled out my knife and slowly started to skin her. Pieces of her flesh soon filled the floor. Blood scattered everywhere as I cut through her soul. I make sure to take off the thighs and the tongue first, those are my favorite parts. With the tongue in my hand, I took a big bite. Tastes just like pork, but much stronger and sweeter. I took the knife and cut more parts off her thigh. This part tasted bitter, nothing like I ever tasted before. I was confused until I saw purple paint layed on the skin. A tattoo. Great. The tattoo tasted like too much salt on one french fry. Ew. I threw that part of her leg on the ground and continued to slice her. 

I had blood dripping down my face like sweat. Toes, legs, arms, ears, they all filled the floor, like an edible puzzle. I ate around her bones like chicken wings. I plucked out her eyeballs like crows pecking at the dirt. On the floor, I look to find my plastic bags. I packed her liver and arms into the bags. I love to serve them to my neighbors as a special treat. They don’t really know that it’s a human body they are eating, but, when I tell them it's a pig, they seem to be just fine. It’s kinda funny. 

I explored the women's room. She had many dresses, and necklaces. A small stuffed elephant laid on the floor, next to a few picture books. She had a large vanity; on the vanity there was a newspaper. I skimmed the words until something caught my eye: “Man found skinned was left on the floor of his very own home. Parts of his flesh were missing. Bite marks were reportedly found on the remaining parts of his body. Blood filled his home. Lock your doors,” I turned into a ghost. My face went completely white. I was in shock. I dropped the paper on the floor and looked over at the woman (or what was left of her) . Her body parts and blood, scattered everywhere. I had to get out. Fast. I grabbed my knife and slipped it into my bag. I put it over my shoulders and darted to the bedroom door. I went to open it, but something was in my way.

A little boy stood in the doorway. Maybe at the age of eight or nine. He stared at me and my bloody face. He looks as if he just woke up. He had dark purple eye bags and he wore pajamas with train tracks on them. The little boy looked more white than me when he glanced over to find his mom split into a million pieces, being used as my dinner. 

Only one word popped out of him that day. The day I got caught. The day my life changed. The day her life ended. Her lifeless face, the color torn out of her. 

Only the past memories of her remained. Not being able to make any more, not being able to live to her full potential. The people it would impact, the people her death would destroy. The young boy was one of those people. 

Other than the trembling, the boy hardly moved a muscle. Terrified? Maybe. With a single tear running down his cheek, his tiny voice pierced the lethal silence: “M-Mom?”