This appears in a pre-2010 issue
of Down in the Dirt magazine.
Saddle-stitched issues are no longer
printed, but you can requesting it
“re-released” through amazon sale
as a 6" x 9" ISBN# book! Email us for re-release to order.
I stick to the cold, emotionless waters because that’s where I feed. I hunt at night on the streets, in the clubs, and in the houses of others. The dancing, substances, and swirling lights propel me onward. My food is soft, warm, and affectionate till I render it but a carcass. The first pass is a playful inspection of my prey’s capabilities. On my second pass, I unleash my bite on her shoulders of skin and mammary till the final penetration. Then there is only euphoria like a warm, lightless corridor in the ocean. I pass through it not quite appreciating it, till again the currents fight for control over me. These meals are but temporary respites from the disease of my nature. The hunger never subsides or diminishes. I must keep going or I’ll die.
