When I Woke – Non-Fiction

When I woke, I had no head. My only thought, if you can call it that, was to Find My Head. It sat in a head-shaped box underneath my bedroom altar. Well, just my skull, which felt smooth and light in my trembling hands.

I placed the skull over my shoulders, and attached it with a satisfying click onto my protruding spine. Now I could see. Well, that’s not it. Sense may be a better word. The world outside echoed within my empty pate. I sensed lust, and fear, and greed and wrath as countless, pathetic trajectories cast upon the hollow darkness where my eyes had been.

My eyes. I sensed sadness. My delicate fingers probed for a face I no longer wore. Wait, I still had my high cheek bones. That was something. And a lovely, deathly grin. My teeth felt sharp and enormous. But still, a sadness.

Lord Satan chose to enter my presence at this moment. I basked in his infernal radiance. With a claw-like forefinger he lifted my chin … okay, my chin bone, up toward his Almighty visage. He smiled warmly, and blew a golden dust directly into my nose socket. Then, with his other hand, he snapped his massive middle finger and thumb. My skull then burst into a brilliant, pink flame which, I am pleased to say, burns to this day.

The sadness in my breast melted away, replaced by something else: A lust, an ache … no, a hunger. My only thought, if you could call it that, was to Feed On Men.

“Go forth, succubus,” he commanded, and patted my ass, “Feed on young fools, on titans and dirty old louts. Eat out their hearts.”

I raced with a gleeful, horrid squeal to the damnation of prideful men.