to Feed

Then, she was walking again. She had no idea what her direction was. She had no goal. She had no memory of her return.

But, just as twilight merged into night . . . she was back at the campus. She found herself in her car in the parking lot down the hill from the library.

She discovered that she was sitting at wheel, motionless, staring though the windshield into the dark of the lot, and trembling . . . shaking uncontrollable . . . unable to move.

It was not fear that made her tremble. Not terror. Not weakness. Not horror at having seen the dead man.

It was desire. An intense, fierce, utterly insatiable, desire. A desire that beyond the merely sexual, beyond the longing for family and success, even beyond her furious need for the approval of her mother and her professors.

Desire.

The desire to be at the gray car of the crime scene, to walk past the cop who had tried to stop her, to lift the tarp, to open the passenger side door, to reveal the gristly corpse, to open her mouth…

And feed.