Phish here! Well, anyway, I started to write fanfiction and not just read it because of my great friend Psychic Karate! This is actually by her, and it will be a collection of horror one-shots inspired by TalesofAdventLover's "Don't Touch the Photo." Remember, this was by Psychic Karate. Not me. Though I'm going to write the next one.

Fear.

She could see it in their faces, everywhere she went. That look of pure, utter horror, the look she got by being in the same room as any other Smasher. It was totally undeserved; she never did anything to deserve it. Nothing. Nothing...nothing...nothing... she didn't know why. The word echoed in her head every time she saw the fear, the hollow horror, the quickened breathing. Why did they look at her like that? There was no reason. But the fear stung her... the looks others gave her stung her every day.

Anger.

The others also hurt her by their anger. Sometimes in small flickering flames... sometimes in a full white-hot raging inferno. But she could always see it in their expressions... something she also never deserved. It made her feel weak inside. It made her feel like something was wrong with her... but there was nothing wrong with her. She was a Smasher like everyone else. She was someone who used to be liked.. but now...

Revulsion.

Everyone was disgusted with her. Always. She wondered why, why, why, why. Why was everyone inching away from her like she had a contagious disease. Why did everyone stare at her like a bad car crash. Why people retched when she sat near them. Nothing she did was bad. Nothing she did deserved anything like this. She was sure she was pretty, and Smashers used to like her. She used to be popular. But now popular was a foreign concept.

Mourning.

They still held onto those who were not there anymore, tears sliding down cheeks, wails erupting from throats, clutching reminders that they used to be there. With them. But nothing could change anything. Because they weren't there anymore... and that was that. No use dragging it out. No use at all.

She never understood any of this, at all. Because she never had done anything to deserve it. Nothing. And that reminded her, the gnawing hunger was still there. The hunger that she never understood, but was sure it was fine. She slunk out and into a room, filled with people. She normally hated feeding off of the Smashers instead of clueless animals that wandered into her grasp, but today was special. She thought she would like a treat today.

Grabbing one that she made sure was small, she bit into its crust and tasted the warm flow of blood. Tasted like sugar. It was good, but now the Smashers were again wailing in fear, revulsion causing many of them to turn away. Tears tracking down their cheeks. She was confused. She didn't deserve any of that.

She didn't.

All it was was a small hunger. A small addiction to raw flesh, that was all. What was so wrong with it? The one she held in her grasp was small. No one would miss it. Bt it was screaming... wailing... it made her ears hurt.

So she dug her fingers into its chest and it fell silent, stopped struggling. Eating as quickly as she can, she dropped it on the floor when she was done. Blood dripped from her mouth and coated her chin. The small bit of flesh that was left on the skeleten oozed the same thing, slowly spreading in a pool across the carpet.

Fear. Anger. Revulsion. Mourning.

Hunger.

She didn't deserve the looks. She never had done anything to deserve them. She was sure of it.

Completely.