AN: 'Appetite' and any related characters belong to Lero
At two in the morning, the entire city sleeps the sleep of the dead. Not a single human shadow in the roads, and the noise of cars are infrequent and always at some place far away, a few streets over. And always, the police siren clung to them, like the neighing of distant horses. Businesses are closed, and houses have their lights off, and dark clouds cover the moonlight and the accompanying twinkling of the stars, preventing any respite from the gloom. You'd think that with nobody out, that nothing would happen, that all would be well. Ah, but there's the rub. For there are people out, only hidden in the forgotten places of the city, in the thieves' highways and in the gutters and in the shadow of looming overpasses and buildings. With any luck, they huddle together for warmth and comfort. But the ones who ply the night alone aren't so lucky.
I walk the main street, which looks so strange and alien tonight having been deserted.
A fair distance away, I see a person, the streetlight behind him granting me only a silhouette to work with. I stop. Something seems off about them. A droop in their stance. The shadow sees me and slips inside a nearby alley.
My feet spring to life without my will, following the shadow. A chill rises in my throat, but I ignore it and enter the alleyway.
Inside the alley, it's like an entirely different world. The alley is a cul-de-sac, with the buildings forming walls all around it. Because of this, no sunlight shone upon it even on bright afternoons. Honestly, it looked more like a room than an alley, another place forgotten by the city. In this dead space, there was once one homeless person who dreamed his dreams of happiness and delusion, but not today. The walls of this alley just got a brand new paint job. There is a wet, sticky quality to the ground, and the usual smell of rotten food is commingled with an even stronger scent.
All around me is a sea of blood. Bodily fluids seep and flow through the alley, and the sweet, sticky smell pierces my nostrils. In the centre of it all is the corpse. Whatever face he donned in death can't be seen anymore. His arms were severed, and the legs became stumps around the knee area, pressurised blood pouring out of them. Where the other ends of his arms and legs are, I cannot locate. The stumps themselves don't even look like they've been cut. It isn't the work of some fine blade, but more like the violent feeding of an animal. From someplace, I hear—or do I imagine it?—the sound of a hungry stomach being satisfied, and the noise of chewing, barely even an echo. It is the sound of tough meat being chewed on.
A world so different, even the bold crimson of blood was being overwhelmed by the raw smell of beastly warmth. And behind the body, the shadows seem to part to admit a girl. She wore a blood red jacket, and both of her arms were coated with gore. The blonde hair that almost reaches her shoulders is cut without care. The putrid air that washes over and sways that distinctive feature of hair lends her a carnivorous aura.
"I'd have never expected it to be you."