The Fallen

He wandered through the darkened streets, looking up at the windows of houses. In the distance, the church bell rang with a loud peal. He closed his white hands over his ears, straining, hurting. Beauty in pain, he was once told. Embrace who you are, what you have become. His heart pounded beneath his chest. I don’t want to kill, he thought, but the agony was almost too much for him to bear. The alabaster creature he was turning into. The smell of people- the inviting scent of a woman’s armpit, freshly-washed baby’s hair, the slightly musky tinge of a man’s body- they were driving him insane with longing. He was hungry. He wanted to sink his teeth into fresh meat, feel the blood rush down his throat, slippery and smooth, watering his empty soul. A beautiful woman crossed his path, smiled at him: she had straight white teeth gleaming in the night. She beckoned to him. He smiled sadly and followed her, watching her espadrilles flap on the cobble-stoned ground. She turned around to look at him and seductively, licked her lips. Her tongue was small and pink. He closed his eyes briefly, thinking, forgive me. Please forgive me.