The Reflection Near Maple Street

I was walking along the wall of the laundry mat that is on Maple Street. It's right across from the monumental mason who was set up at that building before I was even born.

The laundry mat has a light blue coat of paint covering each corner and a dark red stripe that slashes across the entire wall from left to right. With each year that passes, that coat of paint gets dimmer and dimmer. I always wondered if the owner would add another coat to keep the colors vibrant. Since it was such a heavy foot traffic street, you would think the business owner would care just a little bit about appearance. But that was most likely something that would never get done.

A few steps after you pass the second door of the laundry mat, before the next shop, you come upon a broken mirror. It's leaning up against the alley wall that sits between two buildings. It seems to have been left behind after some sort of renovation. I remember a fire broke out a year or so ago in the nail salon next door. Something to do with some nail polish that got ignited due to a thrown-out cigarette or someone lighting a cigarette, and a spark catching on some nail polish. I forget which.

I noticed a smudge smearing across my left cheek in the reflection.

Considering if I should clean it off with the handkerchief that sits next to my miniature handbook in my back pocket. I could not tell if the smudge formed through the reflection I was gazing at with such starstruck eyes, or if this was something that was on my physical form. Beginning to feel somewhat sluggish and tired from the meal I had an hour or so ago, I decided to lie down next to this pile of trash and cardboard that sat behind the alleyway that meets both buildings. I wondered where these things would have come from in such quantity, but it hit me that a new store had taken the place of the burned-down salon just a few days ago. It must have been a restaurant of some kind because the pile smelled rotten. Sort of a lingering smell of pork that had gone bad and some cat piss from the strays in the area that had already scrounged through the pile. The walls being on both sides of me kept the wind chill out, and my mind wasn't spiraling out of control since I had eaten to calm my nerves anyway. So, nevertheless, I felt comfortable lying here.

Waking up some hours later, there was a light humming noise coming from the door connected to the building to my right. It must have been that new restaurant, or what I figured to be a new restaurant. I know they tend to have a freezer in the back to keep meats and whatnot from going sour, so that must have been where that noise was coming from. Considering I was right up against the wall, that was my best guess. Looking down this narrow alley, I saw a figure lying in an upright position only 20 or so feet away. I couldn't see if it was a person or just another pile of trash perfectly stacked on one another lying against the wall, appearing to be. I had slept for a few hours there on that pile, and the sun had gone down, making it difficult for my vision.

So, I stood up and made my way over to what I was assuming was another person enjoying this alley and the piles of trash that occupied it. As I got close enough to be able to identify what it was, I was shocked to see a girl knocked out, bleeding from the top of her head. Blood had run down her forehead and all across her face. The hair that seemed to be inching away from her eyebrows was covered in blood as well. The tips of her dark black hair had already crusted with blood, but the longer parts were still wet. Most likely due to how humid it stays in this part of town. That was always something that I did not enjoy, the thick air from the humidity. But the way her wet hair glistened in a beam of moonlight that was shining between the gap of both buildings was a sight to behold. Walking closer to her, I began to smell a corpse that was rotting. The smell immediately consumed my nostrils. Whiffs of rotting meat and, for some odd reason, ripened strawberries were washing over the inside of my nose.

I was now close enough to the body to reach out and grab the left side of her decaying arm. It was clear now that she had been lying there dead for some time. The skin looked as pale as an Arctic owl. The smell was much thicker up close, and I felt as if my nostrils were on fire. With the surrounding air feeling heavy on my shoulders, I stooped closer to the body. Her eyes were left open, and it seemed that she could view the world around herself, as if she still existed on this earth.

I now felt myself gazing upon this dead lady in bewilderment. I was not sure what to do, how to react, or if I should get help. Someone in my head was telling me to call the authorities immediately, but another voice spoke louder. Before this moment, I had not felt any amount of fear. Yet, it washed over me with such force that I stumbled to my knees. Now eye to eye with this rotting body, staring into her organs of sight, an instinct took over every thought and motion that went through my mind and body. No more could I control it. Leaning closer to her arm, I took a BITE and RIPPED it clean off of her forearm. Rotten blood and bits of flesh dripped and dropped from my maw. The taste was like no other. I instantly craved more of it, and with each coming crunch, my taste buds begged for more. I could no longer deny the fact that I felt an overwhelming amount of bliss with every bite.

I had feasted on its entire left arm; only pieces were left hanging by a thread or falling gently off onto the cardboard underneath this vessel.

This was no longer a living soul. I forgive myself for what I did. But why should I forgive myself for anything? Is that not admitting I have done wrong? In my eyes, I have done what any sane person would do in such a situation. I am the responsible one. Leaving a poor lady to rot away in some alley with no one to enjoy her inner beauty is not a world I could live in.

Beginning to crave more, the feeling of needing forgiveness quickly left my thoughts. I began sinking my teeth into the flesh right under its left breast while holding her waist ever so gently with my right arm and using my left to keep her head propped up off the alley wall. Out of respect for her, if she still had a beating heart, she would not want such silken hair to come into contact with this grimy, rotten wall. I was being so delicate with her body, giving it only the best courtesy in mind. I felt— protective over her. I hoped that no harm entered her life until those final moments that brought her here, to me. She deserved everything good—everything pure. Smelling her body, even rotten, was divine. My mouth watered as my tongue was met with her blood yet again. It smeared all across my face as I tore off flesh. Swinging my head back and forth to tear off another chunk of meat, as a hyena does with an antelope, a small, thick piece of skin slapped onto my left cheek. Distracted by utter bliss, I barely felt it land and began to drain down my face. Adding a thin layer across the blood that already sat on my cheek, it ran down my chin and onto my brown corduroy pants. There was a minuscule tear on the upper thigh of the pants, which, if I remember correctly, ended up there because I had been helping a neighbor of mine carry an old, vintage dresser up some stairs. I lived in a three-story apartment, on the second floor on the corner of — Ave and — Rd, only two blocks from Maple Street. While we both struggled to drag this extremely heavy dresser up three flights of stairs, a casual conversation struck. I asked, “ Where did this thing come from?”