Flesh Failure by Sèphera Girón Page A

me from my fortune telling that evening so I didn’t want to sit in the doorway too long. It would be nothing for a mugger to relieve me of my pay.
    The distant lights from the hospital and the gaslight across from me were enough. I shuffled the cards slowly and quietly. I didn’t know if I would be able to decipher a message for myself. I didn’t know if I even wanted to know the answer. The streets were nearly empty now. It wasn’t a good time to be out alone. A lone snowflake danced in front of me.
    The first card I pulled was the magician.
    The second card was judgment.
    The third card was the hierophant.
    The cards’ images swam in my hand as I stared at them. I understood the magician, the man who had created me. And certainly he would be getting his judgment day when I appeared on his doorstep. But the hierophant. A preacher? A teacher?
    I stared some more, hoping the images would pull into focus and the message would be clear. It didn’t happen.
    I put the cards back together and wrapped them back up, keeping a look out for anyone who might be sneaking up on me.
    It wasn’t easy to stand back up. Sitting down had been relaxing and it pained me in every manner to know that I wouldn’t be sitting down again anytime soon.
    â€œThank you, Elephant Man,” I said to the doorway and then to the hospital across the street.
    What did he do all day?
    Was he in a cage?
    Did he lie in bed?
    I headed towards my home, looking over at the hospital until I passed it. More snow began to fall. I dreaded the idea of spending any more time at all in the slums. It was time to find my creator. The shadows were long, the doorways looming, and I was certain to keep looking along every cobblestone and flicker of light for danger.
    Despite my furtive attentions, the man lunged out of the darkness, tackling me like an animal. My strength meant little as his was superior. We rolled and struggled until I realized my only recourse was to bite him.
    My teeth sank into his neck and at first, he kept fighting me. However the more he pulled away the deeper my teeth sank, the harder I bit. Before long, his flesh was in my mouth. I was so shocked I breathed in instead of out and that piece of his neck slid down my throat before I could do anything about it.
    It didn’t stop me from attacking him further. The salty coppery taste of blood awakened something primal in me and I craved more. What more could this man give me then a tiny chunk of neck flesh?
    â€œLeave me alone. Stop,” he cried out, at this point, my strength returning tenfold as he grew weaker from the blood gushing from his neck. The rich pungent scent of it filled my nostrils and I buried my face inside of him, gorging on gulps of blood and bits of meat. His feeble attempts to push me away began to subside until at last, it was apparent that he would be moving no more.
    I pushed him from me and stood up. His body fell onto the ground. My stomach growled noisily, teased by the taste. I licked my lips and looked around. I pulled him further into the alley and pulled him apart with my fingers. A few more bites and I was satisfied. The blood provided me with strength and I was rejuvenated.
    Wiping my face with my skirt, I looked at him. No one would suspect a human could have torn him as such. It was likely a dog attack.
    I hurried away from his crumpled body before anyone walking past could understand the gravity of the tableau in front of them.
    The taste of blood fresh on my lips, I returned home.
    It was colder still the next morning. Winter was fast approaching and if I was to make any progress at all, it needed to be soon. It would be difficult for me to have to suffer through snow when I wasn’t created for it. My scalp was missing chunks of hair with the remaining sewn on in a most unflattering manner which was more apparent as it grew out.
    I walked quickly down the road, people around me parting as I sliced through them. My height