Coming Home

The stars were extra bright as I walked away from the church.
I was wearing my best suit and tie, which were now filthy and covered in dirt.
Then the hunger hit me, starting in my stomach and expanding through my whole body, until the only thing I could think about was eating.
I was so hungry.
I ran at a sprint toward my childhood home. I had no doubt my mother would be there and she would feed me.
I had been her only child and she had always sacrificed for me. She was a good mother.
I arrived home and a single light shined from the back of the house.
I peered into the window to see my mother sitting in her chair, reading the Bible. She must have caught me in her peripheral vision because she turned and stared at me through the glass. First her face went ghostly white and then she screamed, all the while jumping up and running to greet me.
She threw open the door and I was already standing on the other side. She took a step forward and as we embraced, I sank my fangs into her tender flesh. She was delicious.

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