by Pauline Yates

I resisted the urge for years, hoping the curse had skipped a generation and I’d be spared the gruesome reality that I was indeed the spawn of my father. He disgusts me with his morbid eating habits while I’m spooning down ordinary cereal. But today is different. Today I yearn to dip my fingers into his mug of blood and coat my tongue with the coppery taste. I reach out my hand, but Father slaps it away.

“Not mine, laddie.” He hands me a knife. “Yours.”

Taking the knife, I prick my finger and lick the blood.

I taste good.

Pauline Yates

Pauline Yates is an award-winner author of horror and science fiction.

Website: paulineyates.com