Why be afraid, when you can be gorgeous?
A fancifully delicious smell bothered Hemin all morning. He'd wanted to stay in bed, dozing off while the adamant sun beat down during a clear-sky, but he was bothered by this fragrance that drifted through his thin walls. Hemin had no need for food anyway, but memories of when meat tasted like meat because he needed it bothered his dreams until he flopped out of bed and decided he was going to kill them. Whoever it was making this food that enamored his enhanced senses and filled him with futile desires-- they were going to pay.
Hemin rolled twice on the floor until his bumped into his dresser and then opened his eyes. Straightening himself up, he stood to fix his hair in the mirror. After a few seconds of finger combing, his curly locks dripped from his hairline. "Good enough." He stuck a finger in his ear and took out some earwax. "Gross, but i'll deal with it later." Then he sped to his kitchen.
Cobwebs spread across the stove and memories of when his mother attempted to feed him human food prodded his nostalgic little heart. That was before The Voice. He ran over to kiss a stone box with his mothers ashes in it. "You tried your best." Then it was out the door and into the street barely lit by the setting sun.
For some reason, the smell led Hemin off to a part of the neighborhood where a small, abandoned cottage sat. Which, to the looks of Hemin, no longer looked so abandoned. At the front door sat a person fixated on fixing up a chair.
"Ahoy there, neighbor!" Hemin moved in close, floating against the breeze that carried the smell. He stood behind the fence and leaned over just close enough to observe what the person was doing.
"A stump would do you more good than that, my friend." Hemin scratched the back of his neck. For some reason the wind shifted and the smell seemed to be coming from a distance past this small cottage. Guess that could wait.
Try it sometime.
Hemin
