Hungry- Excerpt

So, for those of you not in the know, I'm working on a collection of short stories, which I plan on self-publishing later in the year. It's my equivilent of a literary "demo tape", which I can hopefully use to find an agent and try to sell my novel. Any-hoo, I wanted to post the first part of story I started working on over a year ago, put away, then have pulled out and polished up for the collection. Feedback is appreciated.

PS- (c) 2008 by Brian Bolin, all rights TOTALLY reserved. On with the gore...

"I can remember the precise moment when I realized that the dull golden glow in my recurring nightmares were eyes. I was walking from the bus stop right in front of Henry's Liquors down I Street, toward my apartment. I paused to pick up a penny that was gleaming on the sidewalk. I slipped it into my mouth as I always do, eager for the coppery tingle on the back of my tongue and tonsils. I ignored the disgusted look shot at me by a potato of a woman walking towards me and closed my eyes. So good, so so good...

I opened my eyes and glanced to my right, into the black inches of space between Henry's and its dilapidated Victorian neighbor and saw a pair of golden eyes flickering at me. The light played across them as the pupils danced black, then red, then iridescent green, but the iris was golden-yellow. The eyes regarded me cooly, interested, scared a little. My body went cold as the shock of recognition slammed into the back of my head and I gasped, ignorant of the penny still resting on my palate. The copper disc jarred sideways and stuck itself deep into my esophagus. I was still thinking, "eyes, they're eyes," when I made an attempt at inhaling. The penny lodged ever more secure into my narrow airway and the realization that I was choking finally slapped me open-handed across the face.

As we all learn in elementary school, the universal sign for choking is to grab your throat. I did exactly that at once as I felt the panic spread down my spine and through the webwork of nerves. I tried to scream, but my airless lungs only managed a throaty croak. The potato woman, now a block in the other direction, managed to hear me and turned to face me. I increased the strength of my grip on my neck and tried to make my purpling face into the most pathetic "HELP ME" expression I could muster under the circumstances. The muscles in her face pushed her loose, fleshy jowls into a carnival mask of terror and she rushed toward me. The sight of her propelling toward me, her silver hair escaping in wisps from a no-nonsense bun at the base of her crinkled neck, her colorless, shapeless form hurtling at her top speed made me re-think my desire for her help and I started to turn, deciding to place my fist at the base of my sternum and try to drive the penny out myself. Just as I braced for the punch of my hand, potato woman reached me. With a strength I would never have thought her capable of, she twirled me to face her. By now, my face was hot and probably aubergine and my vision was pocked with pulsing lights, so I was unable to resist when she forced my lips and teeth apart and drove her fingers into my throat.

Her fingers felt like chicken bones wrapped in soft leather and tasted like perfumy hand soap. I felt her constrict and then the penny slip out of its resting place. The oxygen rushed in past the obstruction of hand and metal and I felt my face relax into something more like normal. That's when I bit down hard on potato woman's fingers.

"SON OF A BITCH," Potato lady howled and tried to shake her fingers loose. The struggle slid her age-tender flesh against the shining edge of my front teeth. The skin parted and a rush of blood rushed under my tongue. It tasted just like the pennies, coppery and salty and delicious. I was enthralled by the flavor, and was oblivious when potato lady pounded the side of my head with her purse. I snapped to and opened my mouth, releasing her hand. I looked at her and could see her ancient face, pink with rage. Her lips were moving and she was clearly animated, but I could hear nothing. I reached up and touched my face and felt the slime of tears, snot and potato lady's blood. My re-oxyginated mind started to put the pieces of the past four minutes back in the correct order and I realized I had better run.

By now, a couple of pedestrians, a young couple in their early twenties, had heard Ms. Potato's screams and had stopped to help her. I turned to make my getaway, when I was grabbed on the arm by one of the lady's saviors, the male. He was about my height, roughly 6 feet, and his grip was solid. He said something that sounded like "Helped you, didn't it" but was probably "Hang on a minute." I turned to face him and to try to evade his grip. I looked into his eyes, he was handsome, soft-jawed but masculine. He looked back at my face, then his expression changed. His healthy golden countenance turned milk-white and his pupils pulled back into dots. His iron grip released suddenly, like a mouse trap in reverse.

"Go. Please, just go," he managed to stammer weakly. I wasted no time, except to see out of the corner of my eye a great black cat scurry out from the area next to the store. The cat gave me a last look with those huge yellow eyes, then ran down I Street. I put one long leg in front of the other as fast as I could in the opposite direction."