Yum. Red licked her lips and sucked at the piece of meat in front of her. It had been sawed off the pretty thing while she was screaming, and now she got to watch. “You’re lucky you’re skinny,” Red said between bites. “Not much left, now.”
Carnivore, cannibal, she liked to lick the girls, Red did. Caught her outside a rest stop. They never learned. Doe eyes, vomit glossed lips, she spoke to Red in sheep code. “Baaah.” Moving down to the recently cut thigh, Red dug her fingers into the muscle clawing through fat deposits, burrowing into tendons until she gripped something lean. Then she began tugging. Chained on the slab, shrieking blood from the lips she’d already bit through, she felt the teeth bury themselves in her slim thigh eating her live. She stopped gorging herself and pulled out a hot iron from the furnace to her left. There were female fibers stuck in her teeth when she smiled, her murderous face what gave her the name Red, she was stained, pallor was always a dull blood hue from her gluttonous feasts. Dogs had better manners than Red when ripping girls apart. She pressed the orange flat of the iron forcefully against pretty’s bleeding wound. Cauterizing it ever so slightly. Red laughed, she could keep the bitch alive for as long as she wanted, this way. “You’re too damn pretty.” Taking the still glowing iron and placing it over the nose and right eye of her little girl who wailed inhumanly as the metal heat melted her skin like Barbie too close to the stove top. When she pulled back the tool the girl’s nose was just a caved-in lump of flesh and her eyebrow fused with cheek leaving her blind and abstract. Red took her scalpel and starting from left corner of her mouth pulled it through, splitting the face further. “And they told me I’d never be an artist. You’re a fucking Picasso Barbie.”

By Emily Smith-Miller