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I was never upset by my parents, just disappointed. Considering the trouble they went through to have me, unconventional as it was, I am here. 6’2”, slim, blonde, with a face pretty easy on the eyes, if I do say so myself. A damned shame it is that my teeth are always broken.
Jagged, bloody little knives, digging into my tongue. I blame them, my folks, they’ve cursed me somehow, I have endless cravings. Yearnings.
I first ate them out of house and home, food only sated my hunger and blew me up. Then, when I got a bit older (thinner) I took up smoking for a long while - caught hell for that one too many times and gave it up. It wasn’t what I craved, closer somehow, but still so far off.
Having battled with sleepless nights, hallucinations and bouts of vomiting, I decided to see a doctor. A few doctors. They found nothing and got everything. I live simply, but one still needs to have a hand in the pot. I took up two jobs,
I truly enjoyed both, I almost wish I could go back to either, but then I hear the clinking in my pocket and remembered I had all I would ever need. Nothing of note really ever occurred at the laundromat, just making change for house-moms and the occasional young kid, too full of life to even realise their predicament. You can really tell a lot about someone by watching them do laundry, but you don’t want to hear that.
As a Janitor, I hit my stride. I found my missing piece. Pieces, whichever.
It was an ordinary, if unusually cool evening. I was just making my routine late-night run through of the school, nearly tripped on my shoelace. (I still have those laces, wrapped around my wrist right now. Small comforts, as my mother used to say, probably still does.) So I tripped, nearly busting my lip open on the nearby radiator. As i lay there regaining my breath I thought about the ever present equalizer: gravity. Climbing back to my feet I retrieved my keys, leaning on the pole to re-tie my shoelaces. Not thinking, I took my keys between my teeth, just to have both hands free.
Freedom came in droves.
As the key to my home opened the door to my home, so too did it open a door in me. It was as if I was given new life. The key touched my tongue and blood sped through my veins, surging. My pupils expanded (I could feelit!) and suddenly, I was whole. I needed more. Skipping first showers and then entire days, I have become what you see.
Sneaking around, honing my pick-pocket skills, taking first only the silvery coins, working my way up to entire key-rings, even jewelry. I began to feel so much better, so much more with it; for a while. Then it wasn’t enough.
Feeling an endless pull, it didn’t do just to keep a few coins or a key under my tongue. So I’d slosh them around in my mouth a bit, swallow one or two maybe, and I could sleep again. That was the beginning.
Getting by, no longer needing anything but occasional sleep, and my metals of course, I stabilised for a while, working here and there, even dated a little (no goodnight kiss!) then I grew bored of them, people, money (straight to the change machine) working; I just needed more.
Most mornings you could find me sprawled on some dirtied mattress, mouth topped off with two or three rolls of coins from the bank (all denominations). It’s amazing how you can train the body to do things, eventually I taught myself how to do that without choking at all. I started chewing them a few months ago (my GOD what relief that brings!) If only you knew.
I didn’t even feel it, or care, as my caps and molars began to shatter, welcoming each pop, spitting enamel and savoring the metallic clank inside my head and the off taste on my tongue. Bloody jagged little knives.
I don’t want or expect you to understand. I just want your change.