By the time mom managed to pry me off of dad, I had managed to eat the whole thing, bones and all. For a long time afterwards, I was good once again. But I was also growing. And as I grew, the hunger grew along with me. I also started to understand more and more that something was seriously wrong with me, and it should be kept a secret. No one should ever find out. A stressed-out hamster can eat its own newborn children. The female praying mantis eats the male after mating. Thats considered nature and no one frowns when it happens. But if a human eats the flesh of another human, it's disgusting and wrong. A taboo. Something sick.  

I also understood why I had refused to eat anything as a baby. Food was nauseating. Food was disgusting. When dad used to grill chicken during summer in our yard and the mere smell of it made him nearly drool, that same smell made me want to throw up. The spring rolls my mom loved and nearly always ordered at restaurants just looked like an unpleasant, slimy mess. The sweets and chocolate other kids gorged themselves on to the point of getting sick, I wanted to spit out. Sweet, sour, salty. All disgusting tastes. The meat of anything else just tasted like fat and grease. Especially pork. As for what human meat tastes like, it's hard for me to describe. Its mellow. It feels like warmth and safety. Just thinking about it too much makes me drool.  

The first victim I fully ate and killed was a boy from a school trip. I don't remember his name or what he looked like, but I do remember how delicious he tasted, and the hunger was finally replaced by pure euphoria. I remember how I cried with relief and how I could feel every single muscle in my body relax completely. It was like being wrapped in a warm soft blanket after being left outside in the cold. For the first time in my life, I gorged. Like a rabid dog, I bit and tore into his soft flesh and sucked the marrow from his bones. I was a rabid wild monster, but I was happy. I was ecstatic. He had screamed and cried and resisted, but I was intoxicated by how tasty he was I didn't slow down, stop or even realize what he was doing or when he finally went still and died. I wish I could say I truly regretted it when it finally dawned on me.  

When the rush was finally over, panic began to set in. I had let go. I had been bad. Really bad. I wiped my face and hands down with my sweater and stuffed it into my backpack. I left his remains where they were. As I walked back to rejoin the other members of my class, I started to think about the crime programs my mother loved to watch. Could the cops somehow find my fingerprints on the bones? Or my DNA? And what would happen to me then? A psych ward? Prison? Death sentence?  

Once they noticed a student had gone missing, they ended the trip early and my parents came to pick me up. Everyone's parents were concerned and trying to hide their relief as they came to pick up their own kids that were safe and sound. The mom of my victim was sobbing. His dad was screaming at the teacher. As I got in the car and dad began to drive home, a police car came in. My hold on my backpack tightened. I had decided to steal one his bones. A smaller one so I hoped no one would notice. I hoped it would help stave off the hunger. That night as my parents had gone to bed I tiptoed across my bedroom and dug it out of my backpack. Relief set over me, as I placed it into my mouth, like a baby would with a pacifier. I fell into a comforting sleepless sleep with a smile.  

His remains were found in the woods a few weeks later. It was deemed to be a wild animal attack, possibly a bear and the case was closed. Dad discovered my treasure a while later when he came to wake me up for school and the bone fell out of my mouth onto the mattress. Even if it wasn't covered in bitemarks and drool, it was pretty obvious what had happened. He took it from me, and we never spoke of it again. We packed our bags a few months after. I don't know what dad did with the bone or if anyone noticed one was missing from the body. Or maybe they did and simply assumed the bear had eaten it and moved on. Sometimes I would close my eyes and imagine and wish that was indeed how that poor boy died. But the hunger inside me knew. The hunger had gotten a taste of true satiation and would eventually demand more. I would go rabid once again. And this time I would lose the only people willing to still love me and hide my true self.