I savour your fears, the thick, bilious stench rising from beneath your cool exterior. It’s intoxicating, uplifting. It sends a stream of bubbling laughter straight to my core. You try to hide it, shrug it off, like it doesn’t matter your world is crumbling to oblivion. I slide my third arm behind your trembling head, my fourth around your neck.
“I can smell you,” I say, as the suckers uncurl from the base of my talons. “I can smell your brilliance, your wit. I want to feel it surge through my suckers, draining your life, fulfilling mine.” I laugh deeply, a growling rush of control.
“Please,” you whisper. The first word uttered since I descended from my shuttle and entered your home. “Please, leave me be.”
Such a sorry plea for sympathy. “Human,” I purr, “it’s too late. I want your life, and I always get what I want.” My third arm flexes, the talons now grazing the base of your skull. “You wouldn’t want to make me angry, would you? If I lose control, I might become greedy.” I taste your temporal lobe slowly, tantalizingly, feeling the jolt of all that wasted power. You are mine.
Your eyes fill with unadulterated terror as the talons sink deep.
Copyright © 2015 by Emily Clayton
Originally appeared on 200 Word Tuesdays: