Armus by Jenesta Matthews
	I can’t ooze as well as He can. He’s always been better -  thicker and blacker,  more syrupy than I’ll ever be. He starts when the victim enters the room  fumbling for the light switch - but it’s covered  with something black and slimy,  and very cold. When He reaches towards His victim  the pain of His touch feels like  your hand has been severed by an oven door  but you still feel your fingers burn a smoldering black. The soothing smell of sizzling flesh  rises to the victim’s nostrils. He’s more acidic than I am  and more talented. As He eats through the victim’s skin  He can slide a writhing tentacle into the throat. The vocal chords are cut and consumed  before the victim can cry out. Soon the victim is engulfed,  and mere minutes turn a man  into a dollop of oozing goo. It will be a long time  before I will be able to match His might. For He is a thousand years old,  and I was human yesterday.
	Copyright © 2006 Jenesta Matthews