They say that you are what you eat; and it is a mantra that I’ve continuously lived by for as long as I can remember, on my search for something to consume that will properly define me, or refine me into something much more than I already am. I’ve seen many who go for oysters – slimy things that sliver down one’s throat in a manner that would make a child cringe in horror or disgruntled disgust, and others who go for lesser refined things such as fast food; repulsive elements which tarnish health more often than not. Ever wonder why western nations suffer from obesity crises? It’s the fast food; or rather – an over influx of it. That’s the stage when their meals begin to define them, or perhaps – that’s when their meals begin to introduce the inevitability of their deaths.   

My meals are hardly the same.

I smiled as I swallowed the bones of the father and slipped on his skin as easily as a snake would shed its own, feeling the intensity of his age, his characteristics, and his build upon my shoulders. It had been so long since I last adorned a man of this height and physique; the feeling was ethereal at the very least and foreign at its very best, and I found myself quaking where I stood as I gathered my balance. It wasn’t long before his nerves were my own and I could feel the tingling in my feet of connectivity won alas, and a smile grazed his lips that now belonged to me as I stepped before the mirror to behold my new form, my new personage. Reaching out, I rubbed my eyes with aging hands as the vision before me started to blur, and I wondered if I had done something wrong – perhaps a misplaced nerve, or a forgotten collection of cells? It was only when I felt around that I noticed the pair of spectacles resting within my breast pocket. With a sigh of relief, I placed them carefully onto my face, letting the metal rim balance on my nose and fall delicately behind my ears. It was then that my sight was restored, and I took a step back to behold my new full form.

A weathered man, I gathered, my fingers reaching out to touch the looking glass before me as I beheld the full length of the room in its reflection. I had always been a fan of form over function, but I was well aware that this man would bring me more trouble than not. He had no cancers residing within his body; I knew that the moment I devoured him, making his essence one and only mine, but he was simply a man who had lived beyond his prime years. I wished then that I had met him years before; he might’ve been a perfect match – the utter completion to my other half; my mind. I smiled once more as I removed his glasses and nodded understandingly at both his reflection and mine; we both knew then that his form was never something I was meant to be.

Turning around, I examined the others before me, and in turn, I tried them on, swallowing them until they were one with my entire being, my soul, and everything I envisioned I could be. I modeled them before the tall looking glass, like a model strutting graciously down a fashion catwalk with the air of one proud of their own craft, their own artistic adornments and guises. I smiled sadly each time as I tried on the mother and the son; turning each time to examine everything – from the curvatures of their bodies to the dysfunction of their health. The son was an addict; that I knew – twenty-seven hours away from his last hit and craving another. I knew, as I wore him, about the substances he took and how much of each he smoked and sniffed and swallowed, and I smiled like a god of misfortune as I shook my head at his form, stripping it off at once, ridding myself of his imperfections as I turned to the final member of their family.

Red’s a very dominant colour; few would contest that, and there she lay, scarlet hair of artificial means resting wildly against the bloodied walls that streaked of her blood. With her soul drained, all that was left was porcelain and I lifted her exotic features up to mine, her lips meeting my own as we became one, leaving behind nobody else but an empty, broken home streaked with the spilled burgundy of a homicidal crime scene.

Stepping in front of the mirror, I smiled one last time as I stretched my fingers over her freckled skin, feeling the bruises under her clothes, isolating the cigarette burns on her upper arms, hidden by cloth and silence, and nothing more than dark family secrets. All it took was the adornment of her skin to uncover the true secrets of this forsaken family and the horrors behind its four walls. I let out a giggle as I examined the carved flaws on her lower arms and the bruises faded with time. Such monsters, humans were; and I felt almost a twinge of pride as I acknowledged my abandonment of her father as my skin. Or had it been her mother who treated her so? Examining my youthful physique before the mirror once more, I let an upward curvature grace my lips as I rolled down my sleeves; yes, I quite liked this body, despite its scars. What a history it bore, and I knew that I would do its previous owner justice – she was, without a doubt, a survivor, as was I.

Running my fingers through her messy hair, I erased the blood staining her lips before stepping out into the sunlight that glowed beyond her former home. It was then that I turned; spotting an older lady from beyond the fence that separated this house from the next, who waved to me, greetings on her lips.

“Ah, Jenna,” she called, “How’re you, this fine afternoon?”

I licked my lips as I turned towards her, taking in the name that could only belong to this body, and I let out a soft, mellifluous chuckle. What a name, I decided, liking it at once. Calling out in my new voice, young and foreign, yet undoubtedly mine, I returned her smile.

“Entirely satisfied. How about you?”