Liposuction

The following was a writing exercise - a lipogram whereby the letter E is not used anywhere within the narrative. Perhaps this suggested the title of the piece...

Liposuction

Many folk talk about my habit of walking along woodland paths at night. Many say I am out of my mind, saying it is not as if colours will burst out from local flora. A fraction thinks my motivation for this unusual habit has a lot to do with my partiality for shadows. Dark and black. As black as soot in a – black soot bin. Possibly.

I’m also fond of sounds coming from nocturnal animals – owls hooting and so forth, sounds making my arms’ skin so rough that it is similar to that of citrus fruit rind. I find that particularly satisfying. No doubt you think this is slightly odd.  

Truthfully, I go to find victims. My companions and I join up to look for food. To sink our fangs into vagrants, though pickings don’t approach what you would call rich.

Throughout world history, you won’t find many of us about.

Now, Dracula and his ilk may suck blood from a victim’s throat, but my cohorts don’t go for that. I am part of a dying kind. Our compulsion is to suck fat. A stout guy’s stomach would do, but I must admit draining a plump girl’s thigh is gratifying. Why not a buttock with its additional fat, you may ask? It’s an alluring thought but I avoid that path. I don’t want folk to think I’m corrupt. 

A possibility is that, months from now, I will start up a liposuction clinic. My chums and I could work at such a clinic and finish our nightly woodland walks. Mmm, tasty.