Dead Earth

Phil's eyes dropped to the pavement and his shoulders sunk, a melted candle of a boy. 
“Am I next?” James asked. 
“We’ll see,” Phil responded in a somber voice and as if it wasn't up to him. 
He returned to his work, pulling and stabbing and cutting away at the dead girl’s oozing jugular. James recognized her — the girl who made the front page of the Greenville Times for tying the district’s 400-meter sprint record. His inclination was right — she was Phil’s girlfriend indeed. The paper had run a photo of the couple in tux and gown, standing in the atrium of Greenville’s aquatic center. Runners-up to the coveted Prom king and queen, the photo inset had read. She had looked pissed about it. 
Phil pulled and tore at her. Strands of flesh, still attached to the corpse, hung from his bloody grasp like tight elastic bands. When his eyes met James’ again, they embodied blank serenity. The boy was content with the meal before him, and content that James was far enough away not to take it... 

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