Anon

Passed from one bad hand to three bad hands.

We all knew that kid in school -- extremely religious parents leading to unkempt and sheltered to suddenly disappearing one day and when you ask the teacher, they don't know either. They're a fog in the mind, but they're still remembered, worried about. That is Anon, raised by a subsect of Christianity, and then dropped into the world once eighteen. The days after that were rough, stumbling around the corners of the world's grimiest people, until one day stumbling upon somebody so disgusting, yet so charming -- the pretty rave girl with a hand for a head. U-Haul marriage. Then, suspicions kept dripping upon their lifestyle, with Anon staying at home, the voice of their mothers' warnings to heed "a woman's role" still fresh in the mind, too fresh to do anything else, let it rot Anon from the inside out, the outside being that grey, corpsely skin, the similar lack of eyes to Klauw, a smile like a mother's.

One day, Klauw offered Anon a choice -- they knew that Anon knew. Join or flee. And Anon, not knowing anything but Klauw's love and her mother's hate, stayed, afraid of sleeping on the streets one more time. And without Anon, Klauw would've never had the perfect cover-up for a body disposal. Anon opened up a butcher's shop. The reviews mention that the chicken tastes like no other, but in a good way, of course. Pork's a bit off, though. Weird wall hangings, mostly showing vague paintings of human body parts. Weird smell from the back. Good food, just don't dine in. Anon's homemaker role became one of the town's most valued chef in no time thanks to this. Good job, you ill-treated lady, you.

• if she was to ever seek therapy, she would need to be ripped from the seams first.
• a milf, if you will.
• secretly also a murderliker, but could only say it in a confessions box.
• still very deeply religious, a bit miffed that it never rubbed off onto her lover.
• probably not my best or most moral creation.