Apples

The girl smiles at her fellow conversationalist, absently rubbing her fingers against the nicked, round object in her right hand. If her eyes hadn’t been fastened to the man currently yammering at her (at approximately seventy miles a minute), one might have concluded that she resembled a scheming, sneering stepmother suggestively cradling her poisoned apple. The girl glances down just as her index fingernail scrapes across the fruit’s freckled skin, drawing a silvered, crescent-moon indent. Quickly, her eyes dart back to the obliviously chattering man. She casually raises the apple and brings it to her lips. Teeth emerge, assessing the challenge, and the apple is reeled in by the yearning mouth’s vortex, saliva gathering thickly. As the teeth incise the object, a sickening crunch begins–then the sound stops short. The teeth adjust to the texture, the sheer volume and mass of the subject. Then, schoop! A smooth sweep finishes the remainder of the bite and concludes with a snap. Juice leaks from the gaping wound, slithering down the skin and coating the fingers, which twitch in alarm at the sudden stickiness. A sickly sweet scent releases from its confines, flooding from the fruit, sinking into air molecules. Exposed flesh glistens feebly in the fluorescent light as the skin hangs in tattered fringes around the ragged wound, cringing, unable to withstand the glaring brightness. The teeth hack up and down, grind back and forth, mercilessly slice through the white fruit; barely detectable grains of spittle and juice fly from the enclave. The tongue stiflingly caresses the slabs of apple. Lips no longer sweetly feminine, thinned by their voracious greediness, seal tightly shut, locking in the mutilated mush in a cage. The tongue rears up as the throat pulses and contracts, sucking in the lumps rapaciously. In less than a second, the cave of a mouth is cleared save for a few remnants of torn pulp lodged between the back molars, under the tongue, or at the base of the throat. The lips part slightly and emit a sigh in brief satisfaction. For one solitary moment, the hunger is mitigated. Then the teeth are bared, descending again, striking over and over again, without pause, without mercy–barely a moment passes between the enveloping, smothering swallow, and the chomping demolition of entrapped fruit. Soon, the teeth are scraping desperately at the core. Skin hangs loose haphazardly. Flesh sags in exhaustion and resignation. The seeds lie exposed, their shelter torn away; the fruit is absolutely desecrated. The girl smacks her lips; the suck and release resounds in the sorrowful, apple-tinged air. The man is broken from the spell of his own voice for the first time and blinks, glancing down at the skeleton of an apple in her sticky, streaked hand. “Wow. You really snapped that apple up, huh?” He comments. She grins with deceptively clean teeth, apple bits now sucked clean from the alcoves of her mouth. “Yep! Sure did!”

Note: I really hope y'all don't eat your apples this way.