Hungry?

Since this description was just so utterly amazing and well, descriptive, you know that you really want to read my story now.

The neon signs buzzed and flickered as he trudged through the rain, his tattered clothing soaked, a large duffel bag casually slung over his shoulder.
As he passed an expensive looking restaurant, his stomach complained as he gazed longingly at the interior. Warm brown tones and plush furniture complimented the regal customers who daintily raised forks laden with exotic delicacies to their mouths.
Then he happened to catch the eye of an important looking man, who stood watch over his precious restaurant. The man looked at him with open disgust and hissed, making shooing motions with his clean, manicured hands.
He got the message.
Readjusting his bag strap, he departed, trying vainly to avoid the giant puddles that had flooded the sidewalk.
He walked in no particular direction, just putting one foot in front of the other, energy waning.
He passed a couple out for an evening stroll and smiled at them. They avoided him like the plague, giving him a wide birth, neither bothering to acknowledge him.
He sniffed and turned down a random, dark alleyway, finding a doorstep with his foot. After swearing quietly at himself, he opened his duffel bag and began to unpack.

Wriggling deep into his sleeping bag, he shivered, the concrete rough and unmerciful beneath his back. After a deep sigh, he shoved his bag beneath his head, an uncomfortable pillow, but a pillow nonetheless.
He closed his eyes, willing himself to sleep.
Suddenly he sat up, wrenching violently, eyes smarting as he clutched his stomach. Moaning, he abandoned his belongings, stumbling out into the pouring rain on the now deserted street, barely able to stay upright.
As he dragged his feet, the pain got more fervent, forcing him to stop and lean heavily against the drab buildings, his face taut and pale.
The next wave of pain shot through his stomach, causing him to keel over, his breaths fast and shallow.
An unsuspecting woman appeared around the corner, struggling with several bags, when she saw him collapse on the ground.

She immediately dropped her groceries and ran to his aid, leaning her hand lightly on his shoulder.
“Are you okay, young man?” She asked, concern riding on her voice.
The boy looked up and she gasped, withdrawing her hand to stifle her yelp. His long wet bangs couldn’t hide his bright amber eyes which stared unblinking up at the woman.
She cautiously began to back away when the boy’s mouth twitched, a guttural, predator-like growl escaping from his dry lips.
Suddenly the woman turned and fled as fast as her legs would carry her, but it wasn’t long before he caught up.

The woman was flung to the ground as the boy leaped on her. She cried out as she struggled beneath him, limbs thrashing, when she paused, feeling a sudden pain in her abdomen. Slowly, she managed to lift her head to look and saw the gaping ragged gouge in her stomach and the boy who sat atop her, entrails dangling from his blood-rimmed mouth.
Her screams of agony were drowned out by the feral snarls emanating from the boy as he feasted on her body, a large puddle of her life blood expanding beneath her.

Minutes later the street was silent again, apart from the insistent rustling of a few bags of freshly abandoned groceries.
The rain had ceased and the ravaged woman now lay crumpled and mutilated beyond recognition, a mixture of gore and bones, what was left of her blood trickled towards the drain.
A few blocks away, an electronic store’s display television vigilantly blared out the midnight news to a street devoid of listeners.
On the screen, a foreign reporter had to shout in order to be heard over the raging storm behind her. Standing close by, a worried man hurriedly translated.

“The officials of Hensworth Maximum Security Prison, here off the coast of Finland, have reported that a high level prisoner has managed to escape,” he paused, waiting for the reporter to continue. “Sixteen year old Jesper Forming was sentenced to prison about a year ago for the gruesome murder of 26 innocent people. Six foot two, with shoulder length brown hair and gold eyes. He is psychologically unstable and extremely violent. He is exceedingly dangerous. Do not, I repeat, do not approach him. Call the authorities immediately.”
With that, the report ended abruptly and a large crowd of people brandishing hate-filled signs replaced the screen.

In a gloomy corner, shadows danced and romped around a solitary figure cloaked in darkness. As it emerged, the murkiness dispersed to reveal a blood-soaked boy.
Once again bearing his trusty duffel bag, he sauntered along the sidewalk towards the edge of the town, red footprints marking his wake.
As he passed under a dying streetlight, he casually raised his hand to his mouth, delicately running his tongue over his fingers.
He walked blindly, eyes shut in ecstasy as he savoured the taste.
But I’m still hungry, he thought.