This is a writing excersise my friend and I did. ;; We were given the sentance "A pinata hung in the chestnut tree" and got to go form there. >3 We changed it to make it more creepy by adding- "It looked to be made of flesh." but that was all.

Here's what I came up with. >3

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There was an eerily, creepy pinata under the chestnut tree, it looked to be made of true flesh and I doubted it housed delicious candies

The muscles that had once made my thin lips spread into a smile now went taut, drawing back the bits of flesh that still remained intact on my lower jaw. This I stroked with my index finger and thumb, rubbing against a mix of meat and bone.

The chestnut tree was tall and old, it’s branches many and leaves few. My eyes wandered through the gnarled trunk, roaming over the sturdy branches, now dead, but still as glorious as they had been in life. In my eyes at least. A small ways along one fo the larger limbs, my vision caught on a rope, and they traveled down the length of it, finally pausing on what it held, suspended in the air.

It looked to be a pinata of sorts, but it lacked the vibrant colors and sense of store bought quality I had used to know as a child. In truth, this pinata was entirely homemade, and sewn from raw, fresh materials. It had only been a day since the last man had been killed, and his rough weather-worn skin was hard to stick a needle through, but proved satisfactory at holding the pinata’s contents.

I rubbed my index and forefinger against my chin, ignoring the fact that stubble had taken the place of my formerly clean shaven appearance. Shaving was a trivial matter to me, my knives had better uses than to trim the hair on my face. I nodded to myself, giving a pleased grunt. Words had also proved useless to me in these past few months, though I was fluent in more than my fair share of languages.

It had seemed that many things the others of my species considered normal, had lost their sparkle and importance for me. I had spent my time well, and devoted myself to my current work. Perhaps that was the only remotely human thing left in me now?

My thirst for knowledge and perfection, and the morbid humor that had sparked this idea in the first place. All others of my intelligence thrived for such things, the feeling of completion when all goes as planned, and the magic of watching your thoughts become reality. All of this, right before your own eyes. It was a remarkable process, one I relished.

I crossed my arms over by chest and tapped one foot, nodding and grunting once more as I continued to watch my little pinata as it swayed in the sea winds. The salt I had obtained from the sea had proved quite useful after all. I had needed it to dry and preserve the flesh of those I had killed in the past, making it so I could use their skin to add to my creation.

Why did I choose to make the pinata? I wasn’t entirely sure of the reasons myself, but once I had thought of the idea, it hadn’t left my head.

I was completely and utterly alone on my part of the Island, and I had no other means to keep myself amused. Granted, I occasionally kept a human in captivity, but I was soon bored of their whining presence. Currently I had a small child chained outside my snug little cottage, whom I had given the name Mime, which tickled me greatly whenever I spoke to him. Of course, Mime never answered, since the first thing I had done was cut out his tongue and pressed a hot iron to the wound to make sure he didn’t die of infection.

Thinking of my little friend, I turned and glanced back at him. He was a recent addition to my list of victims, and I assumed it was his father who had been my most recent addition to my pinata. They had been out sailing, and must have thought my Island would be a nice place to explore. That was how I obtained most of my humans, by either curiosity or accident they ended up on my miniature paradise.

Mime tried to appear smaller by curling into the fetal position and making what must have been his version of a whimper. The attempt was pitiful, and I couldn’t help, but smile.

“Now now, my sweet little Mime,” I said tenderly, stepping away from the chestnut tree that housed my creation, and towards my small home. “Why do you cry in such ways? You don’t have to be chained to that dreadful post. If you would just ask to be let go, I would gladly oblige.”

I could be terribly cruel to the child, but as I said before-what other amusement did I have? I laughed softly as his broken voice rose from a whimper to a loud, screaming wail. Goosebumps rippled over my arms and I shivered at the thrill of it. “What? No objections?” I asked, acting as if I was in shock and slightly offend by Mime’ lack of speech. “Fine! Then I shall go inside and prepare some food for myself, if you’re nice and quiet I might give you a little.”

I walked indignantly into my cozy house, and closed the door loudly behind me, making quite the scene. Mime’ wailing subsided to a faint whine, but this I ignored. I was far too busy chuckling to myself over my own genius and witty humor.

I set about fixing myself a small dinner, mainly containing the remains of the one I guessed was Mime’s parent. I had cut his taut muscle into neat steaks, most of which were neatly tucked into storage. Who knew when the next hapless victim would set foot on my Island? One must be prepared for the worst.

I whistled as I started up a fire, and placing a thin slice of fat in a small pan. Carefully I spread it around with a small knife I had picked up from my counter, and soon the pan was prepared to cook my meal. I picked a succulent cut from my stack of wrapped meats, and went about unwrapping and seasoning it before I tossed it unto the pan.

The sizzle was splendid.