Well that could have been much more descriptive.
"I know what I have to do," she said gravely. She led me to the houseware aisle and took a potato peeler off of the shelf. She pressed it to her forehead, and dragged it slowly down over her face. Blood dripped gruesomely from the wound as she began to peel the skin away. She screamed in agony as chunks of ragged flesh fell away. I watched in horror, unable to tear myself away from the sight, until not a patch of skin was left on her awful, bloody face. She dropped the peeler, and bent down to the floor. She picked up a piece of her own skin, brought it to her mouth, and bit into it. It was a horrific sight to see, one I will remember to this day. She continued eating her face for fifteen minutes, while the blood poured from the wound. When she reached the last piece of flesh, she collapsed. I knelt over her ragged form.
"Forgive me," she breathed.
How could I forgive her for this?
"No," I said flatly.
The last breath escaped from her bloody lips, and she was gone.
I hoped her skin tasted like onions.
