Beth tells her tale.

 I was only 18 then, just turned; and still in High School.  I grew up in a small town, the only redheaded family (father had black hair and from Oklahoma, mother was a redhead local) in the blonde and brunette sea.  My first boyfriend was a Mexican.  He was the only one who understood.

   I was on my way to see him on a Saturday night when it started.  I never listened to the news.  The radio wasn't that important back then...  Anyway, I had a classic.  Dodge Charger.  Pure American Muscle.  I ripped into Hector's front lawn and honked.  I didn't know what was going on.  Half an empty bottle of Wild Turkey was in the passenger seat.  When he stumbled out of the trailer, I assumed he was as drunk as I was.  I pulled the handle and swayed over to him in the darkness.  In the distance, I heard the sounds of hunting rifles going off.  I didn't pay that much attention.

   I let my bra strap fall off my shoulder as I strutted toward him.  He looked at the baked and glowing dirt road beneath his feet.  I didn't know what his grunts meant.  A mean drunk, that's all.  Boy, was I right.

   "Hector, I can't wait.  I need you now..." I said, the Bourbon slurring my voice.  I let him see my pale thigh glow in the moonlight.  I thought about how much my father would hate it as he slid his cock inside me, how ashamed my mother would be to know her daughter was fucking a day-laborer's son.

   He grunted, and I purred.  I slid onto the hood the Charger as he approached.  I pushed my (then) long, straight red hair back over my shoulder, and opened my legs.  When he came upon me, stumbling, incoherent, I didn't notice the smell of blood until he at my knees.  "Hector....?"  I said.

   Then I saw his eyes; his milky white eyes; and the blood stained flannel shirt he was wearing.   I kicked and screamed as he opened his gore encrusted mouth, but I slid off the polished hood of the car, my legs wide open...