Sometimes I get hungry—just really damn hungry and I think about all the things I’d like to eat. Like my favorite kinds of sandwiches, pizza, that chocolate cake they have at Jack in the Box, but the one thing that always comes to the forefront of my mind is meat. I hunger for meat. And not in the normal, “I’d like a steak,” kind of way.
“Are you the one that posted the ad?” she asked him.
He nodded, holding the front door open. She was wearing a trench coat.
“Yeah, that’s me. My name’s—”
“No names. Let’s just do this,” she said, stepping in.
I begin to imagine the pure essence of meat. The red, bloody thickness cut right from a cow. It’s raw and fresh, still dripping crimson. I can see the strips of tissue in its muscle and the white trims of fat that give it flavor. Blood seeps from it as I squeeze the piece of meat with my bare hands. And at this point, I can smell it.
“Are you positive you want to?” he asked.
The woman looked at him, then opened her coat and let it fall to the floor. She was naked. Nude flesh, pale as if it hadn’t seen the sun. Freckles dotted her shoulders and her small breasts were tipped with brown nipples. She didn’t have much muscle but was average with a tummy that drooped just a bit. He gazed down her body, past the tuff of hair between her legs, and stared at her thighs, licking his lips.
The smell is intoxicating; something metallic and salty. It’s the blood, all that iron. There’s a pungent scent in the air but not in a bad way. It’s kind of eggy, like when you get a bit of egg-white on you and it has that strange odor. But most of all, it has that metal, salty smell. I wait to be revolted but instead of my stomach twisting, it roars with my hunger.
I must devour it.
“Can you at least tell me why you want to do this?” he asked.
She stared at him blankly as she laid on top of the table, as pale and still as a corpse.
“I thought you would understand,” she said.
She blinked. Her eyes were big and dark and her hair was bleached silver. She looked too young for this. She shook her head.
“Just do it,” she said. “Eat me.”
He grabbed his fork and knife.
My mouth begins to water and the smell hits my nose and my fingers grip the raw meat. I dig my nails into it, raise the bloody hunk to my mouth and tear at it like a wild dog feasting for the first time in days. It is only then that I realize my teeth were meant for ripping, for tearing apart soft fleshy things. The meat easily rips under my jaws and I feel like a god. I tear and jerk, flinging blood everywhere. I don’t care at this point, I want it to be messy.
The hunger raged within him. He cut into her gently at first and at the taste of her flesh he began to lose himself. The only sounds she made were slight whimpers and groans as he cut into her gut and split her chest cavity open. He wondered, were people supposed to have this much blood in them? He ate piece after piece then threw his utensils to the ground. He didn’t want to eat like gentleman anymore. He wasn’t civilized. He was a damn animal. A beast.
He was hungry.
I finish my meal. Every bit of meat and tissue sliding down my gullet and into my stomach. I expect to retch, but I don’t. what does that say? What kind of monster am I? I just wanted to eat, to feel normal again, but as the fires in me die down and the hunger goes away, I feel a heavy despair take over me.
I know I will eat again.
I know my hunger will never be satisfied.