A short story of love, longing, and cannibalism.

How's it going? I know I haven't introduced myself anywhere, but I'm quite content to lurk. All you need to know is I write. I write a lot. In fact, I've been published once or twice. That being said, I'm a fucked up human being, so a lot of what I write can't be shared through traditional venues. I have a little story for anyone willing to read it based on Issei Sagawa's interview with Vice. Just in case you don't know who that is, or can't be fucked to watch a 33 minute documentary, check it. Anyways, here's my story. If you pm me nicely, I'm open to requests. I write both poetry and prose.

Hunger Pains

A well dressed lady is walking by: short cut red dress, black three quarter sleeved coat, and bright red lipstick. Her skin is white and smooth. Her cheek bones are high and sharp. She's perfection etched in porcelain. I pause, fumble around aimlessly in my pockets, and try not to stare as she walks by, but a powerful magnetism pries my eyes from the concrete and we draw matching glances. Her piercing blue eyes beam a sideways glance, and she calls my bluff with a half-smiled head nod. The left corner of my mouth twitches, turns up, and timidly reciprocates. There's space on my park bench for two, overlooking the 4pm sunset, and I offer her a seat. She looks at me a second too long, staring right through me, and I can feel my face turning red, but for whatever reason she obliges and sits down beside me. My pockets are an empty void to fill time with purpose, and as I dig through them, I catch her staring at me from under her bangs, but over her glasses. I pull out a pack of smokes, offer her one, and she politely accepts.

We sit silently for a long time. The sun hangs by a thread and slowly sinks into the river. Pinks and oranges burn and fizzle out into navy blues and purple blacks as we smoke in silence. It wasn't an awkward silence. It was the kind of silence shared between old lovers. There's no courtship between us and time doesn't need to be filled with anything. We were simply sharing a moment. I glance over at her exposed, milky white, thighs, then shift my nervous eyes towards her eyes, and our gaze hangs tentatively, for a long, longing, moment. Quickly, I look back down at the concrete, timid and embarrassed. There was something special about her, something distinctly alluring, and I found myself musing over our future together. I felt an unsaid obligation towards her, a deep pining, and I look up and smile towards her.

“You're not very talkative.” She muses with a smile.

“I didn't have anything to say. I thought we just enjoying the sunset and I didn't want to ruin the moment.” I sigh and lean back on the park bench, staring skyward. “ Do you often sit beside strangers?”

“Nope, this is a new experience for me, but I'm always down to try new things.” Her voice is light and airy, almost ethereal and coaxing. She points a dainty hand my way. I take it and shake it delicately. “It's Lisa by the way.”

“Lisa, eh? Well, nice to meet you, Lisa, the name's Rodger.”

“Great, see, now I'm not sitting beside a stranger.” She laughs delicately and places a hand on my knee. We pause, listening to the cars woosh by and the leaves rustle in the breeze. Abruptly, she shivers, and yanks her hand away, clutching her shoulders. “It's kind of spooky, isn't it?”


“I don't know, I felt something a second ago, a cold shiver in the warm fall air. My mom used to say that when you shiver for no reason, it's because you were touched by a ghost. Maybe there's ghosts about.” She's looking off to the left, staring down the length of the river, lost in thought.

“See, my dad used to tell me that everything has a 'vibe' and an 'aura'. A 'vibe' is just a feeling that lurks inside an instance. It's the world's way of talking to you, something entirely separate from human influence, and if you listen close enough, usually it steers you right. An 'aura' is a little bit different. It's a colour that clings to an individual, if you look hard enough at their outline, and really squint your eyes. It will tell you a lot about that person.” Lisa perks up and turns towards me.

“Really? Well what colour is my aura?” I squint my eyes at her. Her aura is green, dark forest green. She's feeling jealous, lacking in confidence and self esteem. She's feeling victimized by something or someone and she thinks it's entirely out of her control.

“Bright, emerald, green around the edges, but closer to your heart it's more of a yellow-green.” I didn't really lie, her aura was a type of green, but I doubt she wants to hear me take wild stabs into her personal life. “The emerald green means you're a healer, a love centered person, and it's especially dense around your fingertips. Anyone and anything you touch is often effected positively. The yellow-green is really what intrigues me. It means you're creative with your heart, and have strong communication skills. Let me guess, you're a writer?” Her jaw drops and her eyes sparkle.

“How did you know that? I work as a grief councilor, but back when I was in high school and university, I was published a few times. I never thought of it as a career, but it was always something I loved to do.” She drums her fingers on her thigh a few times. “Alright, what colour is your aura? Be honest with me. I know you could lie and turn it into a cheesy pick-up line, but if you do that, I'll leave you here all alone, on this cold bench, in the dark.” Her face is stern, but her facial features betray her kind heart, and she looks more comical than intimidating.

“Alright, well, I'd definitely miss your company. Tell you what, I know what colour my aura is, but you can't be mad if I tell you.”

“Be mad? Why would I be mad?”

“I don't know, you just have to promise me you won't be mad.”

“Fine.” She draws a cross on her left breast. “Cross my heart and all that.”

“Okay, well, you asked. My aura is blue, dark blue, almost black. Blue is an interesting colour. It means that I'm usually a calm, sensitive, person, who cares a lot about others and enjoys helping people, but dark blue has a different meaning. It means I'm afraid of the future, that there is a truth and I'm afraid to express it.” I smile and laugh to ease the tension. She knits her brows together, squints her eyes, then relaxes with a sigh.

“I wouldn't have guessed that. You strike me as a red. Maybe orange-red. I'm not sure what that means, but it's the colours I'd pick for you.” That makes me laugh. Orange-red relates creative powers and self confidence. I can see why she said it, but I know she's wrong. We sit silently for a few more moments. “Rodger, you didn't tell me what kind of 'vibe' this place is giving off.”

“Vibes are a little bit different, a little bit more complicated, and I'm not sure if I could accurately describe it.” I look down at the sidewalk, but Lisa grabs my shoulder and gives me a bit of a shake.

“Come on, it's not like we have anything else to do. Just try. Who knows, something interesting might happen.” I look up and she's smiling at me. I blush and feel my palms begin to sweat. I know this is my one and only chance with this girl, but I'm scared of the future. I'm scared of something I know she'll never understand, but she's just so perfect. The 'vibe' of this place is ominous. Shadows hang on the trees and their knot holes stare at me with intensity, almost like they can read my mind. Something bad will happen, it's screaming out in the silence, and I feel suffocated by it.

“It's a weird vibe.” I stammer, cough, then regain my composure. “It's an odd calm, almost like there was something missing, almost like there should be more tension but for whatever reason, it's absent. The future is clings to this space, it feels like it should be significant, but it's empty, almost lacking purpose. It feels like something special is happening, something important to both of our lives, but we wont realize it until after we leave.” She places her hand back on my thigh. I didn't lie, I mean, I didn't really lie, but there's no way she'd understand the gravity of this situation. Lisa leans over and kisses me on the cheek.

“There, maybe that was missing?” She smiles. My heart's smashing into my ribcage. It feels like my chest is going to rupture and all of my organs will jump out into the river. I wipe the sweat from my forehead on my sleeve and look up her. I can feel the wistful longing sit heavily on my eyes but my mouth is pursed, tentatively. She contorts her facial expressions, first happy, then angry, then confused, then sad, and I turn towards the river.

“I just... Well, you see... I...” My mouth stops working. It's flapping like a suffocating fish and no sound will come out. She's definitely the one I need to make my move. I cough, sputter, and try desperately find my voice. “W-would you like to come back to my place? I'm a pretty good cook, and I sear a mean steak?” Lisa turns, and the sadness melts from her eyes.

“Obviously I'd like that. I don't kiss random strangers just for fun you know.” We both laugh.

I don't live very far from the bench, maybe three blocks, and as we're walking together, in comfortable silence, Lisa reaches over, grabs my arm, and pulls it close to her chest. The trees edge closer and closer to me, and I can feel their accusatory glances. Cars stare at me with hatred and loathing, whispering terrible things as they whip by. My whole body is shaking. I don't know if I can follow through. I look down at her milky white flesh and I bite my lip a little too hard. I can taste the blood, the warm, viscous, copper, and my heart thrashes against my chest. We make it to my house without any further issues. I fumble through my pockets, and throw everything all over my front porch. Lisa bends down and picks up my Power Ranger's key chain.

“You're cute. You need to relax. You've already fought through the hard part, clearly I want to spend some time with you, just cool your jets.” She smiles at me and pulls me closer, then slips my keys into my right hand. I'm so nervous I feel like I'm going to vomit. I manage to get the door open, and I give Lisa the 30 second tour; bathroom's over here, kitchen's there, tv room's on your right. Lisa spies my grand piano and her eyes light up.

“Do you play piano?” I ask, with far more composure than I actually felt.

“Absolutely, I've played for years and years, want to hear something?”

“Sure, go for it.” Lisa turns, and sits down at the piano in my tv room. It's a big burly beast I inherited from my parents, ebony and immaculate. She plinks around aimlessly on a few keys and then jumps right into a rendition of Liszt's La Campanella.

I smile to her, and point to the kitchen with a few cooking-type gestures. She smiles, nods, keeps playing and I go on my way. I'm a wreck. I vomit almost immediately in the sink. I've thought about this so many times before, I know exactly what I should do, but my body betrays me. My arm spasms, and I throw an entire drawer full of eating utensils on the floor. I scramble around trying to clean up the mess, on my hands and knees, and I can feel the pace of the music. It's rattling around in my brain, forcing me to think faster than I should, to act faster than I should, and I can't find my feet. I cant hear anything as the piano melds with my beating heart. My left hand finds a large meat tenderizer in the mayhem, while my right finds a towel, and I relax. Lisa gets into the more relaxed middle section and I can feel the tension leave my body. I'm sure she'd make a wonderful and caring lover, but none of that's interesting to me right now. I come up behind her and drape right arm over her shoulder as she pounds out the finale. I lean in, whispering in her ear.

“Wow, you play the piano beautifully. I wish I was that talented at anything.”

“Thanks Rodger, it's been a while, I'm a little rusty, but I just hope I didn't butcher Liszt too badly.” Lisa blushes and I stand up, towering over top of her.

“Nonsense. Do you know any Chopin? I've always been partial to the Minute Waltz.” I ask and cock a smile.

“Absolutely.” She begins with the delicate introduction and I stand behind her, in silence. My face is flush, and I watch sweat drip from my nose onto the ground. As she finishes up, just before the last few bars, I raise the tenderizer high over my head and bring it down on her skull with a wet crunch. She flops forward with the force of the impact, and convulses on the keys, until she pushes the bench away, and falls, twitching onto the floor. I place the towel under her head to soak up the blood, and stare at her writhing, broken, body. She looks delicious. I wait for a minute until she stops twitching, lean down real close, and delicately take a bite of her milky white thigh. Her skin is tough, and I chew as hard as I can but my jaw starts clenching before I make any real progress. I rummage through my kitchen until I find a knife, and start cutting at her thigh. At first I cut lightly, I don't want to ruin the meat, but it turns out their is a large layer of corn-like fat you need to pierce before you get to the meat, and you really need to cut quite deep.

After a few hours of sawing and cutting and slicing, I finally extract a few serviceable chunks of meat. Their is very little serviceable meat on the torso in general. The thighs, the ass, the shoulders, and calves all had better yields. I took most of her meat, packaged it in vacuum sealed bags, and carefully filled my freezer, but I left her cheeks sitting on my cutting board. It's said the cheeks are a delicacy because there is very little fat and the meat is quite tender, if cooked properly. It's also said that human meat tastes like pork, only sweeter, so I prepared myself a marinade; lemon juice, orange zest, black strap molasses, a pinch of cayenne, some salt and pepper, and bit of Guinness. I let the cheeks sit in there for an hour or so while I tried to scrub the blood from my floor. The towel caught most of it, but I had to drag her into the garage to dismember her, and it left a big smear on my hardwood. Once I got the body into the garage, there was very little mess, thankfully. I tied her feet together, hoisted her body high in the air, then cut from her navel to her throat, severing her aorta, and let her drain into a large metal basin. I'm not sure what to do with all the blood, but my gut told me I should save it for later. By the time the cheeks were done marinating, I fired up my crock pot, sliced the cheeks into small chunks, and dumped them into the pot with all the fixings of a good chili: beans, corn, onions, tomato paste, pureed tomatoes, chili pepper, garlic, and some leftover marinade.
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