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| A few great things about being the victim of cannibals: 1. You're the center of attention, the primary object of desire, everyone hungers for you…at least for a little while. 2. Basting—it's so sensual! 3. Objectification: you're not "you" anymore. No more bad memories. No more disappointments. No more frustrated ambitions. No more fears or anxieties. No more shame. You're just 120 pounds of meat. 4. Stuffing—(see 2. above)—you can be chubby & it's not your fault. What's more, everyone thinks the extra weight looks good on you. 5. Total acceptance—at least by the people who want to eat you. 6. Your death means something. You're feeding people! You're sacrificing yourself for others…like Jesus! 7. You have to die anyway. There are a lot worst ways to go. Namely those in which you're old, sick, unwanted, and unappetizing in every way. Thus, a fantasy I've had ever since I was little... |
There was a roadblock. She got out of the car to see what
was the problem. She asked a man in an orange vest. He had a taser in his hand.
She didn’t understand what it was until the voltage tore through her. She
danced around like a puppet whose strings were being pulled by a spastic child.
Then the strings were cut all at once. She fell to the hot asphalt.
She couldn’t move.
She couldn’t speak.
She’d peed herself.
“Let’s get her in the truck boys,” the man in the orange
vest said. “And get the hell out of here.”
She was hogtied on the floor, wrapped in a smelly blanket. A
gag in her mouth.
She’d been jabbed in the ass with a needle.
She wanted to explain something to them.
Something they would probably want to know about her before
this went any further.
She didn’t want it to come as a surprise.
She tried to speak, but her voice didn’t work any better
than her body.
Her mouth moved, but hardly any sound came out.
The words in her head didn’t match the sounds at all.
“Go to sleep princess,” the man who’d stuck her with the
needle said. “This is nothing you want to stay awake for.”
He was grinning unpleasantly. He had his cock out, massaging
it.
There were at least three others in the back of the truck.
He was probably right.
She wouldn’t want to be awake for what was coming.
Still, she fought it.
Fought unconsciousness.
Thinking that if she only stayed awake she might stand a
chance.
She was wrong.
She lost consciousness.
She woke up in a shallow steel pan. At first she thought it
was a hospital bed because who wakes up in a shallow steel pan? She was lying
in shallow steel pan in a puddle that smelled of wine. Onions floated all
around her. Carrots. Potatoes.
Her legs were bent back at an unnatural angle. She did yoga
from time to time. But she knew she wasn’t that flexible. They must have broken
her bones. But she felt no pain.
Was she drugged?
In shock?
They know by now.
They had to. She was naked.
Is that why they’ve done this to her?
No…no they were planning to do it all along.
It didn’t matter to them at all
Kind of ironic, in a way.
“No problem,” one of them had shrugged and said while she
was unconscious. .Just a little extra meat
A good laugh that got.
Who knew cannibals were so inclusive, so tolerant.
That they had such a sense of humor.
People came in and out of the kitchen.
It was sweltering hot. She was sweating
Profusely even though she was naked
and soaking in liquid.
Men and women looked at her with curiosity.
Children, too.
They poked at her with fingers. Forks.
They were dressed in shorts and tank tops.
In bathing suits.
It was a party of some kind.
A community bar-b-ecue?
The men held cans of beer in their fists
They leered at her.
Winked.
Waggled their tongues suggestively.
She didn’t recognize any of her rapists.
Were they angry when they found out?
She could hear the sound of splashing water.
The sprung-sound of a diving board.
Laughter.
There must be a pool outside.
She could picture it.
How she would love to take a long deep dive into cool blue
water.
Was she dreaming?
No one seemed to regard her situation as anything out of the
ordinary.
This helped.
This somehow kept her from panicking.
She had an apple—some kind of fruit--shoved deep into the
back of her throat.
It pried open her jaws.
She was too weak to dislodge it.
Her arms were tied behind her back.
Were they broken, too?
Like chicken wings.
Her belly was distended, as if she were pregnant.
Grotesquely distended.
And she’d always been so careful with her diet.
So proud of her toned tummy.
Now she couldn’t see over it.
She couldn’t even see between her legs.
She was completely exposed there.
Like a centerfold during a crotch shot.
It was mortifying.
This might have been the worst part of all.
She felt so full.
Why did she feel so full?
She felt like she had heartburn.
She could taste something spicy at the back of her throat.
But she was certain that she hadn’t eaten anything in hours.
She tried to indicate to a woman in an apron that she needed
to use the toilet.
She could only gurgle and groan.
She managed to make the woman understand, though.
The woman laughed.
She’d seen this before, of course.
They all thought that had to use the toilet.
They all panicked.
It was so precious.
The woman was blonde, heavyset, middle-aged wearing an apron
over a one-piece royal blue bathing suit. A little jowly,
once pretty.
“You don’t need to use the bathroom sweetie. That’s just the
stuffing we packed your tummy with. It just feels like it needs to come out but
it don’t. Besides, you’ve been sewed up nice and tight. There’s nothing going
to come out of your rectum no matter what. Fact is, you don’t have a rectum
anymore. Those are your intestines over there.”
The woman indicated a large
bowl
on the counter overflowing
with what looked like bloody sausages.
She could turn her head just enough.
Just enough to see what she shouldn’t have seen.
“I can’t live without that,” she thought. She was strangely
calm and
objective thinking this thought.
She should have been horrified.
She was, but in a calm, objective way.
Does that make sense?
Does any of this?
She might just as well have been watching a horror movie.
It was all too surreal to process.
It couldn’t possibly be happening.
But it was.
It was there, too.
She’d caught a quick glimpse of it when she turned her head.
What she was ashamed for those men to find.
For anyone to find.
On the cutting board, it was lying.
Not much more than a bloody cocktail weenie
wrapped in wrinkly chicken flesh.
How often she had thought of having it removed.
Never once like this, though.
If things weren’t the way they were she might have laughed
at this.
One consolation:
She had nothing to be ashamed of anymore.
No secrets.
Nothing to hide.
No revelations to fear.
They knew her as she was.
They accepted her for what she was.
There was comfort and rest in that.
It took two men to lift her pan and put it into the large
oven.
They had to carefully balance the weight of her, the
vegetables and the liquid
in which she was bathing.
It was all sloshing around.
She felt like a baby in a bath.
The heat coming from the oven was incredible.
Someone mentioned that she wouldn’t suffer long. The
dehydration and
lack of oxygen would finish her off.
Whoever it was might have been talking to her.
Probably not, though.
She was just a thing, an object, something to
eat. A piece of meat.
But then some words were directed towards her.
“Don’t be frightened,” the heavyset blonde woman in the
apron said.
“Be careful now. Don’t drop her,” the woman said to one of
the heavyset men who were lifting the pan. Then the woman turned to her again.
We’ve become good friends haven’t we honey?
.“I’ve had my arm half inside you, after all.”
The woman laughed.
Everyone laughed.
She wanted to laugh, too.
But laughter, even if it weren’t for the fruit painfully
prizing open her jaws, was beyond her now.
They left the light in the oven on.
So they could watch her.
Like it was television.
The Cooking Channel.
Haha.
People came to the window to watch her roasting.
It was rather macabre seeing their curious faces.
Men. Women. Children.
No one had the slightest notion to help her.
They were hungry.
She was dinner.
Who helps dinner escape?
She stopped thinking for long periods of time.
She only realized this when she started thinking again.
Panicked thoughts.
Hopeless thoughts.
Silly thoughts.
Too-late-thoughts.
About how she had to escape.
Escape?
How?
And without any insides left?
Where would she go?
She closed her eyes.
Sweat poured out of her.
Like a sauna.
Only fatal.
She was growing light-headed.
She dreamt.
Her lungs felt sunburnt.
She stopped breathing and didn’t even realize it.
Her heart stopped.
When?
The woman was right. She didn’t suffer much. Or long.
Considering the circumstances.
The blonde woman…her last best friend.
She dreamt on for a few seconds after that.
Then she was gone to wherever.
They celebrated with what was left behind.
The only thing that mattered to them.
Meat.
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