Meat

The young man forked a carrot and sopped it around in the sauce before bringing it to his mouth. Before him lay a sumptuous little spread. A glass of 1976 Barbaresco and rugged slices of semolina pugliese flanked the main platter, upon which couscous, roasted summer vegetables, and a large cut of finely-charred meat wrestled for space. Drizzled over everything: a lovely light rosemary-dijon vinaigrette. The meat was particularly exquisite. He sliced off a small piece and chewed it slowly. Its flavor hovered somewhere between chicken and pork, but there was that certain je ne sais quoi that distinguished it from other animals – a certain umami or savory character that other viands lacked, regardless of their preparation. It had been a while since he’d delectated thusly. It sent a sparkling of pleasurable chemicals through his brain.

After swallowing the last morsel, the young man went into his kitchen to clean up. He scrubbed dirty pans and colanders and utensils distractedly. The aromas of the meal lingered in his nostrils, the tastes on his palate. As he tupperwared squash and zucchini, he peeked joyfully into the freezer. There was enough meat for at least a week of these divine dinners, although the best parts would get eaten up first. He had to figure out what to do with the head. Her pretty cinnamon eyes stared out of it, through the zip-lock. Her lips, still tinted with rouge, were plump and fleshy. They might make a nice pâté, he thought.

~ by kingzoko on September 3, 2013.

3 Responses to “Meat”

  1. I realized where this was going right before you actually revealed it. Creepy. Well done.

  2. Awesome story Hannah! I was reading it in the airport without thinking much into it, so I was delightfully surprised when I came to the ending. 😀

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