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Look at her, standing in her kitchen. I remember how delicious she looked. I had to grind my teeth not to just break through the door and cut her up. I need to savor her emotions. Her feelings. Her pain. Now all I need to do is wait as I always do, break the upstairs window and then come in the front door.
I climbed up the tree I was sitting in, to a higher branch which was level with her second story window. I looked through and I could see the child sleeping in the crib. Maybe for a snack after, or an appetizer, it would be like veal.
All I could feel was my mouth watering. With a quick shake of my head I focused. I snapped a large branch off the tree and hurtled it through the window, letting the glass fall to the floor like rain drops falling onto a burnt house.
Quickly I dropped to the ground and felt my knee dislocate. It made a loud pop shooting pain up my thigh, contorting my face into a smile. I didn’t feel like popping it back into place yet, so I started for the door, enjoying the feeling coming from my leg; sadly I couldn’t move fast enough to the door so I had to quickly snap it back into place. Most of the pain subsided and I continued to unlock front door.
The front of the house was warm, and smelt like fresh bread, I wonder how it would taste with liver? Upstairs I could hear the child screaming, and the mother hushing her child while trying to clean up the glass. Why don’t they ever call the police when they hear the glass? It gives them a chance to survive and gives me more fun, a race against the clock. Either way, I still get a meal out of it.
I entered the kitchen and noticed that to my left was a knife set, and uncontrollably I grabbed the largest one I could find, and the smallest. I can’t wait for her to come down stairs. She will be so surprised.
I glided across the kitchen floor into the stained glass door of the pantry room. It opened outward towards the kitchen, so it allowed me to stand only inches from the door. Only a small distance separated me from her, that and time, the time it takes her to come downstairs and go into the pantry. I’m so excited.
Then, in an instant, the door opened, and the small knife went in between her ribs, just below her heart. The handle of the other blade pressed against her face and knocked her back onto the floor with a cry coming from her lips, which put a smile on mine.
She stayed lying on the floor on her back for a brief second, studying my deranged features with a look of pure shock and pain upon her face, then she turned, and began crawling.
No, this isn't right, why is she crawling? They aren’t supposed to crawl.
“Quit crawling you slut!” I screamed at her, kicking her in the ribs, right where the knife entered her chest. She began scream as my foot made contact with her body, until she turned over. There I saw that her stomach was a bit bigger than it should be. Pregnant, after having already such a small child? The knives dropped to the floor, sliding out of my hands. Quickly my palms were on her throat, becoming tighter. I began to pick her up and shake her.
“What the hell is wrong with you, why are you neglecting your first child?” She starting to moan hysterically, which is probably why I grabbed the knives and began to open her stomach with them. She started to shake, her entire body convulsing as I removed the fetus from her body. Her mouth was wide open, no sound coming out of it. She was asking for it, for her unborn child to fit perfectly inside. I forced the child’s head into her mouth. She wasn’t very far along, because I could fit most of it in her mouth, then I forced harder and harder. She started clawing at my hands, gagging and choking on the dead thing in her mouth. Then she stopped. Stopped everything, movement, fighting and breathing. Now it’s time to eat, all I need to do is prepare the meal.
I searched the kitchen until I found a flaying knife, and cut her clothes off with it, then her scalp. Her skull was white, with a small amount of blood on it, but in very clean condition. Her hair was long, and black, and managed to stay clean throughout the “ordeal.” I wrapped a few hairs around my index and middle fingers and extruded them from the scalp. They wadded nicely in my palm, and smelt pleasant, like fruit shampoo. They tasted like soap sadly, but the texture was soft and firm. It took me a few minutes to savor the flavors after the soap taste dissipated. I closed my eyes and swallowed, feeling the wad slide down my gullet into my stomach.
I smiled, feeling happier, and then turned to the meat. I used the flaying knife to cut off the soft parts, mostly fat, the breasts, hips, and buttocks, and the inner lining of the thighs. I took the meat tenderizer and broke the jaw until I could open all the way and get to the teeth, which I also removed with the meat tenderizer. The eyes easily came out with a fork, and the nose I had to break by slamming the animals face on the counter, then cutting off the excess.
The flaying knife made it easy to cut from the collar bones to the pelvic bone. I had to break out the ribs, but they aren’t meaty enough anyway. Using the small knife I cut out the intestines, and left them in the sink. Now I could really get to the good stuff. I used a butcher knife to remove the tongue, a small knife to get out the heart without damaging it, the kidneys came out in my hands when I pulled hard enough along with the liver.
I placed the ingredients in a bowl, and took the bread out of the oven carefully, and only burning my hands to the point I could still use them. I studied my burned palms, then continued back to work. The heart was a bit tough, but heart isn’t the same without it being in thin strips. It went into the frying pan, which I greased with butter I found in the fridge. It spat grease at me when the beef hit the pan. I pressed it into the pan with a black plastic spatula that was in the sink. The spatula was dirty with other food, so I had to wash it, but it was no trouble really.
With the kidneys I placed them in a separate bowl and crushed them into a smooth paste with a metal spoon. I added a bit of heavy cream, butter, salt and black pepper. Cooking always makes me feel so alive.
The liver I placed next to the heart slices in the frying pan, and lowered the heat, watching the flames reduce sharply, and let contents simmer on low. I placed a lid on it to keep the heat in and stared at the food scraps still on the kitchen island. It has been awhile since I had cookies. While everything else was cooking, I found some Christmas cookie cutters from a box in the hallway labelled “Christmas Junk.” A bit out of season, but they were all I could find. I flipped the scraps over so I could see its back then grabbed the snowman shaped cutter. I pressed it against the spot just below the shoulder blades, then saw blood drip down the spine as my fist came down hard against the cutter.
I grabbed a baking sheet and placed the cut-out on it. I grabbed the other shapes of Santa, a tree, and an angel.
Once the entire sheet was filled with the cut-outs, I placed the sheet into the oven, and set the timer for ten minutes, then began to clean up. I pushed the scraps onto the floor, and then washed the knives, bowls, and cutting board, washed the counter and grabbed the cheese shredder, a plate, fork, spoon and steak knife, and sat in a chair staring at the timer.
Once the timer went off, I grabbed a pair of oven mitts and removed the cookies from the oven, grabbed a glass of milk, and began to enjoy spoiling myself to a pre-dinner desert. They were salty, crisp and warm, although the milk did cool them off quite a bit.
After eating about four cookies, I turned off the burners and placed the liver on my plate, then placed the heart slices onto the liver, then poured the kidney sauce onto it. I noticed that the air was filled with a delicious sent of meat and spices, just as I began to shred the raw tongue onto the dish with the cheese grader, making sure not to add too much.
I freely swept through the kitchen into the dining room and sat down with my utensils, dinner and milk in hand. I cut into the food and brought it to my lips, smelt the flavors in the air. Just before the food entered my mouth, I thought, "She is so beautiful.", and then began to eat. My saliva made contact with the mouth full, and the tastes melted into me, and made me let out a moan of pleasure.
Then I could hear the crying. That damn child crying. Probably hungry. Why are you interrupting me when I’m eating for fuck's sake?
I forced my chair back and slammed my fork and knife down onto the table, and then stormed into the kitchen.
Grabbing a knife I washed and a bottle from over the sink, I sliced the mother’s wrist, and began to fill the bottle with thick, warm fluid. Once it was nearly filled all the way, I dropped the arm, and closed the bottle.
Up the stairs, take a left, down the hall, second door on the right, the room was painted blue, with a crib in the far corner, where the waling was emitting from. Inside was a child lying on its back, its face red and streaming with tears. It’s more adorable than I remember.
I scooped the child into my arms, and hushed it. I began to rock back and forth, bouncing slowly, holding the bottle just above the infants face. It closed its eyes and took the bottle in its mouth. It began to suck on the bottle and swallow the dark contents, not caring or thinking what it might be... that he was drinking away his mother.
I left the room, child still in my arms, down the stairs, and back into the kitchen, and that’s when I heard it. A bang on the door. Very loud, very violent, and then followed by yelling.
Once the door came down, so did reality. Two men ran in, both caring very large guns, trained directly at me. I turned around the wall of the hallway, and heard the guns fire behind me. Clearly they did not realise I had a child.
I darted out the back door which was in the back of the kitchen; several people were waiting for me in the back yard, with more guns. They began to scream something, but I couldn’t hear them, so I darted to the right, through the gate, and out onto the front lawn.
Lights were everywhere, all shining on me. I knew that I was finally caught. Although, I’m not ready to die alone, I’m not going to get the death penalty, no, I think I would prefer that the child come with me, my child. My son, fed by blood, raised by the hunger of an innocent man. The child was lying in my left arm, so with my right one, I grabbed my spare knife from my pocket, and raised it high above me, point directed at the child’s chest that was moving up and down slowly, as it breathed through its nose, trying to finish the bottle. It seemed so calm and relaxed, happy and oblivious to the hell around it. I will take my child with me to hell.
The knife fell, but never did reach the child.
Before the knife could touch the child, a bullet ran through my wrist, then through my jugular. I crumpled backward from the impact, and blood flowed freely from my neck, showering the child.
As I fell onto my back, and the baby rolled out of my hands. Suddenly a man appeared, dressed in a police uniform, holding a gun that was one bullet too short of a full clip. He bent down onto his knees and grabbed the child, which was now screaming.
“Matthew,” he said, “Daddy’s here now.” A tear left his eye, and fell onto the child’s face, washing a small amount of blood off his cheek. He held his screaming child, inches away from me, the man who nearly killed his baby. The officer saw the bottle, and what it was filled with, and broke down crying.
A hand came from behind him, placed on his shoulder.
“I’m sorry David, she’s dead.” Then he broke down. He fell onto his side, screaming out to the sky for God, but he did not answer, instead, silence was the reply.
Written by No Remorse 0ddly