Comedors

Chapter 1-Cocoa Delights

When a human body deteriorate, it instantly reaches to a point of bitter coldness-then back at room temperature. The body excretes an awful stench that can bloat the body and swell its tongue. Although some people scoff at disgust with the mere fact of eating it, I enjoy savoring each flesh and bone. They call us 'vultures'. I call it continuing the food cycle. See, where do you put the body after it is dead?

Putting all that effort in decorating the corpse with a wooden coffin and funeral can be time consuming and a waste of money. Why can't the government set up a system for all the dying to exchange in the bellies of us-Comedors? I mean, it's ridiculous scavenging for rotting corpses in cliffs where the fallen suicide victims had been...soon in statistics.

They fear us, but never know who we are. Your boss might be a comedor, but you'll never know. We're devious and tricky to be sighted, unless you see us gracefully ingesting your grandmother's corpse. One time I sniffed a certain scent.

I was in the subway, with my bright red headphones on, humming to The Rolling Stones. Suddenly, I traced a scent of peanut butter and a hint of blood. My eyes gazed over to a man sitting opposite to my seat, he has soon noticed my scent as well. His beady eyes study my frame, judging if I was qualified as a Comedor.

By his scent I noticed that he had recently ate a corpse, a 30-ish female. The man exchanged seats to get closer, and as soon as I blinked he right next to me. I could hear his heavy breathing on my shoulder. Sometimes that man would take a quick glimpse at me.

He looked about 45; his head was obviously balding. The middle aged man wore a fresh grey suit with an ivory tie on. I could tell by the flash of eyes that he thought he was a productive member of society. A business man he is.

That's when he leaned real close to me, whispering.

"I know you're awfully hungry, I could show you a funeral site with bad security."

My hands clutched tight and beads of sweat melted on my face. How could he tell? I instantly took off my headphones and stared at him.

"Where?" I murmured. It was a low, soft murmur only a fly could hear.

He grinned, showing his plastic smile. The man handed me his business card; Cocoa Delights.

Cocoa Delights

"We'll delight you with cocoa!"

John Goodman

917-902-COCO

johngoodman@delights.com

Before I could say anything, he stood then left with a firm handshake. When I got home, I googled his company-a sweets manufacturer. It was quite ironic considering I saw my little sister swallowing a large brown chocolate ball...with the label 'CD'.

I'm assuming John is not his real name, we Comedors would never reveal our true identity. We are only to obey a specific set of rules. The first is to never reveal your true identity. Live as a normal human would.

My eyes would often glimpse at the telephone. It whispers to me that I have to call. But I must wait. I have three tests tomorrow, but I don't need to study. Our excellent memory can soak in information like a sponge. Just a second of eyeing a textbook page can allow us to understand and recite everything word by word.

I like to play tricks on teachers. One time I pretended I did horrible at math-Geometry. My teacher at conferences would always preach that I was just not paying attention, and I would always say, "Sorry Mrs.Melk, I'm not a math person!"

By the end of class I would get a 100 at the regents and wipe her smug face when she sees the results.

They offered me to go to college when I was 12, but I reluctantly declined. I would disobey the first rule-live like a normal human. What is normal when a 12 year old competes against several 20 year olds?