Black blood

A Happy Meal

Do you ever just sit outside at night, look up at the stars, and know basically nothing of the world you live in?
WTNV

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It was almost noon by the time I arrived home. I thought about checking in on Jake before lunch but decided against it. He probably could do with some alone time, so I dragged the body through my living room and into the kitchen.

I call it a kitchen but probably not many people would see it as such. Some of the essentials were there: a fridge, a table, chairs, a set of knives. There were items, however, that were absent: an oven, a cooker; not even a microwave. To make up for the missing furniture there were a few things you wouldn't normaly find in a human's home: an industrial freezer, just the right size to hold three or four human bodies; meat hooks hanging from the ceiling; a butcher's table and tools, neatly arranged in the southern part of the room. All in all, I loved my kitchen. It was practical, and decorated in beautiful gold and white tones that well matched the elegant paper in the walls.

A rumbling in my stomach reminded me of the task at hand, and I swiftly started undressing the stranger and plopped him on the dismemberment table. I cut myself part of his cheek to munch on while I worked and soon I had him all cut up into neat manageable pieces and put away in small plastic packages to put on the fridge. All except for what Jake and I would eat today. I arranged the meat onto a set of plates and took my only two sets of cutterly for us to use. I got everything on a tray, along with two glasses of water and a first aid kit and went on to the room I had put Jake in. Now that he'd had time to wallow in his missery and think things through he seemed a lot more open to my doings. He warily glared at me while I set the tray on the bed, motioning for him to help himself to its contents while I got down on my knees by the bed, examining his leg. I stitched it up without so much as a whine from him. It was a rough job and he certaingly woud have a huge scar to show for it but at least he'd be able to walk again in a couple of days.

I got up and sat on the bed, next to him, taking my own plate. I'd almost finished my portion by the time he gingerly took the first bite. His face lightened up instantly and he proceded to devour the whole thing hungrily, chewing and moaning loudly until the last portion of grey matter was securely tucked in his stomach. By then his hunger had subsided and he was left angrily staring at the empty plate; obviously mad at himself for having enjoyed it so much.

This was as good a moment as any to breach things to him. Zombies were the lowest of the low of supernatural creatures. They were hated and looked down upon, and this was a reality he was going to have to come to terms with. Unless, of course, he opted to be mine.

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This book is so weird