The Bone Cutter

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Inanis's POV

I hate food, in fact, if I could never eat again, I would do that. I would never eat again because eating is ridiculously tedious, and because you never know what is in the food you eat. There are chemicals in vegetables, and chemicals in meat. I enjoy the act of killing but eating the kill makes me want to commit genocide. It just feels wrong. You kill for the thrill, not for the gluttonous indulgence, it's not right.  

There are heaps of flesh on my plate, and I stare at it wondering what the animal was contaminated with. Just how much of animal is this mass of flesh? How much of it is animal and how much of it is chemicals? What chemicals? It is an endless equation, with what occurrence made this creature taste and look the way it is presented on my plate? I hate not knowing, and yet I'm always questioning. My whole life I just question and ask and wonder, and I'm never going to know truth.

I don't care about animals, I don't care about life or the moral aspect of veganism, but I can't, with dignity, eat something that once lived. It's hypocritical to my profession. It's a sign of weakness. A killer should not kill to eat, that defeats the purpose of killing with no purpose.

I picture the meat covered in worms and maggots, which would inevitably be its future, and I feel the maggots on my skin, because inevitably that is my future as well.

It is all a wonder.

I glance up and see the President, and the First Lady sitting across from me. They are eating in silence, not bothering to be socially polite. Mirea sits beside me, clearly as uncomfortable as I am, but most likely for different reasons.

I have conjured multiple different conversations in my head, but I don't bother actually committing to them because I know that if I were to speak now, and then get distracted, they would notice, because I'm bored and because I am a weakling who was too afraid to take the medication this morning.

Mirea kicks my leg subtly from underneath the table, which gathers my attention for the moment. She nods to my plate, telling me to eat. I don't know how to tell her I'd rather die.

I look around the room without any control of where my eyes land. I don't know what I'm doing, only that every piece of furniture, every color, every themed choice distracts me, and I hate it. There is a large stone vase sitting against the wall underneath a picture of some boring flatland, and I stare at the vase and imagine myself hitting someone with it. I can feel the blood and gore splatter on me, and the shocked face of my wife looking at me in disapproval and horror.

My wife. I glance over at Mirea, my mind now focused entirely on her. She looks uncomfortable tonight, but I know that is because of her humane morals that bother her as she is eating with the woman she is going to murder in five days. I stare at her dress, it was supposed to fit her perfectly, to show off every curve that she has, but she has no curves anymore. She barely eats, she's losing weight, and something is wrong, and I can't help but think it's because she is miserable living with me. I don't know how to fix that; how can I fix that? I try to buy her things, but she gets angry, and when I try to compliment her, she insults me, and tells me to go away. I enjoy her insults, I always have, but I cannot stand the fact that she cannot stand me.

I sigh, which garners me an annoyed look from Mirea, but I ignore her. "I would say this is an immaculate dinner, but that would be lying, and I'm only a liar when it's fun." I push my plate a few inches away from me. Every inch I am away from the abomination that they served me, the better I could breathe. "I'm eager to get the hell out of here, and I'm sure the both of you are eager for me leave too. I hope that you enjoyed your last dinner with me before I bathe myself in your blood."