Just one teeny, tiny bite—that wouldn’t be so bad, would it?
Jenny’s arm dangles limply over the porcelain edge of the tub, the water that once dripped from her fingers long since dried up. The rest of her body lies crumpled in on itself inside the tub. A fly buzzes in lazy circles around her hair.
Jenny has been dead for three days. She slipped and fell in the shower. I had been sitting on the couch, waiting for her to get out so we could watch a movie. But she never came.
I’ve tried leaving, of course. But every time I go for the door something stops me. Outside, the wind howls like a thing from hell. Strange, terrible sounds join it in a fiendish cacophony. Yowling dogs, shouting men, people stampeding like beasts. I want to leave but fear paralyzes me. I haven’t been outside in so long…
I’ve tried calling for help, too. I sit by the front door and scream my head off, but everyone ignores me. I hear our neighbors pass by with their dogs, but none of them stop.
When Jenny was alive—how strange that feels to say—she took care of the shopping. Each week, she made a trip to the grocery store and came home with bags and bags of food and anything else we needed. Why would I ever have to leave?
I tried other food sources first. I raided the pantry, ripping into boxes of Cheez-Its and potato chips, old tins of food, uncooked pasta—I even found a can of tuna. Oh, how glorious that was, while it lasted. But now there is nothing left.
If I could just eat a little bit of her. Maybe gnaw on her fingertips, or peel away the top layer of flesh from her neck, I think I would be satiated. I’ve never known hunger like this before. Like my belly has been hollowed out from the inside. Involuntarily, I lick my lips. I reach out my tongue and lick her cool skin. I shudder with the sensation of it, the taste. I go in for a bite.
Time bends as I eat, the ravenousness inside taking over. I become like an animal, biting and tearing through flesh, blood dripping down my chin. Nothing has ever tasted sweeter. I’m so absorbed in my meal I almost don’t hear the men breaking into the apartment.
In a panic, I run and hide under the bed. My heart is thudding against my chest like a wild rabbit. What will they do with me once they see what I’ve done?
Someone must have noticed when Jenny didn’t come into work. I watch their boots as they stomp around the apartment, searching for her. They go inside the bathroom. I hear gasping, the horror and disgust in their voices at the mess inside.
One of them spots me, bending down to my hiding spot under the bed.
“Here kitty, kitty,” he says, holding out his hand.
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