Cannibal.

[C_R]

This is chapter 4 from a short story I've been writing to keep myself occupied.

I awoke.

I lay there in bed, a while. I hadn't had the patience nor the time to replace the covers before I'd gone to sleep. Everything was white around me, the sun shone through the gaps in the curtains.
The light illuminated a small flower on the wallpaper, Her choice. If it had been up to me, this house would have reflected what I felt. What I wanted. No. It was always about Her.

I sat up in bed, on my elbows first, then with my back against the wall. I sat back, and sighed.
I blinked hard once, then twice, wiped my eyes of the yellow mucus, the residue of dreams.
The residue of thoughts and fears. Nightmares and fairy tales.
I licked my gums, my teeth felt rugged. They needed to be cleaned.
My tongue felt hard with mouth felt. Dry.
I longed to taste her meat again.

I flung my legs over the left side of the bed, and straightened myself up.
I thought of what to do first. I still had the tent to check on, to make sure that the grass had taken to the soil at least a little during the night.
I would have to check the tent first thing. But.. what if someone saw me?
What if someone suspected me of doing something strange? I mean.. a tent, in a back garden.. it just doesn't happen often. Perhaps if I played it off a little..
The idea seemed good to me, everyone in the neighbourhood knew me as a working man. A nice guy. I think, they think I'm kinda quiet. No, that's only Barbara Denning, over the road, she's the only one disillusioned enough to think and feel the complete opposite to everyone else. Stubborn cunt.

I decided to go with my initial idea. It could well have been what stood between me and Barbara's sour suspicions.
I made my way to the wardrobe, and pulled out a respectable looking pair of Levi's. I went to the dresser drawers, and pulled out some boxers, socks, and a plain black T-shirt. I began to dress myself, as slowly as I could, my hands were shaking slightly. Enough to make me jerk.

I was fully dressed, and crossed the bedroom, through the hallway and into the front room. I made myself a coffee, crossed the living room, and opened a door on the far side of the room. I descended the stairs into the basement, turning on the light as I reached the last stair. I crossed the cold cement to the freezer. I really should have gotten some carpet in there. Still, I loved the atmosphere. This could become my chamber.. a torture chamber. Oh fuck me, my mind was going faster than me.

I opened the freezer, and stared into the meat.
Everything was just the same as it was when I had packed it in.
I reached out, and started digging through the bags of contained flesh. I took grip of the last of Her right thigh, and pulled it free, it slipped away easily from the other bags.
I cradled it in my arms a moment, then placed it back where it had been. I knew what it was I came for, and it wasn't anything to do with Her. I looked for the girl's heart. I found it, it was so beautiful in the soft glow of the freezer light. Unlike the florescent lighting in the morgue.
I took the heart from it's small compartment in the freezer, and drew it to my chest. I could almost feel the vibrations on my thumb, as my heartbeat became a solid, boulder bang in my chest. A collective stampede of blood cells, pumping through every tube in my heart.

I closed the freezer door.
My breathing had sustained to a proper in and out. I made my way back the way I came, across the room. I would wait until I reach the top stair to turn out the light, for the dark was my enemy too. I turned the switch, and closed the door tight behind me.
I stood at my station a moment, watching the living room, waking up more and more. My mind becoming more receptive.

In the kitchen I opened the bag containing the morgue girl's heart. I placed it on my slab, carefully. I stood there, watching it lifelessly stain the slab a frozen crimson. Unlike the way She stained the sheets, She had been alive.
My scalpel lay on the drying rack, I selected it and drew it to the bundle of muscle.
I began carving into it. Slowly and firmly. I wanted this to be a breakfast to remember.

[Sonya]

I will just share some thoughts and risk offending you. I am not the best writer, but I have known some darn good ones and read quite a few sick short stories and learned a few things.

You are focused on the words and not the message. Forget the filler (and we both know you are using lots of filler). Get out of first person (go third person, first person only allows the thoughts of the main character, you would be best going third person so you can describe any darn thing you like, the thoughts of the victims, the neighbor, or just out of the blue descriptions not attached to anyone in particular).

You have ideas in your head that created this story, your task as a writer is to take those ideas and make the READER FEEL/EXPERIENCE/LIVE your story. Always focus on how the reader will perceive the story, the goal is to make them forget they are reading and become immersed. Anything that sounds stiff or contrived pulls them out of the fantasy and makes them think “oh I am reading a story”.

Every line, every paragraph should have a meaning.

What do you want them to feel when that freezer opens? Scared? Sickened? Turned on? Horrified? Hungry? Don’t tell them what to feel, use your words to show them your vision and MAKE them feel that way. You don't have to choose just one, you can mix them up just make sure you are relaying a clear picture.

It is about passion, and anyone that writes cannibal stories has passion. You can be a good writer, you obviously have some brilliant and twisted ideas, just relax and focus on painting the picture instead of the text.

[MAXIMILIANO]

Very good..

[LauraDanzig]

the format made it hard to read, the sentences didnt really seem to connect and there was a lack of detail.


(not an insult, just a constructive tip)