Monday, December 05, 2005

Meaty Dreams (edited and improved version to come)

A man traveled down a dimly lit hallway inside a seedy apartment building; he heard vicious hollering, a teenaged mother yelling at her baby to be silent. He travels further down the hall to the end where he lived.

Davis Inlet had been an unsuccessful concrete-truck retailer for 15 years of his life. These last few months were his downfall.

He lived life alone, hating every minutes of it. On morning, after waking up on the floor, his depression hit unusually hard. Davis sighed, “I’m so lonely.”
He ventured to the bathroom and bravely looked at himself in the mirror. Upon gazing upon desperate eyes he quickly tried to change his mood.
“Who needs a girlfriend—or friends—anyway? I have you.” He pathetically pointed to his own image. His attempt to revive his spirits sadly failed.
“Who’s pulling my chain? I’ve no one; I’m going to die alone in this Hell.” Davis turned his face from the mirror; he felt so empty he now found it difficult to see his own reflection. Travelling to the toilet to drown himself—and meaning it this time—Davis wrapped dirty arms around the porcelain. Suddenly—

“Wait a minute! I can’t only wait for people to be introduced to me; I’ve got to go out and meet them!” This sudden insight stirred up Davis’ excitement. After breakfast, he cleaned himself up and put on the best shirt in his wardrobe. Sadly it was a ridiculous mesh affair that was only in style during a time long since past. He decided that he would check out the latest hangouts and bars.

Despite optimism and charm, he failed to make any friends, let alone meet someone who would even consider dating him. Bar after bar it was complete failure. Davis, now in heartache, decided to go home to his porcelain saviour.

While walking home in failure, Davis passed a butcher shop. As he stared into his empty eyes, an idea began to amplify inside Davis’ head. He quickly rushed to the dumpster in the alleyway behind the butcher shop. While pulling out a clear plastic bag of meat scraps, he let out intense laughter.

After many hours, Davis was still hard at work on his new project. His bloodshot eyes were shining with excitement. His hair was messy and matted. His arms and hands were covered in blood from the meat. Finally, after hours of work, held together by concrete, nails and tape, there stood a shocking figure. The meat had transformed into the shape of a woman.
Dripping with sweat and blood, Davis let out a scowling laugh. “I shall love you for eternity!”

After many weeks, Davis’ new wife began to rot away. It had been three weeks since Davis had been to work, and the landlord was threatening eviction due to late rent. Food was a rare thing inside of his apartment. He basically lived on ketchup packets and single serving dairy creamers.

After a month, Davis was homeless and hungry. Struggling to feed himself he received glares of disgust because of his rotting meaty wife that he dragged everywhere he went.
Flies and maggots crawled upon the figure lying beside Davis. His frail form was pathetically lying in a dirty alleyway. Not eating caused his form to become twisted and thin. Worn, he glanced at his wife. “So, it has come down to this after all my experiences.” He placed cracked lips on his wife’s “face,” which was now a brownish-green. After slowly kissing her face, he started to take large gaping bites. He was so ravenous he didn’t realize what was happening. As the rancid flesh entered his being, it resembled the taste of gasoline.

Not long after, he lay alone, tired and disoriented. Sharp pains jabbed at his insides and burning sensations attacked his stomach wall in full force. His heart was also in pain—although a different kind of pain. He had suffered heartache from a love lost, eaten up. The Sunday Times acted as a closed casket. He lay underneath it—cold, dead and empty. People say that Davis died of a broken heart.

Others realistically agree it was food poisoning.
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