*caution* strong violence
The day it all came flooding back, the day I
remembered, I indulged in a revenge fantasy. You'd have to know me to
understand how great a departure that is from my regular, but it even caught me
by surprise. 'The Day I Remembered' may be an overstatement, since in actuality
it took many, many years of focused effort to recall it. Total recall. Hah.
That's an inside joke on my present age and patriarchal upbringing. All you
need to know about it is that I revered and emulated some horseshit ideals for
entirely too long and for no other reason than that some serious brainwashing
brushed itself up against my good natured nature to believe.
Anyway, imagine my surprise as I sat myself down and
closed my eyes, all the better to set the scene, and what a horrific scene it
was, my revenge.
You were tied to a chair uncomfortably under a naked
light bulb. You were fully clothed though, this isn't erotic, this is deadly
serious. The days of you being my hero and crush are finally, ok definitely
NOW, behind me. And Goddamn you for inserting yourself into that hardwired
primacy, you fucking motherfucker. Not your place or your call, but per the
usual that's news to you.
Back to this story, though. You're in a chair, tied
up and I decide that your face looks delicious. This is an odd thought for me
to have, because I am a squeamish carnivore. I don't enjoy the thought of
something dying, bleeding out, so that I can survive, but just at this moment I
have to admit there is nothing in this entire world that I would rather eat
than your face. So I walk up to you, and I remove your face with a knife. I am
interrupted in my flow by this question: do I render you unconscious before I
take your face or do I make you consciously endure the pain of its loss? I also
hate loud noises, not just death, so I opt to knock you out with an uppercut
that dislodges your atlas off of its axis before I take just the skin of your
face, leaving all your facial muscles intact.
I've got a skillet warmed with some grease. I take
the thin skin of your face to my cutting board and make strips, like bacon,
like pork jowl. When the temperature is right, I fry your face but make sure to
keep it tender in the middle, crispy on the edges, and guess what, it really
does kind of smell like bacon. My stomach gives a growl, just in response to
the stimulus of the odor.
You're still not conscious as I sit down across from
you with my plate. Looks like we'll be testing out the theory then: can you
remember something that happens to you while you are in a state of
semi-consciousness?
I have a strip of your face bacon in my hand and I
am about to eat it when another terrible idea interrupts my imagined vigilante
court proceedings: in order to consummate this particular revenge, I will have
to allow you, once again, into my body and then wait for you to exit my asshole
as a turd.
This is intolerable, all my pleasure at these
imagined dark deeds evaporates immediately and I open my eyes. You are not
seated across from me, and I can only pray that you still have your face. I am
suddenly swept up in a fierce heat wave, my whole body feels like it's run a
marathon on the hottest day of the summer and I am sweating profusely. Next
come the tears, from some mystery cavern I had hidden in my belly and they will
not stop, in fact they're multiplying and I am afraid that all that will be
left of me at the end of this is a dried out husk. At some point, the wondrous
machine that is my body begins to retch. I just let it, I let it all go, I'm
not even all here this is some kind of purging ritual that my body knows all
about and I'm just hanging onto it, loosely.
God, bodies. They are so ridiculously messy, just
look at all this. Where did it even come from? I mean, I look like a decent
girl, most of the time, and this is some kind of nightmare sideshow thing. I
have to remind myself to breathe.
After it all stops, after I am physically,
emotionally and spiritually exhausted, that's when I know for sure. I don't
want to eat your face or torture you or make you hurt and bleed. I just want
you to take responsibility and tell me you're sorry and mean it.
In lieu of that, I peel myself out of the muck and
take myself to the shower. The rest I'll deal with later, no thanks to you.
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