*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.