Hell is round the corner

No one has known she had died, except me. I was right by her side as the cancer took her away. She was sick. Really sick. She turned yellow from the jaundice. God, she was so sick; I couldn’t stand looking at her body for much longer. It made me sick. I was there when she took her last breath; she raised her hands in the air, like she was reaching out to God. For someone to save her, and I couldn’t. I failed her. We couldn’t afford treatment anymore. So, she had to ride out the pain; she had to live with the cancer as it ate away at her. She was a smoker; she loved her cigarettes. Think she loved them more than she loved living. There’s still a lingering smell of cigarettes in the house. Her last pack is on the dresser. She smoked Virginia Slims; I loved the way they looked between her slender fingers. So delicate, so thin, so long.

God, she was gorgeous. With her long brown hair, which curled at the end. Her face looked like one from a painting. I don’t know, never been good with that artsy shit, but she was. All I know is that she looked like something out of those museums she liked going to. Can’t believe I used to bitch when she dragged me along. I can’t believe I used to whine when she insisted we go to a pottery class together. God, I was such a horrible husband. I used to make her sit with me as I hunted; I always made her really quiet. She always hated violence, but she still sat there with me. She used to cover her eyes whenever I shot something. I remember I showed her once how to skin a deer; she puked. I laughed, telling her not to be such a baby, that this is natural, the circle of life. That atleast I wasn’t cruel; I never wasted any parts of the animal. That being eaten was an honor.

I remember I tried talking her into letting me mount a deer head on the wall of our bedroom. She refused, said she’d feel like it’d be watching us every time we had sex. God, I miss being inside of her; I miss watching her shake as she came. I miss talking her through it; I miss holding her when we were done. I miss that sweet little smile on her face whenever she wanted me. I miss her tongue; it was so soft, her mouth always tasted sweet. She chewed a lot of gum; her favorite was the ones from the gumball machines. I ordered a whole lot of them from some online store for her birthday. She loved them; she gave me a big kiss when I gave them to her.

Before the cancer took over, we planned on traveling the world together. We emptied all our vacation savings for her treatment. It wasn’t enough. We were going to go to Italy together. I love Italian food; our first date was at Olive Garden. She used to tease me, saying that wasn’t real Italian food. She was so cultured, whereas I wasn’t. I was some poor boy from the country, and she was a girl from the city.

We met at a fair; I was showing off my livestock. She was there with her friends. I had never seen a girl so beautifil; when she came into the barn, it was like seeing a princess in real life. I was so nervous asking for her number; she was so clean, so well put together, whereas I was covered in dirt. But I went up to her, asked for her number, and she said yes. I was so overjoyed, told my father that I got a girl’s number. He said she must be stupid, said that I was a worthless piece of shit, and that she should’ve said no. She hated my father; she asked why I was still in contact with him. They used to get into fights at family holidays. He tried fist-fighting her once. I got in the way and punched him square in the face. After that, we weren’t invited to any more family gatherings. But I didn’t care; she was all I needed.

I’ve put parts of her in the freezer to preserve her. I cut her up; I am used to butchering things. People used to pay me to butcher their livestock; I did it when we were in need of extra money. I couldn’t eat for days after she died; I wanted to waste away, but she wouldn’t want that; she would want me to remain strong. When she was dying, she told me she wouldn’t be mad if I remarried. I started crying when she said that; I had to excuse myself from the room. I could never remarry; no woman would compare to her. While she was dying, she was still thinking of me, my happiness.

It is an honor to be eaten.

I’ve set the table with all the fancy china she insisted on buying. Never got why she wanted it so bad; we never used it. It just stayed in the cabinet, on display. Must be one of those girl things. She loved her girly things; one time I let her paint my nails when we were young. When my dad saw it, he called me a faggot. I never let her paint my nails after that. If only I knew, if only I knew that she would die of cancer, I would’ve let her paint my nails all she wanted.

The timer of the oven went off. I loved cooking for her; I wasn’t the best cook. I’d burn the food, and she would insist on eating it, with a smile on her face. She used to tell me it was delicious, and I knew she was lying. But I have been extremely careful this time not to ruin her. I made her favorite: roast and potatoes. I made it for our last anniversary. We found out she had cancer a week before.

I grab the oven mitts off the counter, turn off the oven, and open the door. God, she smells amazing; she always smelled amazing. She used to spend all her money on perfume; she had such a collection. Her signature was Chanel No.5. Said it made her smell like Marilyn Monroe.

I pull her out of the oven, and I stare at her for a long time. It is an honor to be eaten.

I set her down on the table, and I sit in her usual spot. I take the carving knife and slowly carve into the roast. Fuck, no shes not just a roast, shes my wife. I slowly carve into my wife. I take a big chunk of her and set it down on my plate. Tears start streaming down my face as I do. I need her; I need a piece of her with me, always. I dig my fork into her, and bring a piece of her up to my mouth, and take a bite. She tastes fucking delicious; I knew she would. She tastes sweet, kinda akin to pig. I can’t compare her to a pig; she tastes like her; she tastes like my wife. I chew slowly, savoring her, savoring this moment we share together. I swallow, feeling the pieces of her go down my throat. I pick up another piece of her and circle it around my lips, letting the juices paint my lips, like lip gloss. She used to wear lip gloss; I loved it, made her lips taste like cherry. I open my mouth and shove another piece of her inside. I let the piece sit on my tongue, letting it interact with my taste buds. I chew again, this time even slower. She tastes so good, so sweet, so plump, so meaty. I’ve eaten a lot of meat in my life, and nothing compares to how good she tastes. I swallow again. I pick up another piece with my fork and bring it to my lips, and start sucking on the juices. I shove it into my mouth and swallow it whole. I gag a little bit; she always insisted on cutting up my food small for me after I choked one time.

I soon finish my plate, and I sob. I sob because she is gone, but I still have plenty of her in the freezer. I will never eat her fully; her head will forever remain in my freezer. I gave it a kiss as I grabbed a chunk of her out of the freezer earlier.

To be eaten is an honor.

A/N: Got inspiration for this from a Hannibal edit lol. All my articles are named after songs; this one is by Tricky.