1. Outside the Window: What’s the weather outside your window doing right now? If that’s not inspiring, what’s the weather like somewhere you wish you could be?
Trigger Warning: Death/Gore
It was dark. No moon in the sky.
Rain from the last few nights has led up. It seemed to be coming down in sprinkles instead of the short, harsh pour we had at the time.
Remembering it now, the rain came unexpectedly that day and caused the neighborhood children to rush out with their raincoats and rain boots that afternoon. They seemed to like the rain as it hardly ever rains around these parts. The children were typically cooped up in their homes on their television sets. But this time, they were out wanting to enjoy themselves. After all, it is rare to be out in the rain.
That evening, there was a knock on my door.
I opened it to find a child with an orange jacket that seemed two sizes too big.
“Could you please help me get my ball?”
I did not understand what the little boy meant. We stood in silence, and he repeated himself with his voice shaking this time, “Could you please help me get my ball?”
He pointed at the side fence that led to my backyard, and it came to my understanding that he needed to go back there for his ball.
I looked over to the street and saw no other person in sight. He seemed to be playing alone.
I nodded, and he gave a slightly nervous smile and started for the fence gate.
I motioned for him to come through the front door.
He looked worried and started for the door instead. He was a small thing, no more than six years old. I have seen him from time to time but never had the chance to see him up close. He was small, but I was not stingy.
I remember that day was the last day people heard from him. Since then, there has been an uproar in the community trying to find the boy.
They have looked everywhere for this boy, and no one seemed to find the answer to where he could have gone. There was no question if he were alive. There were flyers about, and the news covered his story for ages, and yet, no one seemed to have any leads. People from the community were getting worried.
The rain poured down hard those few days; it was perfect.
Before, it was my pets. It was an odd obsession, but I did enjoy them. I was getting over the fear at first. It ensured I could get through the initial thought that I was actually doing it. The bones I kept as trophies in my backyard, and I would bury the rest I did not eat. I was sentimental that way.
It started with the cat that kept me company as I liked to live alone. The cat was a bit annoying, actually. The cat would pee in hard-to-reach places, and I could never get the stench out. It was little things at first that made him so annoying. The way the cat would bring half-eaten little creatures and have them in my shoes or on my doorstep as gifts. The last straw was when he dropped a dead bird on my kitchen table one afternoon. It was not the usual thing the cat did. It was odd to see the bird lying motionless next to my food. The bird was his food, not mine.
The thought of what was food and what was not food was on my mind all day that day. By the afternoon, I was unsure why cats were not editable. What made that taboo? Why am I not allowed to eat something that was so obtainable?
The cat was lying on the windowsill, watching the rain hit the glass when I decided I wanted to eat him.
It did not take me long to grab hold of his neck and slice it open with the box cutter. It was a struggle to keep him down as he thrashed about, getting blood all over my living room floor.
I skinned and cooked him for dinner that night.
I saved his bones and made a garden ornament out of them for my vegetable garden and buried the rest I did not eat next to my tomatoes.
Very soon after, I got another cat. A rabbit. Another cat. One of the chickens from the farm a few miles down. A dog came into the mix. I would keep the animals until the day it rained, and I made new dishes out of whatever pet I had disposable.
The rainy days were the best to do the deed. Everyone was inside, no one was out and about, and the sounds were muffled through the downpour. It was easier to clean the mess outside as the rain washed away all the chaos.
No one could hear the struggle.
No one could hear the screeches and yelps.
I soon knew I would be tired of the dogs and rabbits I would bring home. I yearned to try something new. I wanted to taste the purest meat. A meat most forbidden.
And it came straight to my door that late afternoon.
I have yet to find another like it. I keep a few cut-up pieces of the boy in my freezer for special occasions like tonight.
It is raining like it was a few months ago when I chopped up the boy and I dare say I would like more.
It tasted better than anything I ever had before.
The hardest part was making sure there was nothing left of him recognizable to anyone.
I found out how to make his orange raincoat into reusable bowl covers on the internet and use them after I finish eating and have to put away the left overs. They work really well, the reheated left overs taste just as good as the day I first made them.
Looking out the window now, I see others in colored raincoats bigger than the last one.
The question now is, how do I do it? How can I get one to come to me?
Thank you for reading my short story!
I have started to write short stories from creative writing prompts with a dark twist.
The ‘365 Creative Writing Prompts’ by Chelle Stein can be found here.
I am a freelance writer who does not make a lot, and if you could offer any amount of support to get me started on my journey, it would really help me in more ways than you could ever believe. I am trying to finish school while doing something I love to do!
I appreciate your generosity and plan to pay it forward.