Tuesday, November 23, 2010

THE LADY AND THE TRAMP

The things who had once been known as Scott Knowles and Brenda Jones stooped over the weak, flailing body of their neighbor with their hands jammed into his bulbous gut, rummaging around in the ragged, stinking hole as if it were a box of toys discovered at a garage sale.  Several lumpen, slippery masses shifted between their scrabbling fingers until they each found a rope of glistening intestine.  Twin spaghetti loops unraveled from old Mr. Orr's gaping belly, and they stabbed their chipped, yellowing teeth into the slick, soft meat with ease.  They chewed their way down a conveyor belt of Mr. Orr's failing digestive tract, ignoring the bitter burn of his bile in favor of the scrumptious, melt-in-your-mouth texture of guts.

Drool frothed out at the corners of their mouths as their chompers rat-a-tat-tatted along what seemed like a never-ending noodle until their faces dipped down into the empty cavity of what was now a corpse.  With the cloying mess pressed against their heads, they consumed the last of Mr. Orr's intestines only to discover themselves face to face with each other, the final purplish-pink nub an inch between their lips.

They paused, gazing at one another with clouded, jaundiced eyes, and their mouths grazed one another around Mr. Orr's meat.  In life, both Scott and Brenda had been quite attractive, but even if they could have felt the soft, feathery sensation of their flesh meeting, it wouldn't have meant much to them now that they were undead.

Brenda moved first, biting through the skin around Scott's mouth, her teeth meeting his and scraping like fingernails on a chalkboard.  Scott watched blankly as Brenda arduously chewed her prize before swallowing it.  Strings of sundered flesh swayed around the gleaming bone where his mouth had been, and he reached for her face with long, knobby tree-branch fingers, eager for a taste.

Instead, she pushed him away and returned to Mr. Orr's body in search of a new morsel.  Scott got the idea and watched, waiting for his turn, which he suspected would never come.

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