The following is a short piece about a short piece. Dark culinary fiction, flash fried for your consumption convenience. Written on the 22nd April 2017.
“À La Carte”
She couldn’t go through with it and shot herself shortly after leaving the room. Eventually, the drugs wore off and I could feel again. The pain of having the top of one’s skull removed with a hacksaw is indescribable. Alone then, I vowed to finish the job we’d agreed to start.
Luckily, the scalpel was still on the tray before me. I doubt I could have stood up and walked far to fetch it anyway, I was feeling rather ill. I picked it up and felt along the slick contours and ridges of my exposed brain. It didn’t feel as I’d expected it would. “Gelatinous” was the word we’d used. That would be the wrong word. It also didn’t hurt. Well, not directly at least. So I plunged the blade in like it was a baked potato.
I cut for maybe a minute, careful not to go too deep – we’d decided earlier that anything more than an inch and a half would probably kill me before we had a chance to eat. The ease with which I filleted my own brain into a neat and chunky cutlet was quite surprising to me, I imagine Janey would have felt the same way.
Next I dropped the grey sliver into the frying pan, preheated and sitting just beside the table. I let it sizzle for a few minutes. Sure, I wanted to cook it longer but I was feeling more and more faint with each passing moment. I fried it on both sides, no seasoning, just as we’d discussed.
Human brain, it smells nice. Cannibalism, sounds less so. But we’d always wanted to try it. I put the morsel in my mouth and chewed. I didn’t like it. I ate it anyway and then had another mouthful. The second one was for Janey.
I wonder now as I recline in my chair, what will they think when they find us? If they’re not too late they might even still catch the smell. That’ll be something interesting for them, at least.