Read Chapter I"Must stay awake..." slurred Marcus as he sleepily stirred his split-pea soup on the stove. His wife, Andrea, had left a tin of split-pea soup on the kitchen counter with a scrawly note informing Marcus that she would be home late because of a work conference, and she hoped that it would be enough food to last him till midnight.
Marcus was a tall man, a retired body builder, although his muscles had atrophied from lack of use; he was a lean albeit slightly flabby fellow. His body was smooth and white with little definition, supported on a couple of legs that looked like kitchen towel rolls. He constantly yawned as he fought to stay awake. Marcus and Andrea, once went to see a doctor about his lethargy, the doctor could find nothing wrong and dismissed the problem as a combination of laziness and malnutrition.
Marcus stirred the soup, his eyes drooping as he watched the green mush swirl psychedelically in the rusty pan. He yawned as a pearly string of drool fell from the corner of his mouth into the soup which he stirred in. "Must stay awake!" he moaned as his head wobbled to and fro as it struggled to find a point of balance upon his neck. "Fuck it!" he swore, he turned off the stove top and wandered to the living room where he collapsed face down onto the sofa.
He woke up about three hours later, he looked at the clock, one o'clock in the afternoon; he never ever bothered to look at where the minute hand was, it was too much effort. He suddenly noticed that he was lying on top of a black furry object. He leaped up, as if in slow motion. After standing and swaying for a few minutes for his head to stop spinning, it gradually became clear to him what he had been sleeping on. His most fulfilling and deepest nap ever, had been on his wife's pet and live-in lover, Mr. Braxton, the overgrown black poodle which resembled an ape rather than a canine.
Marcus stared at the dead creature which was sprawled and flattened like a cheap dollar store rug across the leather sofa. It's neck was twisted awkwardly to oneside, tongue hanging out, and eyes drawn towards an invisible void that was an eternity away. "They don't make 'em how they used to!" joked Marcus to himself. His vision was already beginning to blur, he knew that he didn't have long to act before his body would once again helplessly fall into a bottomless slumber, he had to hide Mr.Braxton's corpse before his wife returned home. After a few seconds deliberation, for he had learnt to think quickly due to his condition, he decided to cut the body up, cook it, and eat it.
Mr.Braxton was an old sinewy poodle. The kitchen knife that Marcus used to dismember the dog was bought at Mr. Patel's Dollar Mart, a nine and three quarter inch poorman's steel blade with 'made in China' proudly emblazoned on it's edge; the flimsy plastic handle was already splitting apart along the seams. He stuck the knife into the neck, he was determined to remove the head first. Just as the tip of the blade made contact and slid into the flesh, the dog suddenly sprang to life and began thrashing it's limbs about! Marcus cursed to himself, he should have known better and checked if the creature was actually dead first. Too late, he thought to himself, because the animal was now wounded, he had to finish off the job. He pulled the knife across Mr. Braxton's neck, severing the spinal cord, and the dog stopped moving.
The flurry of activity had left Marcus drained of energy. He took a succession of short rapid shallow breaths to recover from the action, his head slumped towards his chest. After a moment, he forced his head back up, and continued sawing off the dog's head. Half-an-hour later, the animal was laying in pieces on the kitchen floor. Hurriedly, Marcus turned on the oven, and haphazardly threw the lumps of flesh into it. As soon as the oven door was closed, the acrid smell of burning hair filled the room. The weakened Marcus staggered to the cabinet in the adjacent room where there were freshly laundered towels. He grabbed a bundle and crawled back on his hands and knees to the bloody kitchen floor, and dumped the clean white towels to absorb the puddle of blood. He lay upon the red towels panting and closed his eyes.
The room was full of thick billowing smoke; the smoke alarm had woken him up. He stood up and opened the door which led into the backyard. The smoke quickly vacated the room and the alarm ceased to sound. Marcus looked at his watch, twenty minutes had passed since he closed his eyes. He glanced at the split-pea soup on the stove, his stomach growled hungrily; he needed to replenish his energy before it was too late. Mr. Braxton hadn't been in the oven for very long, but Marcus's digestive tract demanded food like a spoilt child, it drove him to take the uncooked dog from the oven and put it on the kitchen table. He drew a chair and dropped himself shakily upon it. He picked up the dog's thigh, it wasn't even hot, the skin was scorched, but the flesh was only warm. He bit into it and savagely tore shreds off the bone with his teeth, chewing and swallowing as if he'd been starved for weeks.
Half-an-hour later, Marcus was mowing the lawn; he hadn't felt this much energy in a long time, not since before he met Andrea. He felt empowered, a new lease of life was surging through his veins like a lethal bolt of lightning. What remained of Mr. Braxton, or the parts which hadn't been eaten by Marcus, had been buried beneath a square patch of grass. He smiled as he mowed that patch, making sure that he stomped it down properly as he passed over it. At that moment, at the corner of his eye, he saw his next door neighbour Jason stick his head out of the window. The noise of the lawnmower was overbearingly loud so he could not hear what his neighbour was saying, Marcus waved and continued to cut the grass.
to be continued...
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