Page 76 of Morsel

I fist his ponytail. “She’s all mine now.”

Then I shove his head into the hopper and keep him in place. His body convulses, fighting back, and he screams. Oh, fuck, he screams like it’ll save him, and it’s good, so fucking good, that my entire body buzzes with pleasure. I press him in farther, to the shoulders, then the chest, shoving him in deep enough that he actually hits the blades. The pressure mounts, and I press my entire weight against him?—

The machine stops.

His bones or hair must’ve gotten caught in the plates.

I crack my neck. This is irritating.

Then I realize Artemis is quiet too, and those annoyances float away.

I pull on his torso, but it doesn’t budge. His body is stuck in the machine. I wrap my arms around his stomach, then wrench the corpse with all of my might until we both tumble back, smacking down the steps to the ground. The wind is knocked from my lungs, and I wheeze, my body instantly sore everywhere.

Once I catch my breath, I sit up, and I see it.

Artemis’s hair is disheveled, resembling a bird’s nest, but the ponytail keeps his hair together. Blood drips down his face, and the top corner of Artemis’s forehead is gone, the grayish-brown glossy surface of his brain exposed. His blank eyes stare straight ahead, no longer able to see anything.

I sway, dizzy with giddiness. After every time he tried to fuck with me, after every time he doubted me, after every time he tried to take what was mine, the world is right again.

Artemis is dead.

After stripping the corpse naked, I hastily cut off parts of his calf and thighs—the thickest parts of his body—and I even cut off his dick.

I also power down the grinder. It takes a few minutes to carefully clean the machine. Soon, it whirs with purpose again, and I add the chunks of his body into the hopper. Pride finds its way into my chest, puffing me up to my true size. Artemis doubted me, and now, he’s where he belongs.

Mona probably still doubts me. That won’t last much longer though.

I text Jerry a simple Hey before I go back to storing the ground meat in a container. I need to work quickly before Mona notices her husband is missing.

Two handfuls of meat later, my phone buzzes.

What’s up, man? Jerry sends.

My gloved fingers slide over the screen, slippery with blood and mangled flesh. The words are visible through the thin, pink liquid. I need a favor at the plant, I type. Is the supervisor there? Can you let me in?

The asshole is on vacation, he sends. Head this way.

Another hour passes. I work fast. I dismember the rest of the body, store the ground meat, destroy the idiot’s phone, bury the pieces, and collect the rest of the incriminating evidence. I even take a shower.

Finally, I head over to meet Jerry.

I park at the back entrance of the processing plant. Several black, heavy-duty garbage bags dangle from my fists. Smaller chunks make for easier disposal, and these garbage bags are top-notch. No leaks. No weaknesses. They’re small in size, but they’re heavier than you’d think. Human flesh is dense, I guess.

Jerry waves me inside, then wrinkles his nose at the bags. “What is it?”

“I bought extra offal from the butcher, and it went bad.” I shrug my shoulders. “I gotta get rid of it.”

“I thought it’s better when it ferments? Those side effects, right?”

“Not this batch.”

Jerry nods, then clears his throat. I clench my teeth. There’s an uneasiness on his face as he studies me, like he suspects something is wrong.

“Are you okay, man?” he asks. “You look like you’re high or something.”

I can’t help it; I beam at him. Even an unassuming person like Jerry can see the adrenaline working magic in my veins, the power growing inside of me, spreading through me like a miracle food.

“Nah,” I say. “I’m just finally getting the life I’ve always wanted.”

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