Page 120 of Property of Necro
Rot cocks his head to the side, reminding me far too much of his masked brother. He smirks. It’s subdued and sweet, and it’s totally because he thinks it’s cute that I’m disgusted they compost human remains. Though I’m not sure why it matters. I mean, they do what they do. The killing and stuff. This isn’t that far-fetched.
“What do you think happens when people die?” His lip twitches. “They’re food, absorbed back into the earth. I speed up the process, and Doug uses the compost.”
“So, you’re saying the vegetables I’ve eaten here are grown in human remains?” I try not to choke on the words as my stomach turns over.
“Not remains,” Rot corrects like a scientist. “Compost. I grind the bones I can’t sell, and the organs break down pretty quickly.”
“What kind of organs?”
“Epidermis, mostly.”
I pull a face. I can’t help it. “So, skin,” I reply, not the least impressed by his use of anatomical words. That doesn’t change the fact that I ate vegetables grown in human remains. In epidermis. Bleck. Just say the word. Skin. It’s skin. Skin that he flayed off thebone. A skin suit that Buffalo Bill would get hard for. Gross. Can you imagine the layers of fat stewing in the compost bin? Gross. Gross. Triple gross. You’ve seen some of the guys they kill. They’re big dudes.
Wait.
Oh. No.
No.
No.
Fuck.
Does that mean we’re eating neo-Nazi vegetables?
Holding my stomach, I gag.
We are.
Rapist, pedophile, racist, misogynistic, vegetables.
Ew.
I should not ask questions. This is something I could live without knowing for the rest of my life. I’ll never look at a carrot the same again.
“Don’t look at me like that, Red.” Rot chuckles, far too entertained by my strife. “Humans are animals, too. A wise hunter doesn’t let any part of a deer go to waste. Why should this be any different?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t thought much about it. I try not to think about it, actually. Knowing what you guys do and dissecting how it’s done are two very different things,” I lament.
“Well, you’re never leaving again, so you might as well ask the questions and think about the shit, because it’s part of your life now. For good.”
“Oh. It is. Is it?” I challenge.
“We saw how sad you were. We know you missed us, too. Don’t play.”
“I’m not.” I did miss them. All day. Every day.
“Good. Now we gotta figure out how to handle this asshole before he does something idiotic and kills himself.” The dark-haired hottie thumbs to the screens, where Necro continues to paint.
“Is he really suicidal?”
Rot hums as a wave of sadness washes over his features. “I can’t tell you what happened to Necro. That’s his place. But he was born to be disposable. He doesn’t think he’s worthy of happiness or living a normal life unless it’s to serve a purpose. A path. Every time he sins, he punishes himself.”
“The concept of sinning is a construct to make people obey. It’s not real,” I volley, hating that Necro lives with such pain, that he’d want to die because of it, when he has so much to live for.
“It is to the believer,” Rot says, and he’s right.
“So, this is religious indoctrination?”
