— Fiction —

Sometimes I Think about Eating You

Sometimes when we’re hanging out and I’m really hungry—and it doesn’t seem like you’re willing to stop and get food with me because you’re not exactly hungry—sometimes when that happens, I’ll admit it: I think about eating you.

While you’re telling about something that happened to you, I’m actually thinking about chewing up pieces of your body and swallowing them.

Sometimes, depending on the severity of the hunger, I imagine not even cooking you, just tearing off pieces of your body with a fork and then putting the pieces into my mouth.

I imagine the different sauces that might go good with you and I also think about if you were a sandwich which ingredients I’d incorporate. I imagine shaving the hair off your head and cooking parts of your scalp like the parts of your scalp are pieces of bacon. Or I try to sell big pieces of you to a man who runs a pita cart, so he can use you to make pitas.

I imagine myself sitting at home, microwaving some leftover you and then eating it while it’s way too hot—and doing that thing where you inhale to cool off the food (the food being you, of course).

Most of the time, when you notice I kind of have an intense look on my face, and you ask me if I’m thinking something, I just say, “No not really, just listening to you, that’s all,” and I smile to show how great it is to listen to you.

But sometimes, I think about bringing a napkin and fork and knife around with me when we hang out because I want to be able to produce them next time you ask me what I was thinking about—you know, just pull the utensils out and say, “See, I was really planning on doing it.”