Processed Meat

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
Just an average family having an average dinner.

Submitted: August 04, 2016

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Submitted: August 04, 2016

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“This meat isn’t as nice as the last bunch we had.”

 

Nicki looked over to her husband, who was sat in his favourite chair in the corner.

 

“Yeah, this one seems more fatty,” her husband of twenty six years, Mark, agreed as he cut into the large slab of meat on his plate.

 

It was the typical kind of dinner time in the household, the two sat in the living room together with the television sat in the corner quietly playing the news to an audience only half paying attention as they ate their home cooked meal.

 

Mark fixed his eyes back onto the screen, just as the news reader began to recite a report about new testing procedures that had been recently approved to help the production of high quality meat.

 

“I heard about this on the radio at work,” he commented casually.

 

His wife glanced over with an amused smile and slight roll of her eyes, this seemed to have become a regular phrase from him over the past few months.

 

“Yeah, I know,” he laughed at the look. “But they were saying how the probing process will be able to tell us the statistics of the meat better.”

 

“Really? Like what?”

 

“Well before, as you know, they could only tell us about the age range, location of pick up and general health,” Mark began, moving his cutlery around in his typical animated fashion as he spoke between mouthfuls of his food. “But now they can tell you things such as how healthy the new picks up are, which parts would be best used and disposed and the most important part,” he smiled as he pushed himself up further in his seat, “If they were drinkers or smokers.”

 

“Oh, that’d be cool,” Nicki smiled at her husband with a small nod, “We know first hand that a drinker isn’t the best kind of meat you can have.”

 

Mark let out a small chuckle at the memory of the time they’d accidentally bought a packet of tainted meat.

 

“Yeah, well now it’ll be avoidable.”

 

“About time, but no doubt all this new equipment will raise the prices of food.”

 

“Like they need a reason to raise prices, they do anyway,” he rolled his eyes.

 

On the TV screen they showed short clips of humans being rounded into small pens, on the side of their hips were small numbers burnt into the flesh, some were black and scabbed over whilst others looked red and still fresh.

 

There were short shots of humans of all sizes and races during the typical feeding time on a farm, many looking panicked and pleading, the newbies were the ones crying for their freedom after being taken from their home where humans ruled.

 

They’d learn to stop over time.

 

The small chit chat died down as they continued eating, the news switching stories as the anthromorphic tiger newswoman once again read out the details of the latest headlines.

 

“Well that was good,” Mark smiled, a large clawed hand patting his stomach. “Stick a fork in me, I’m done.”

 

“You liked it?” Nicki asked with a brief glance over, her large tail wagging behind her against the sofa cushions.

 

“I did,” he nodded whilst getting up from his comfortable chair.

 

“Good.”

 

“It was great for our anniversary meal,” he smiled lovingly at his wife, in a way only a husband could smile, before leaving to put his plate down in the kitchen and start the washing up.

 

“Love you in there,” he called from his place at the sink.

 

“Love you too,” Nicki replied fondly.

 

Even after twenty six years, they still meant it with all their hearts.


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