Rare for My Beast, Please

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic
A man has a flashback to when he discovers what kind of man he will be.

P.S. A short story I wrote for a creative writing class.

Submitted: September 28, 2009

A A A | A A A

Submitted: September 28, 2009



Slicing into the steak, I marveled at how easily it cut.The wonderfully red juice leaked out with every touch of the knife.The rare steak screamed at me to eat it, I complied and slipped a piece into my mouth.The euphoria of the tender meat made me groan with pleasure, a slightly smoky taste, though not overtaking the natural meaty taste.
To me, rare steak, or any rare meat is my ultimate favorite item to eat.A little curious, I know, but people I know have grown accustomed to it.Though I don’t know many people anymore—I’ve become quite the recluse.I think it may have been because, when my parents found me, I was teething on a piece of raw venison.So, apparently it started young.They never tried to stop my habit, though I’ve no doubt it used to bother them on occasion.Once, I tried to quit (after a terrible ordeal), but that obviously didn’t happen.In fact, I’ll visit that memory, but only briefly, and never again.
Like any normal teenage boy, I ate a lot.Though unlike normal boys, I only wanted meat.Red, raw meat.Though any sensible parent would never allow the consumption of raw meat; so I dealt with mine being slightly cooked.
So this is how life went, I was fed partially cooked red meat, and I went along happily.Until, one day, I watched an athlete run by, and I thought about how muscular they must be—with the rare trace of fat.On steak, this would’ve been perfect.Sure, fat’s supposed to be good for you, but the muscle’s the tastier part.So with that in mind, I thought about how wonderful that athlete would taste.It took me a moment to realize what I’d just thought, I was shocked by myself.How could I do that?I was a human, having the thoughts of some carnivore.I shook my head vigorously, hoping I might be able to shake out those ideas.
My head shaking only worked for a week.I began to get hungry just by looking at a classmate.Classes were absolute torture.When I got home, I would always go straight to the kitchen to soothe this savage, this disgusting beast inside me.
I didn’t dare mention it to my parents, and certainly not friends.I wasn’t going to risk being called weird (well, weirder), or sent to some doctor.No, I would cure myself.
I went to the public library nearly every day now—with a wonderful meaty snack of course—trying to find something to tell me what was wrong.I did find something, and I didn’t like it; I immediately shoved that possibility away.I mean, who would accept that they’re a cannibal?
One day, while trudging home from the library with no successions, I passed by an alley and heard a moan.Normally I try not to pay attention, in the city you never know what to trust.This time, feeling Samaritan-like, I stopped and turned towards the alley.What with the evening lighting, I had to squint to see inside.There was a man lying on his back, clutching his side, his coat and suitcase dashed about him.
I cautiously stepped into the alley, and slowly closer to the man.In closer range, I saw that his hand was covered with blood—he must have been trying to staunch the wound on his side.In the moment I saw his blood and torn flesh, I felt my beast stand to attention.From what I could see, he wasn’t obese or skin and bones.The high point (according to this thing in me) was that he was probably nearly dead.It would be ages before he was found, the area was normally vacated.So it wouldn’t matter too much if just little bite was taken, just one nibble.
The monster stepped closer to the poor man, and I watched in horror.I couldn’t let this happen.I screamed at the monster, myself.
The screaming seemed to catch the man’s attention, he waved his arm feebly.I shook my head and stepped back.If I stayed near him, I’d lose myself and he’d lose any chance he had.So as I pulled myself away from the temptation, and silencing the beast, I shakily pulled out my phone.I called 911, and started home again.This time I ran, and never looked back.
So, you can see why I tried to stop my eating meat.That terrible experience should’ve done it, but it’s fixated in me.I’ll never get rid of it.
I’ve always been careful since then.Even now, I live alone, with no neighbors.I see my parents on occasion, and of course there’s work; but I don’t socialize.And I don’t allow any bleeders to come near me.I save them and me by calling for help on first sighting.Though my beast does offer me the choice sometimes, it’s awful hard not to take it.

© Copyright 2018 Roxy Bodurtha. All rights reserved.

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