The Reserved dinner is placed in a captivating town. Expecting the tourism routed path. Set on foot several stragglers making it to the checkpoint. Taking all they could carry had nothing to being expected; as arrived. They were safe and let about their travel and expectations. Further details are informed committed to later details to further their accommodations. The director had passed unconcience the one and only holding further case of the planned escape. Clutched in hand and arms finding the visible encounter blaring and unaware of who they are expecting. Walking toward the counter in line person per customer. Given the greeting and a sense of torture held their breath. Getting past the first checkpoint, going against odds. Their grocery bags set along cleared counter space. Working on a late snack that can nourish their hunger. Making silence saving their breath of half to death misery. Staying quite while the door resumed a peering of who named faced could make of what can be explained. With the handover gesture giving a warm soup a welcome to your inlet and stay. A warm bath sounding exotic. The already furnished design would be restful. Reading near dark hours a quiet silent type of activity. Disturbed sleep was often from trauma of tiredness. Instant waking to a daily schedule had in mind the minded blown riff. And planning the escape by being captivated while a travel made by tourism agents. Unknowing they even made it to their accommodations. Unexplained planned off turn route to find their self disappearing leaving least unfriendly encounter of delusional voices. Unheard to everyone looked the same angry half-eaten breakfasts. Holding on to their hope nothing seemed to be communicating with them. All they catch up being seen to team up. They did pick up a few hikers going their way. Knowing they will be separated and held against their willing ability. And to study what would be critical to find themselves drawing apart; separated and going against each other. The negative insult, the crazed laugh manic ongoing about "let's get dinner started" Hung cage-like for captured animals feeding dwells for nourishing times to keep them awake. Noticing they can all be the same; looking grungy and savage torn and tattered faces and hair. making all sound hysterical to what they really are. Now the under greeting breath would leave the unconcience waking up being descriptive and told how time changes the status of how he appeared. His satchel sat perched in their backpack. Inspired by his own plans and hope to find his friends. Miserable to find hope still. Being taunted about how they will find their way out of here. The look of fresh hooved stature and figure. Keeps them hung drifting slowly draining their strength from their over heated life. Making sipping and weak voices someone drinking out of their souvenir cup. The footsteps slowed talking to in normal conversation ability. Hearing of trophes and stories ever needed to be heard again and again. So proud til this say and bloody sport breath. Unending making motivational speech and slurs and howls. His eye lids blinking and a diving hit to his head. Foot dragging behind him, dragging him away and he lay inside a darkend room. When he wakes they will find him and doing guess work of his movement. Maybe they have a warm heart and could just be mean. A sense of out going lights droning noises and lack of movement. Door jeering shut will never be opened he senses panick ridden in this room he will be in gone and ignored.

Sleep was lousy thing to do. Working off energy and keep picking at the edibles. Imagine to be freed and making tortuous attempts to be found again and again. Some never had left had hope to die. These given sacrifices to the only living to survive past. Hinges torn and antique looked rusted and over used to sit to glare at their immaculent scene. Over looking the dock and boats. The peaceful way to never go and struggle into down river heels and survive at their opposing techniques. The beauty of it all the falling branches and ingrown flowers brushing a path freely expressions for air and exercise. Baker and Grill neatly placed and used over and over. Hearty fault used menus by ongoing traffic stopping to catch up on the warmed brew of coffee and talk. Good fellow talk stoppers stammer sometimes and fall into tears of who they were. Going against their wishes ongoing about their own life to sacrifice. Sometimes they had it all. And still seek into their opportunity by skill and enough work to keep them and busy making it in life. The nonstop will never be seen and for it all became and sat unknowing of everything else in a better place. Serving customers is a must and keeping their home a place of their own. No one to change their music or their pace ongoing pages go blurr and give up into their fright and nightmares that wont go treated and hesitate all else to give any warm wishes to keep strong and going on how they will be finished. Its manic to see what life they had been to be understood unfairly and keeping their way hearty. To be understood is underestimated. Males keep their path haunted and hard to falsify and protected. Hunting and camping news to most set unidentified trails to keep their grill going. Nothing could ever go wrong. Men kept their warm gloves and coats as if keeping what is so important to them with them and never can feel their warmth. And ever has any food became a sense of living which their biggest wish came true. They won't change from leaving their old boots for what they really deserve and kept everything to their hearts and above their belt. They had lost all what their from and have been successful to prove what their ontaking hearts can be. Proving the nightmarish theme may their wishes go as planned. They have everything to lose and kept their bedside their place of unknown rest. Set off foot a travler might seem captive any unreality making his protruding thoughts more real. When tampered and found something hassled of theirs things go wrong and overturn this world upside down. They will never be happy and are tired of it all. "It always goes to hell" They can never do nothing and to prove they all had it coming. The End of the world suffers from it all will never cease, the blaring signals and death ill related to be again and again. Overall road kill hazards win over a look over again given another chance to breath. To keep trying to look normal hearsay to break the whitenoise and waking lights. Set along paths to deny any of it will go away. We mean no harm or scare. The least bidden is nighmarish to this world. Comfort of attraction and inset ongoing. Keeping interests in difference. Nothing can be retained to remain. The many interests set upon denial and deserve the worsened pattern. Going against many wishes living without any air are light breaking through walls. The tiring wails and cries paned the walls. Bloody walls covered in death sequenced many deaths. Anything was sacrificed not a wink; not a breath, or a drop of life detected. Needing interaction and truth of life and set in a difference paths lit for ongoing capture. Coaxed and ridden by lurking offensive welcome. Made to hesitate overall given to prove any claw markings engraved floors or wisps of lifetakings. Breaks my breath of what is not even spoken.

I had known since puberty about the insatiable hunger that resides inside my body. The hunger had followed me from infancy, slowly growing- trying to find its escape. I had grown to a dark brown hue, spotted in milky patterns and had decided that I would not allow this mysterious hunger to control me. I allowed myself to go to school, gave myself space for friends and relationships. But as I sit on these green sheets across from her, I can feel the hunger well up inside my stomach. Her midnight locks spring forward as she blurts the next question. “Okay how bout Aerosmith or Cyndi Lauper?” her smell became intoxicating as she leaned forward, waiting for the response. I couldn’t help but pause and stare at the scene infront of me, the landscape of pale milky skin, dotted in moles and freckles. Starry had been my best friend for years, but as my hunger changed, so did our relationship. Her tank top strap had come loose, exposing her naked shoulder to me. I look down at her hand and take it into mine. The sun had set ages ago, and I wondered why I hadn’t left with the sun. I absorb myself into the contrast of our skin, the neapolitan mixes of browns and whites and pinks. “Do you wanna kiss?” she says bluntly The question leaves spots of heat across my face, my eyes sprint to hers in shock. She’s smirking and there’s touches of teasing and a huge fire of desire in her huge hazel eyes. Sensing no sign of embarrassment, mine shrivels away and I smirk back at her, unable to identify whether the feeling leading me was lust or pure hunger. I raise my self above her, and I slowly pull a loc of her black hair behind her ear, and then slowly tracing her neck with my finger “I don’t think you know what it is that you’re asking for.” I barely recognized myself, I had become an amalgamation of all the romcom monsters I had ever seen. “I..I want it” I heard a shriveled squeak from underneath me. I had forgotten to look at the face under me. Her pale skin had turned pink, and her booming confidence had vanished from sight, leaving her behind to deal. Her eyes had grown darker and wider as they looked up at me, she seemed so docile like this. I smile and I kiss her lips gently, then remove her other strap and I kiss her shoulder, gently sinking my teeth into her- not alot but just enough. This felt necessary, although I had never done anything quite, like this. She squealed from underneath me, so I remove my teeth and look at her response, I had let myself get carried away and I had to face the face of truth. She looked melted underneath me, no sign of hate or disgust. I giggle, her brow furrows.
“Hey! I’m right here Nicole!” she pouts and crosses her arms. I notice blood coming from the spot on her shoulder, I rush to clean it, licking her blood from her reddened skin. The crimson tasted sweet and salty. I look at her in her eyes “You’re so beautiful star, I- I didn’t mean to giggle- you just changed fast” She turns an unnatural shade of red “So did you..” she whispers, head hung in shame. I kiss her forehead, explaining there was nothing wrong with how either of us replied, I tuck her in and lay beside her, glaring out the ice covered window. After moments of silence I hear a voice from the other side of the bed. “Nicole… are you still awake?” I hear her soft breathing slow as she waits for a response “Yes Starry, I’m still awake.” She flips her entire body towards me aggressively and I do the same. “Nicole.. are we still friends even after today?” she looks down in embarrassment. “Star, nothing could break us up, not even a kiss” “what about a bite?” she giggles I roll my eyes at her comment, her not knowing the weight of her comment “not even a bite” I decided from this moment on that she was mine.

Every morning, without fail, he began his day by settling into his favorite corner booth at the local coffee shop, a quaint little place adorned with rustic décor that welcomed both regulars and newcomers alike. As he sipped his steaming cup of dark roast coffee, he eagerly unfolded the pages of The Daily City Word, a publication that had captured his heart years ago. This uniquely social newspaper was born from the creative minds of a group of spirited citizens who envisioned a platform where anyone could purchase a page to express their thoughts, opinions, or stories. It quickly gained popularity, becoming a cherished staple in the community, and he found himself thoroughly enchanted by its vibrant content. Lately, he had developed a particular fondness for a section dedicated to an anonymous contributor, where an enthusiastic author shared their culinary explorations. The words of this particular writer stood out with conveying an undeniable passion for food that transcended mere recipes. With each description of dishes, he could almost feel the warmth and dedication that the cook poured into their creations. The way the author articulated the joy of savoring a well-prepared meal was captivating; every sentence dripped with a sense of nostalgia and love for the culinary arts. Reading it was like embarking on a flavorful journey, one that stirred his own memories of meals shared with loved ones and ignited a yearning to explore the delights of food once more.

July 15 A Burger Sunday
Anonymous

To all my flavor-loving friends in Cushing, it’s that glorious time of the week—Burger Sunday! Prepare yourselves; it’s time to whip up something truly delicious. Today, I have affectionately named my creation "Daniel," and it’s going to be a culinary adventure.

I usually start with the freshest meat I can find, so I’ll be grinding it myself. Once I have it ground to the perfect consistency, the next step is crucial: I’ll immerse this raw mixture in a bath of cool milk for two hours in the refrigerator. This soaking process not only tenderizes the meat but also infuses it with moisture.

After the two hours are up, I retrieve Daniel from his milky soak and begin the alchemy of flavor. I generously add minced garlic, a sprinkle of salt, freshly cracked black pepper, a hint of cayenne for heat, vibrant paprika for color, and a drizzle of rich olive oil. With careful hands, I mix everything until the spices are evenly distributed, then I return the seasoned meat back to the fridge, allowing it to rest and absorb those tantalizing flavors for several more hours.

After a rigorous five hours of yard work and cleaning—perfect for working up a hearty appetite—I’m ready to finish crafting my burger masterpiece. I pull Daniel out of the fridge, the aroma already teasing my senses, and divide the seasoned meat into four equal portions. With care, I shape each portion into a perfectly rounded patty, ready to sizzle.

Now, it’s time for the grill to work its magic. Each patty is placed onto the hot grates, where it begins to sear, creating a beautiful crust. It’s important to note that these burgers are never cooked rare; no matter the meat’s origin, they must be cooked thoroughly to ensure security. However, the careful seasoning and method I’ve used guarantee that they remain incredibly juicy and tender—even after thorough cooking.

While the patties are grilling, I prepare my buns and any toppings of choice—perhaps fresh lettuce, ripe tomatoes, crisp pickles, and a dollop of creamy mayonnaise—everything to elevate the experience.

Finally, the moment arrives to assemble the burgers. Once the patties are perfectly cooked through, I place them on the buns, ready to be devoured. The first bite is an explosion of flavor; the combination of the fragrant spices, the juiciness of the meat, and the freshness of the toppings come together in perfect harmony.

Daniel was nothing short of spectacular.

Thank you all for joining me on this savory journey; I hope you enjoy every bite!

He could almost savor the vivid way the author painted Daniel's flavors; the descriptions were so rich and enticing that they made his mouth water in anticipation. Today’s recipe was nothing short of spectacular—a delightful array of flavors that seemed to leap off the page and dance in front of him. He felt an irresistible urge to try it out himself. As he finished his steaming cup of coffee, the warmth still lingering in his hands, he found himself rereading the article for the third time, each word igniting his excitement further. With every line, he felt a deeper connection to try and he had a figure he had been observing from a distance for some time now. Until now, he hadn't even been sure what his name would be, but the author had effortlessly breathed life into that name, giving him a sense of familiarity and intrigue that beckoned him to get to work. He briefly closed his eyes, visualizing the process ahead: a two-hour soak in cold milk followed by another three hours for the spices to infuse. The thought raced through his mind—he needed to acquire meat, and it had to be fresh; nothing less than freshly ground would do. A hint of determination washed over him. With a purposeful sigh, he folded the newspaper up neatly and tucked it into his back pocket. The morning air greeted him as he stepped out of the cozy coffee shop, the mingling aromas of roasted beans and baked goods lingering in his senses. He crossed the parking lot to his truck, jumping into the slightly worn seat. The clock on the dashboard read 8:30, and he knew Daniel was on the road, making his way to work. He navigated through the familiar streets toward the alley behind Marcis Deli, a place quiet enough for his needs, yet close enough for a swift exit. Anticipation tingled in his fingertips as he plotted how to approach Daniel. Should he execute an ambush from the shadows? Opt for a casual request for a smoke? Or play innocent by pretending to have car trouble? Each scenario unfolded in his mind. The engine of Daniel's car soon broke the morning stillness. His heart raced as he saw Daniel pull up. The man stepped out of his truck with purpose, moving a few feet toward Daniel, who was still fumbling with his keys. Clearing his throat to mask the adrenaline, he called out, “Hey! Sorry to bother you, son, but do you have any jumper cables?” The words hung in the air, deceptively casual, yet loaded with intent. He got closer to Daniel. "Uh," Daniel stuttered, his voice barely above a whisper, he turned to the car and with a swift and brutal motion, the man swung a crowbar, striking Daniel squarely in the back of the neck. The impact was jarring; Daniel's body went limp and crumpled to the ground with a heavy thud. Without hesitation the man rushed down grasping Daniel under the arms and hoisting him up as if he weighed nothing. He maneuvered the unconscious boy into the back of his truck. The drive back to the farm was a brief fifteen minutes, yet it felt like an eternity as anticipation surged within him. Every shadow flickering past the window seemed to heighten his excitement, amplifying the possibilities of what lay ahead. Thoughts of Daniel filled his mind, each one more exhilarating than the last. As he drove down the familiar dirt path leading to his farm. The main house, a sturdy old structure with peeling paint and a weathered porch, was just a backdrop to the scene unfolding behind it. He steered his truck toward the far end of the property, where an old, retired slaughterhouse stood, its paint chipped and its windows dusty. This dilapidated building, once a bustling hub of activity, now served a different purpose; it had become his clandestine chop shop. He parked the truck, the engine rumbling to a stop, and took a deep breath, steeling himself for what lay ahead. With firm hands, he lifted Daniel's unconscious form from the bed of the truck and carried him inside the dimly lit slaughterhouse. The air was thick with the scent of aged metal and dried blood, remnants of its former life. He gently laid Daniel on the sturdy, blood stained, chipped butchers block. He had perfected the process over time, and now it took him only two hours to prepare a Daniel. He began with a meticulous full-body shave, ensuring every inch of skin was smooth and free of hair. After that, he gave Daniel a thorough wash, using warm water and non fragrant soap to cleanse and refresh. Once Daniel was clean, he carefully assessed each joint, methodically cutting around them and separating the limbs with precision. The entire operation was carried out with a practiced ease, showcasing his skill and attention to detail in every step. He'd debone the hands and feet and throw those to the side with the groin, those would all be blended together with other scraps for sausage later. Once the extra meat had been carefully sliced into manageable pieces, it was meticulously wrapped in plastic and sealed before being packed away into the freezer for future use. With the shop now quiet and the remnants of the butchering process tidied away, he pulled out the meat grinder, an old yet reliable tool that had seen countless cuts of meat transformed over the years. He set it up on the counter and began feeding the last of Daniel into the machine, the rhythmic grinding filling the air with an oddly satisfying sound. As the last bits of meat were ground up, he took a moment to appreciate the transformation, the texture becoming finer and more uniform. With the ground meat now ready, he shifted his focus to preparing the burgers. He stepped away from the back property, the sun shining brightly overhead, sending warm rays cascading through the trees. The main house was in sight, and he felt a sense of relief as he realized he still had plenty of time left in the day to prepare the meat. Once inside the rustic kitchen, he retrieved a large bowl and poured milk into it, watching as the creamy liquid filled the vessel. He carefully mixed in the meat to marinade. With the preparation underway, he slid off his sturdy leather boots, feeling the cool floor against his tired feet. The weight of the morning's work began to settle in his bones as he made his way to the bathroom for a long, hot shower. Standing under the steamy spray, he scrubbed vigorously, washing away the remnants of his labor—the stubborn blood from his hands—and focused on cleaning beneath his nails until they were raw yet refreshed. After his restorative shower, he changed into a clean set of clothes, the fresh fabric feeling invigorating against his skin. He stepped outside, drawn to the sound of the wind rustling through the trees as he approached the area of the fence that had been destroyed by a herd of elk just nights before. The sight of the downed fence urged him to roll up his sleeves and get to work, determined to restore its strength and integrity before the animals visited again. Between mending the weathered sections of the fence and attending to the evening chores that awaited, he finally carved out a moment to return to the kitchen. With a determined focus, he set about draining the excess milk from the freshly butchered meat, carefully letting it flow away to ensure the perfect texture for his patties. Once satisfied, he turned his attention to seasoning, reaching for the minced garlic, which he added generously to infuse the meat with its aromatic essence. He sprinkled in a precise measure of fine sea salt, followed by freshly cracked black pepper that released a bold fragrance as it hit the mixture. A touch of cayenne pepper was next, adding a subtle kick that would elevate the flavor profile. Finally, he reached for the vibrant paprika, its rich red hue promising warmth and depth to the blend. With all his ingredients assembled—spices, aromatic herbs like oregano and thyme, and various binders to hold everything together—he began the meticulous process of mixing. Each fold and knead of the meat was done with deliberate care, as he wanted to ensure the full array of flavors melded seamlessly together. He envisioned the juicy burgers that would soon take shape, their savory aroma filling the kitchen and making his mouth water in anticipation. As he worked, the promise of a culinary triumph loomed ahead, invigorating the room with the thrill of creativity and the joy of preparing a meal that would surely become the highlight of the evening. The anticipation of cooking these lovingly crafted burgers was palpable, each bite destined to provide a satisfying and memorable culinary experience. As the workday drew to a close, he eagerly prepared his coal grill for an evening of delicious burgers. He carefully arranged the charcoal, ensuring it was evenly spread and ready to ignite. Once the coals were glowing a bright orange, he reached for the beautifully seasoned patties, their savory aroma already tempting his senses. With a slow, deliberate motion, he placed each burger onto the grill, the sizzle resonating with a satisfying pop as they made contact with the hot grates. The rich, smoky scent wafted up, mingling with the lingering warmth of the afternoon sun, causing his anticipation to soar. A smile spread across his face as he admired the perfect placement of each burger, picturing the juicy, charred goodness that was about to emerge from the grill. Once the burgers reached their perfect level of doneness, he turned his attention to the buns, toasting them lightly until they were golden brown and slightly crisp on the edges. He carefully arranged an array of toppings nearby to create the ultimate burger experience. Fresh, vibrant lettuce leaves were rinsed and dried, their crispness a refreshing contrast to the juicy patties. Ripe, succulent tomatoes were sliced into thick rounds, their bright red color promising a burst of flavor. He added crunchy pickles, their tanginess providing a delightful zing, and finished with a generous dollop of creamy mayonnaise, smooth and rich, to tie all the flavors together. With everything in place, he prepared to assemble his delicious creations, ensuring that each bite would be a perfect harmony of taste and texture. Then that first bite. His mouth watered. Daniel was delicious.

Two cannibalism stiuck on a deserted island thinking about Xmas dinner on Xmas eve. One of them says I found this old man with a moustache wearing red stockings fetish with reindeer’s and little people called elves. I think he’s a pedophike because he has child people working for him. I’m a cannibal I only eat bad people says one the other says you can’t eat him he’s Santa Claus if you eat him the kids won’t get there presents. I refuse to eat Santa Claus. We’re Cannibals and we don’t eat fish or reindeer but Humans. We will starve. Santa would sue you think again. Oh let’s eat him nobody’s going to care. Okay let’s eat the elves let him go It’s Xmas Eve I have issues about eating children just the grownups. Santa Claus is not a pedo he’s a generous man spreading joy to all of the kids in the world for one night of the year What kind of cannibals are we. The little elf says we have present these are mince pies with human mince Inside them The cannibals let Santa clause go with elves and reindeer’s As the cannibals tiched into the mince pies they said it’s very fruity these humans must be vegetarians

Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth. You want to eat me, I’ll eat you first.

Pick the meat off, lick the bone Take what’s mine, I’ll eat what’s yours.

You are starving, well so am I You eat my finger, I’ll eat your thigh.

Blood and bone all over the place, I love the look that’s on your face.

Digging in we eat one another Piece by piece

I feel myself slipping, you do too. I can tell by the words you say.

We are no longer considered human But monsters who eat them

Cannibal… Hannibal.. sanible to this hunger.

Monster… beast… demon… A few more bites and you’ll be a free man

Consider that this is what was meant to be. Me eating you, you eating me.

One of us will die first, It doesn’t matter who…

As long as you eat me, and I eat you.

An eye for an eye was never so literal. You should have seen the two of them, newly-made cyclops, eye-gulping, face-eating creatures made of the stuff of nightmares, licking at their blood-stained teeth, in a dance of agony and bliss. A hand for a hand, yes, a wry symmetry the driving force of their mutual demise. You should have heard the cheers of the crowd of spectators: horrified, galvanised, bloodthirsty as the two mutilated bodies rolled in a pool of gore, tarmac, and mud. Nobody knew what had started it, and it didn’t matter, the show was on. But not a peep came from their gnawing jaws. A medieval-grade extravaganza that was all the more sinister with the methodical silence of these writhing men. Or what was left of them. Not much by the end of it.

“I think you’ve had quite enough to eat, Luke,” mother smiled gently and wiped his mouth.

He looked around at the dinner table and saw that she hadn’t eaten anything yet. He was still trying not to think about it too much, but she was trying so hard to keep him awake. After all, he had been sleeping all morning and was just laying down for the last hour before the sun came up.

Now he looked at me in desperation as she continued on. “Lyra,” she said with a laugh, “here we go again with your brother not wanting to eat the intestines I prepared.”We both knew that the only way he could get out was if I tried to stop her and that wasn’t going well.

“Oh no,” I replied. “Is that why our friend, Tom is not here? I wasn’t able to find him in the library today where he normally tutors Luke, but he didn’t come back to us until yesterday afternoon. I think he told the town doctor he was concerned for us because he noticed we were only eating raw meat.”

“Ah, yes don’t worry about Tom. We talked before lunch today and I think he was just trying to make sure we weren’t getting sick with bloody Kuru.”

“What is kuru?” Luke finally spoke up. His eyes darting back and forth as if we were discussing forbidden treasure that had been discovered.

“A brain disorder from eating raw meat, but don’t worry we should be safe… I added a new ingredient- ginger to the recipe.”Mother picked the ginger hair out of her meat that looked strangely familiar to me, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.

“After all, we have Tom to thank for this lovely meal.” She did not seem phased at all by her own admission. I looked down to see Tom’s empty black eyes bobbing in my champagne glass. My heart pounded in my chest.

Immediately the fowl stench of death wafted toward my nose. I gasped and felt the room suddenly spin with the realization hitting me like a freight train. Poor Tom was too trusting of my family and unfortunately for him he would never get the chance to see Luke nor I again.

“Hm they say blood is thicker than water, and it seems it’s thicker than wine also; not that I mind it.” Hillary swirled the dark liquid in her wine glass before taking a polite sip. She offered Gertrude a warm smile. “Where did you get this from? Did you get it yourself or did you happen to get more from your grandson?” “Oh this is from my grandson he’s so naive in getting more pints for me.” “Is he still working as a nurse or is he working to become a doctor?” “Oh my Theodore is going to stay a nurse. He likes running errands and doing the setup things without having to be the bearer of bad news” “Good for him though, that’s wonderful! Does he have a lady who’s a doctor? Or a nurse?” “His fiancée is a paralegal”

It was one of those late late summer days when the heat as boiled away and one could just imagine autumn in the breeze. Lee was on point watching for game through her binoculars. Tucked high in an oak, the blind was well camouflaged by vines. Flat on her belly, still as a stone, Lee loved the quiet of the woods. Unfortunately Seabrook, her hunting partner, was more of a talker.

“You know there used to be blue people. Hand to God, blue people,” Seabrook said.

He was picking his teeth with a shiver of bone and Lee knew he was in one of his thoughtful poses. She wished she had been paired with Donner or even Fish, but there was a threat of raiding parties and their compound couldn’t afford to spare the skilled fighters. Seabrook was a year younger than her and good with a blade and a bow, he just took up so much air.

Lee decided ignoring was the best option. Every branch, every twig, was committed to memory. A slight movement, a twist of fur, caught Lee’s attention. Was it a squirrel? Her gran had told Lee about the animals from the before times. Squirrels were the fluffy tailed ones and bunnies had ears and there was something else with stripes she couldn’t remember. This fur was just a grease rat, tasty and easy enough to trap at night. The binoculars dipped as Lee imagined all the different animals there had been. She could have been an animal doctor back then. Now learning was for boys.

“And not just like a pale baby blue it’s a bit nippy in here thing no rich blue skin. The people were from a long time ago in a place called Kentucky. Something to do with the breeding, too close. Leonarda I swear hand to God they cured the blueness by making the people drink get this blue dye,” Seabrook said chuckling.

A natural hunter Lee felt the approach of her prey before her eyes and ears caught up in her senses.

“I read it in the latrine, one of those National Geographics paper we keep in there. I saved the article. I could read it to you, if you like that kind of—“

Lee’s hand shot up in a shut up fist gesture and scanned the woods. Seabrook froze, alert. Nothing. Then the breeze carried in dried chunky leaves. The sound of an old engine faded into the distance, a schoolbus. Jackpot.

Seabrook readied his compound bow. The first group hurried through the clearing. Younger kids accompanied by teens and a few parents.

“Not yet Sea.”

Another group like the first, a pair of tween girls, and then way way behind the others the perfect prey, a lone boy slightly heavy set, head down. Lee’s mouth watered thinking of well marbled muscle. She signaled three, two, one. Already in his sights, Seabrook released his arrow. Thwapt, the arrow whispered. Seabrook holstered his weapon and picked up the tarp. Lee handed him the rope to secure the catch.

“Did you mean it about the reading?” Lee asked.

“Anything for you Leonarda.”

Embarrassed Lee began packing up. They would break down the pop up blind and cart their catch to a field station closer to home base. Silent and fast they worked together. Hiking double time out of the kill zone eyes on swivel for cops or raiders, Lee wondered if blue people tasted funny.

I was scared of her at first. From her picture, she was intimidating, yes, but the decorations on her wall and the clothes she wore - so intricately carved with some texture and fabric I could not place - made me feel a sense of primal terror. With her darkened eyes and perfectly-primped hair, she looked as if she could, and would, eat me up in a heartbeat.

“I’ve made us dinner,” she said at the door, leading me in. I thanked her, trying not to show her how worried I was. I sat at the table, dropping the flowers I had brought as a gift down nearby. With a smile, said she didn’t want them.

The plate she put before me was red. Red stoneware, with red meat on top. Raw. Barely seared on one side. Beets. Tomatoes.

“The meat is fresh from today. Today’s catch,” she said, waiting for me to take a bite as she served herself wine from a goblet. But the wine was awfully thick …

I took a bite and released all of my fear. She was the real deal: this meat was human.

“I was worried you weren’t who you said you were!” I laughed, clapping my hands.

She smiled, wiping blood from her lips with a white cloth.

“Why would I invite a fellow . . . conosseiur over if I wasn’t?”

We finished our dinner with a jovial sense of childish fun, and when I left I promised her I’d see her again just as soon as she had her next catch.