Posted by Sawney Beane on July 27, 2006 at 23:02:36:
The Collected Works of Sawney Beane: Volume 43
LAST NIGHT: A TASTY KATE'S NARRATIVE
by Sawney Beane
11-13 January 1997
1,574 words
DISTRIBUTION NOTICE and DISCLAIMER: Sawney Beane requests that any distribution of this work of fiction remain within the realm of social responsibility. This story is suitable neither for minors nor for the seeming majority of adults who have difficulty distinguishing fantasy from reality. It is pure fantasy, which means that, for whatever reason, someone has found it interesting to think about the events depicted herein. It does not in any way mean that the author would like to see this fantasy become reality, so if you are the type of person who might be swayed into doing something irrational by reading a work of fiction, the author respectfully requests that you decline to read further.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Sawney Beane, originally a native of Edinburgh, lived for twenty-five years in a cave on the coast of County Galloway, subsisting on the flesh of unfortunate travellers, roughly a thousand of them all told. He and his wife raised a large family of eight sons, six daughters, eighteen grandsons, and fourteen granddaughters. Eventually, the family was captured, and the whole lot was brutally and unjustifiably tortured and executed without trial. Since his death in the early 17th century, Beane has reformed his ways and now confines his atrocities to his literary endeavours.
WARNING: This story contains scenes of consensual snuff and gynophagia. If you find such things offensive, please steer clear; you have been warned.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This story not very substantial, but it is another one of my psychological portraits. Much of this girl's situation duplicates the circumstances described in SB22 (Tasty Kate's), but herein they are seen from a different perspective.
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Some time late tomorrow morning I will die. This doesn't horrify me as much as you might think. I have attained the age of twenty-two and have been a comestible employee of Tasty Kate's, Inc. since I checked myself in as my twentieth birthday present to myself. I think the time is ripe for me to make the supreme sacrifice. This planet has had enough of me by now.
I can't say that I'm entirely calm about the idea of my impending death. There is a strange feeling inside me like a small animal jumping up and down somewhere deep within my belly. Still, this sensation isn't entirely unpleasant, but it is very odd.
I suppose it isn't all that strange. Death is a big thing to have hanging over you. The uncertainty of what is really in store for me is enough to cause that nervousness. After all, I don't even know where I will be at noon tomorrow. My soul could be frolicking in some wonderful heaven or suffering is some terrible hell. Maybe I won't exist at all; maybe I'll be nothing more than the lifeless meat a gourmet chef is stuffing and preparing for the oven. For some reason, the latter seems the most likely to me and perhaps the most comforting.
For all that, I don't fear death really. There are only two reasons to fear death. Either you fear the unknown or you fear the end of a life you would like to have continue. The unknown can be intimidating, but I find it rather exciting as well. Perhaps I just have that frontier spirit. As for ending my life, I don't see that I'm giving up much. Don't get me wrong; my life hasn't been at all horrible. But, for some reason, I just never found the ambition to love life and to want to keep on living. I'm ready for a change.
Pain is not what is making me nervous. There are a lot of ways to die at Tasty Kate's, and I have been fortunate enough to have selected a method that will allow me to make my departure early in the preparation procedure. When the time comes, an attendant will pick me up at my room and lead me down to the kitchen floors where I will allow myself to be strapped down onto the guillotine. There won't be a single tear in my eye or quiver in my voice. Then someone will pull the cord, and my head and body will go their separate ways. Whatever else there is of me will leak out and find its destination. But as I said, I would not be at all surprised if there was nothing there to leak out. There's at least an even chance that I will be nothing more than a mindless head in a basket and a set of limp limbs strapped to a guillotine. It's something of a refreshing thought.
I think the source of my uneasiness has to do with what will happen to my body after it is dead. Ideally, I would like to be vaporized. Then I could die, and there would be no body to dispose of. Unfortunately, Tasty Kate's can't make the money they want to make if they do it that way. I'm not all that crazy about cannibalism. There are some men and women who join Tasty Kate's because they are turned on by the idea of being eaten. Not me; I get turned on by the idea of ceasing to exist. So it has to be the thoughts of what will be done to my dead body that is agitating that small animal in my gut.
There are several ways to select your meal at Tasty Kate's. The cheapest way is to come in and page through the database. Tasty Kate's has several terminals that anyone can use for free. The menu database contains pictures of all comestible employees eligible for consumption, along with pertinent information about all of us. You can search by dozens of criteria such as hair colour, race, breast size, or body fat content. Then you pick your favourite and place your order at the main desk. Your meal will be ready for you to eat when you return the next day.
The most expensive, and by far the most time-consuming is to bring your whole group in and sit down at the table the day you want to eat and go through the database with the pictures projected on the wall. You select your five favourites, and they are brought down to show themselves off in person. Your group selects the entree, and the remaining candidates serve as waiters. They hurry off and cook your dinner, but it takes at least three hours, so this method is usually only used by corporate groups that hold meetings between the selection process and the actual dinner.
The third way is really not bad. You come into Tasty Kate's one to seven days before you plan to eat and give the hostess your search criteria. Then five candidates are brought out for in-person evaluation. If more than five candidates that meet your criteria are available, Tasty Kate's introduces you to the oldest five. That way they can renew their stock faster. I've only been brought down to three such evaluations, all of them within the last two months. Anyway, you pick your favourite and negotiate the method of preparation. Then you just come back on the day your meal is scheduled, and it's all ready for you to dig in. Tasty Kate's charges a substantial fee for this service, but you can apply it toward the purchase price if you end up buying a meal. This is the way I was selected two days ago.
After we had set up how I would be snuffed and prepared, the gentlemen who purchased me were very polite. Their leader said very formally, "From the bottom of our hearts we thank you, Miss Miles. It is a great honour to accept the body you offer for our sustenance."
So that's how I got here. Now all I have to do is lay myself down on the guillotine, and the chefs do the rest. I really wish they hadn't shown us the process of gutting, stuffing, and roasting a girl at our orientation. I'd rather not know what is going to happen to my body. Some candidates get very excited by all of this stuff, but it gives me nightmares.
Not that I care, a dead body is no use to me anyway. But it makes me feel strange. I can run my fingers along the middle of my belly just above my navel. The skin there is smooth and soft. I know that tomorrow afternoon, it will have a gaping incision in the middle of it through which some chef has removed most of my insides and put bread stuffing in their place. Then they'll sew me up, the coarse stitches marring the perfection of my abdomen. My hand, for instance, the hand with which I write my terminal musings, will be roasted and plopped onto some wayward soul's plate. Someone will actually chew the meat from the tiny bones of my fingers. My breasts, thighs, buttocks, genitals, shoulders, feet, and everything else that is mine will meet a similar fate. I can't even think of the way my brain, the very seat of my being, will be masticated and swallowed by some lucky cannibalistic customer.
All of this is fine and the way things must be, but it makes me feel very funny. These things that have been with me-have been me-since the day I was born will so easily be turned into mere meat. I suppose I'm assuming too close a kinship between the parts of my body and the so-called real me. But aren't these slabs of meat more me than anything else? The only difference is now I can move, and tomorrow I won't be able to. Now I'm just confusing myself. When the blade falls tomorrow morning, I will no longer have to worry myself about such trivialities.
The point is, tomorrow evening, a group of seemingly pleasant men and women will enjoy a multi-course meal that was once me. From the heart, liver, and tripe entrees, through the roasted and stuffed corpse main course, to the chilled sweet-brains for dessert, all of it was once me. Even the drinks will be spiked with a generous proportion of my blood. I suppose there isn't anything better I could hope to be than a gourmet meal.
I have to go down to the twenty-fifth floor pretty soon to visit Andre. One of the great things about Tasty Kate's is that there are no restrictions on sexual relations between comestible employees. Andre is my favourite of the many consorts I've tried out here, and I have to tell him the good news and enjoy his carnal embrace one last time before I cease to exist.
Well, that's just about all I have to say; or at least I don't think I can compose my thoughts enough to say anything else comprehensible. Good-bye, whoever you are, and thank you for paying attention to my somewhat disjointed final thoughts. Tomorrow just might be the most fulfilling day of my life.
In loving memory of
Autumn Michelle Miles
199 - 221 NCY