Posted by Menagerie on September 23, 2004 at 21:40:44:
THERE SHE IS
"Them thar the ones, Lizzie?" Grandpaw was peering through a grungy old set of binoculars, holding them up with one gnarled, grizzled hand, and hitching up his suspenders with the other.
"Yassuh, Grandpaw." The barefoot teenager was crouched with her grandfather behind some brush, a hundred yards from the stage. But she was a country girl; could see at night, like a big cat. Her eyes gleamed, green like a cat’s; they glistened with tears. She pointed. "That one's Katie...that'un's Lauren...thar's Amber..."
Paw nodded, stopped when he got to Amber. "She's a mighty big 'un," he breathed, tilting the specs up and down as he checked out the voluptuous young woman. "Mebbe she's our winner." And with that the grizzled old coot laughed and started wheezing; he dropped the galluses and pulled a flask from a hip pocket, took a hefty swig. His eyes remained glued to the binoculars.
"She's a mean 'un," Lizzie pouted; she, too, was staring at the girl, who was wearing a single-strap red gown; the overhead lights caught her broad, dazzling smile, and threw off a glint the two hill folk could see clear back there in the woods. "Plays a lot of sports; used t' run me down, chase me. Why, once--" Lizzie let loose a sob--"she pulled down my britches, right there in Gym Class, and give me a whap on the butt." The girl sniffled.
Amber strode confidently to the rear of the stage, struck a pose along with the other girls. It was the annual County Fair Queen pageant; townsfolk oohed and aahed at the sight of their local beauties, who were wearing elegant evening dresses along with several hours' worth of hairdo apiece. Each girl entered stage right when her name was announced, strutted like a bantam in all directions as the emcee intoned her accomplishments--church, school, athletics, "just staying at home and reading a book." A lot of the girls had listed that among their “accomplishments”. Still, they all looked good—damned good—filling and, in some cases, overfilling the gowns that invariably seemed to be about four sizes too tight.
Grandpaw licked his chops as a willowy brunette ambled across the stage. "Rachel Sue," whispered Lizzie. "Another ath-a-lete. They made me play tennis against her; she kept a-hittin' the ball right at me. It hurt." Lizzie spontaneously reached up, rubbed her belly. Grandpaw rubbed his belly, too, but not in imagined pain--he was taking in the figure, top to bottom, of the slender girl who was posing at center stage.
"This shore will be a fine family gatherin'," he muttered. The girl was taking her place at the rear of the stage; another was proudly preening before the murmuring crowd. Short and voluptuous, with a big grin; soft, tanned flesh that strained at the gold-spangled gown. Hips that swung from port to starboard and back again as she strode beneath the hot lights, her open-toed heels setting down on the rough, wooden stage as if they were sinking in butter. A weave of hair that appeared as casual as $100 could make it. When finally she stopped, one dainty foot before her, her curves barely contained by the stretchy fabric, her face lit up by the most dazzling of smiles…the crowd seemed to erupt, gasping as if it had been collectively holding its breath as the girl went through her tantalizing undulations.
Grandpaw’s jaw was slack. “Whoa, Nellie!” he sputtered. “That thar filly’s a real prize!”
“She’s th’ meanest of all,” Lizzie mumbled sullenly. “Name’s Lindsey. She makes fun o’ my hair, ‘n’ my clothes—she says I’m a hick!” The bare foot stomped down, caught a rock. “Ouch!”
“Hush up!” Grandpaw demanded. “Th’ boys are getting’ inta position; you’ll give us away.” His eyes remained fixed on Lindsey as she turned to take her place downstage, her cute, ample rear wiggling with each mincing step.
The emcee called a name; no movement. The crowd buzzed a bit; the man in the tux gave it a bigger windup and called the name again, and still no response. Lizzie bit her lip; the emcee made a joke, and she could hear and resent the laughter.
“Lizzie must’ve gotten cold feet,” the emcee was saying, and the dozen girls broke their rigid poses and tittered. “’Course Lizzie’s got cold feet,” pale, pretty Tia had snickered, “she don’t wear no shoes!” The girls cackled, throwing their heads back, a few strands of carefully coifed hair flipping in all directions.
Lauren, a thick-bodied blonde, tilted her head forward, eyes shifting conspiratorially. “You don’t suppose she got into her grandpappy’s still, do you?” Lindsey chimed in, tartly, voice drenched in hauteur. “She’s been guzzling that stuff all her life,” she purred, icily. “How you think she got to be such a hick?” More laughter, and then the voice began booming again over the P.A., and the nubile bodies gradually settled again into stiffness, and the smiles strained their faces until they ached…
Lizzie knew all about the Phillips family history. Grandpaw hadn’t known she knew, but she knew. She knew about the Sunday dinners, even though she was always sent off to a relative’s; the girls in school whispered about the female townsfolk who mysteriously disappeared, but she knew. She was as quiet as an old Indian, sneaking back to the homestead, and she had seen them—headless, gutted, roasting over a bed of smoldering wood, cut from behind their farm. She knew about the hitchhikers and runaways Grandpaw would bring home; sometimes he’d go out for a week, or two, until finally the old Ford would come sputtering into the chicken yard. Hogtied and gagged in the back, a hapless girl who’d made the mistake of smiling and waving down a Phillips.
For those girls, it would be mercifully brief. Grandpaw, or one of her brothers, ‘Kiah or Linus, would drag the girl out back to the chicken yard. Lizzie wouldn’t see Grandpaw’s prize again—except once, when she snuck out back and peeked into the smokehouse, and there she was, beheaded, empty, upside down. And Linus or ‘Kiah would be driving Lizzie back to Aunt Louise’s for the weekend. But she knew.
So when she started complaining about the girls in school, always picking on her, always making fun of her rough clothes and the way she talked and the way she acted, Grandpaw nodded, and started talking about a Jubilee, a family celebration, a special dinner. That’s when Lizzie told Grandpaw she knew. The old man wasn’t shocked at all; “You had t’ find out soon enough,” he told her. They were poor—no money, poor land, barely made enough to get by. But those special dinners, those were a Phillips tradition. It was how the clan celebrated life…
Abruptly, a sound; a bomb going off, right in the middle of the pageant. Smoke billowed from the center of the pavilion, thick and iron gray; the crowd went instantly from docile to frantic, swarming in confused motion like a mad ant hill. Grandpaw jumped up, grabbed Lizzie roughly by the arm. “Let’s skedaddle,” he shouted over the hubbub beyond the woods. “The boys’ll be waitin’ fer us!”
The smoke had drifted toward them, but they were country; they didn’t need to see. The two quickly worked their way through the foliage to where a pair of pickups stood, engines running, lights off. Lizzie could make out a large figure, with a smaller one over his shoulder; he unloaded into the truck and bent over his prey. Lizzie heard screaming—Andrea? Sounded shrill, like Andrea. The screeches abruptly stopped; then another large figure, with another squirming load. The first had already returned to the chaos at the outdoor arena; Lizzie could make out the lights flickering through the churning smoke, heard panicked shouts—“Sarah?” a voice shrieked. Stuck-up Sarah’s stuck up mom, she decided. Then she found herself grabbed—“Git in!” thundered Grandpaw. “We got ‘em all!”
The two beat-up vehicles roared off into the night, their cargo twisting in the back; Lizzie imagined she could hear muffled cries. She closed her eyes and breathed deep; it was her turn.
The Phillips homestead was bustling with activity. There hadn’t been a reunion like this in many years; Grandpaw had said his own grandpaw had held one, in Virginnie in ’58. And there had been an uncle, Uncle Eustis, there up in the Smokies. They were just poor folk, barely making a living; nobody ever came out to the remote, barren farm. But the clan was all there, from the Appalachians, the Delta, the Badlands; this was a once-in-a-generation sharing. It was what made country folk strong.
Everything was ready. The smokehouse had been cleaned out; fresh hickory was prepared for new victuals. The chopping block in the chicken yard featured an axe with a gleaming, honed blade. There were ropes, knives, salt for curing. And…the barbecue pit in the back had a load of wood ready for kindling.
‘Kiah and Linus had pulled the trucks into the shed; the two hulking young men—300 pounds apiece, easy—were effortlessly lifting their payload out of the truck. ‘Kiah’s massive hands would disappear into the truck hatch and emerge clutching a young woman—her hair disheveled, her eyes wide and watery over the tape covering her mouth. She bucked, jerking like a fish against the rough hemp wound tightly around her. ‘Kiah just dropped her on the ground, reached down, plucked another girl; the girl on the ground—it was Katie, her frizzy blonde permanent caked with dust, her ample bosom part out of the electric blue dress—kicked at the ground, straightened, then bent in two and straightened again…trying to get free…
Soon, there was a pile of them, sobbing and shaking. Grandpaw stepped in front of them, broadly grinning. He broke off a chaw, spat down an inch from Rachel Sue. “Good evenin’, ladies,” the old man proclaimed, and they looked up at him through misty eyes. “Reckon y’all know muh granddaughter.” Lizzie was perched on the hood of one of the trucks, her bare ankles crossed, swinging her jean-clad legs in rhythm. She smiled at her classmates, evilly, cruelly. “Hey, girls,” she called, a wicked lilt to her voice.
“Now, I didn’t mean t’ interrupt the festivities down thar in town,” Grandpaw went on. “But we have our en-tire fam’ly here from all parts of this great country, and we have in mind a li’l beauty show of our own. We aim to have the lot of you—” ‘Kiah and Linus had picked off a half-dozen—“compete for the title of ‘Miss Jubilee,’ and we have a spayshul prize in store fer th’ winner.”
The girls were totally still, hardly breathing. Members of the clan had gradually filtered into the dingy old shed; torches flickered out back, framing the slowly-advancing hillbillies in ghostly silhouettes. The crackle of fire, the whiff of burning wood, wafted into the tin building, mixing with the smells of grease and paint. The eyes of the six young women sprawled in the dirt were fixed on Grandpaw; for some reason, one nodded, then another, and then all.
“Good!” the codger proclaimed. “Now, I should explain that although yer attire is quite fetchin’, our show is judged a bit differently. Boys…get ‘em ready for judgin’.”
Linus first descended on Amber. She was a strong, sturdy young woman, but she was helpless as a frightened rabbit in the grip of the giant. Ignoring her struggles, he first unwound the girl’s ropes…then began leisurely undressing her, peeling the red one-strap from her shoulders, down her breasts and her heavy thighs. She was under one arm, kicking her legs helplessly, as Linus deposited the dress on the dirt floor; then, with a single yank, her satin panties were shredded. The clan whooped at the sight of Amber’s plump ass; Linus neatly flipped her, stood her up—still wearing her dress shoes—and spun her round, then retied her hands behind her back. One trussed beauty contestant, ready for…Amber’s eyes bulged, staring straight ahead.
The big boy gave way to ‘Kiah; he tossed another rope, tied in a slipknot, over the head of the naked prize, pulled it tight. The girl jerked in agony; putting one hand in the small of her back, ‘Kiah marched her over to the corner next to a workbench. “Now, you just siddown, Miss,” Grandpaw sternly ordered the trembling girl. “We got five more to do up.”
As the girl gingerly plopped her bare butt down, ‘Kiah picked up a shotgun, held it immobile against his chest; the busty Amazon seemed tiny next to her captor, as she huddled down, hunching her shoulders, legs bent beneath her, trying to shield her crotch from the leering clan.
One by one, each girl was stripped nude but for her elegant footwear; each was placed under ‘Kiah’s watch. Lindsey was last; the hill folk whooped and hollered as the pert brownette’s perfectly shaped bosom exploded into view; candy-pink nipples topping the firm semi-globes. Lindsey was truly busting out all over, as ripe a specimen of young womanhood as they’d seen. Welcoming hips tapered into luscious, shapely legs; her pear-shaped derriere mirrored the ample firmness of her breasts. Grandpaw snickered, “I could d’clare a winner right now!” to the laughter of his kinfolk. Lizzie swung her legs down off the hood, sashayed over to where her cousin was tying the last girl’s hands behind her back. Lindsey stood defiantly, breathing hard through the tape over her mouth, glaring into Lizzie’s face; the girl laughed, grabbed her helpless tormentor’s mouth between her thumb and fingers, pinched. Lindsey grimaced.
“You still got the better of me, don’t ya, Lindsey?” purred Lizzie. “See—” she lifted a bare foot, held it inches before Lindsey’s naked snatch— “no shoes! You got real fine shoes, there! Lookin’ forward to the show!”
And with a mean laugh, she spun and marched out, her cousins hustling behind her. They sure wanted to get the best seats…
They’d cleared a space in front of an old, rusted flatbed trailer, its tireless rims dug deep in the turf. A dozen oil torches flickered, bathing the scene in yellowish-orange; each movement was magnified, shadows like living blankets, flopping that way and this as a gentle southern breeze caught the lamps. Cousin Malachi passed Lizzie the jug; she took a deep swig, smacked her lips, and folded her hands in her lap, staring up attentively. Old Mose the Auctioneer was up on the makeshift stage; he was fumbling through the notes Lizzie had scrawled on each girl. A voice off in the darkness called, “Ready!” and Mose cleared his throat, started off in his booming, baritone voice.
“Kin and kin,” rumbled Mose, “I welcome you to the first Miss Jamboree Pageant in fourteen years.” The clan applauded, with a few rebel whoops. “Our host, kindly Mister Phillips, has assembled for your eyes such a fine display of female pulchritude as to make your eyes cross, your tongues hang, and your—well, no need to get into that.” They roared; Lizzie felt a stirring, there, herself. “So without further ado, on with the show—contestant Number One, the beautiful Andrea, and her escort, our very own Cousin Joshua!”
Andrea, of course, was nude from the ankles up; she, along with all the other girls, still had her hands tied behind her back with rough rope, and a rag stuffed in her taped mouth. She was a willowy thing with a surprisingly big chest, narrow hips, lean legs; her huge eyes welling tears, her hands bound, she tottered onto the stage led by the hefty Joshua, who tugged on the rope tied ‘round her neck. A big number “1” had been painted on her belly and back; she stopped, froze, gazed in anguish out into the hooting, jeering audience. To her, they were a blurry, malevolent thing, flies tracing trails in the ghastly light flickering over their heads.
“Ain’t she sweet?” declared Mose. “I want to tell you, check out that fanny!” Joshua gave the rope a jerk, as the girl swiveled to look beseechingly at him, he pointed to the whip slung at his side. She closed her eyes and, humiliated, turned around and bent over, pointing her rear at the audience. Then, she shook the cheeks a few times; the loose flesh jiggled lewdly. The crowd howled; Lizzie’s lips parted, and she ever so subtly touched herself.
Joshua put his unwilling partner through her paces as Mose described Andrea’s soft belly, her slender shoulders, her tender teats. Each body part, its attributes described by an expert at appraising livestock, was displayed for the ecstatic audience. As the frightened girl shimmied and shook, perched unsteadily on the elevated pumps, the country folk pointed excitedly at her flesh and gestured as if comparing the merits of each portion of the teenage beauty queen. Finally, her degrading turn was over; the Phillips kinfolk gave Andrea a thunderous round of applause as, spent and sobbing through her gag, she was escorted by Joshua to the back of the “stage”.
Katie was next, at the end of a tether held by a cousin from the Everglades. The diminuative, sloe-eyed blonde was emblazoned front and rear with a “2”; she gasped, sucking in the filthy cloth filling her mouth, as the swamp man crooked an arm around her neck, bent her backwards with his knee between her well-muscled legs, and inserted the butt of his whip into her pudenda. Every part of the teenager’s anatomy was probed and squeezed, while Mose described her as if she were cattle on the hoof: “Now, this here filly will probably yield a high percentage of meat…those legs are plenty firm, and that back springs right back when you press a thumb in—” the swamp cousin demonstrated, and Katie let loose a muffled shriek of pain. After what seemed like eternity to the girl, she, too, was led to the rear of the flatbed.
The four other nubile young women followed, their naked flesh put on display for a hundred cheering people. When the last of them, Lindsey—who had remained stoic at the end of ‘Kiah’s leash as her breasts, belly and butt were critically assessed by the rotund auctioneer—had been shown, Mose turned to five family members perched near the front. They handed him a note; he parked his spectacles on his forehead and peered at it under the flickering natural light.
“Welp,” he proclaimed, “it appears we’ve narrowed the field to two. Our semi-finalists are…Sarah, and Lindsey!” The crowd cheered; the two attractive girls glared out into the audience, their eyes wet, while the other four looked nervously at each other. Mose went on, “This means Andrea, Katie, Amber and Rachel have been eliminated—and you know what that means!”
They did; several of them had already lined up to bid. Long, lean Rachel Sue was first. Mose immediately switched to the form that had made him the two-time Kentucky State Auctioneering Champion: “Well, all right, sir, gotta fine piece of woman—Whaddya give? Whaddya give? Whaddya give? Got a five, got a five, got a five—Who’ll give me fifty? Need a fifty-dollar bill, fifty-dollar bill…” The lanky teenager stood in a daze as strangers offered money for her; Linus and ‘Kiah spotted, as the bids rose higher…
They got to ten-hundred-fifty dollars. The winner, a Phillips who’d sold Texas highland for oil, now lived in a remote cabin in Canada. He’d flown up; needed her shipped. Mose nodded; ‘Kiah slung the girl over his shoulder, headed for the chicken yard, and the axe. Rachel Sue frantically writhed in his grasp; Lizzie watched, a faint smile on her face, as the crying, naked teenager bouncing on her brother’s shoulder disappeared into the darkness. Take that, Tennis Girl.
Andrea was sold to a pair of twin brothers from the Georgia piney woods; they would take her back alive. “She’ll be kind of a two-man wife,” giggled the grotesque, pot-bellied pair. Linus led the distraught girl away; she’d be locked in a cage in the cellar until the twins departed in the morning. Amber was next; the bidders took to the star athlete’s solid build, and the price spiraled to three thousand dollars. Grandpaw was the winner. “I would lahk to announce,” he wheedled, “that this here young ‘un will go die-reckly into m’ smokehouse, and there’ll be plenty of fine ham ‘n’ bacon in yore mailboxes this Christmas!” The Phillipses clapped and laughed; ‘Kiah had returned, his shoes and pants drenched with blood, and the strapping young woman was again hoisted over his mammoth shoulder and trundled to her slaughter.
A number of the kin tagged along, Lizzie among them. “Girl, you shore you wanna see this?” asked her big brother. He had Amber down on her knees, her neck over the block; although the fury of the evening had undone much of her ‘do, the coif was still piled high on the girl’s head, and her neck was bare for the ax. Amber, her face boiling tears, looked up at Lizzie; the country girl grinned, winked at her helpless classmate, and folded her arms. “Let ‘er rip,” she said.
The end was anticlimactic. A girl’s neck was the same as firewood to ‘Kiah; one swipe, and Amber’s head was rolling in the quiet dust of the yard. ‘Kiah lifted his foot, and her body toppled slowly on its side, twitched a couple time, then lay still. A few of the kin complimented the headless city girl on her performance, as if she could still hear. “I thought you shoulda won!” exclaimed one grubby-looking cousin to the carcass, as ‘Kiah again hoisted her over his shoulders, picked up her head by the hair. Amber’s eyes were still snapped wide open. “Gotta go gut and butcher her for the smokehouse,” he told the folks. “You all get back for the finals.” He lugged the girl into the small pole barn behind the pen; as he opened the door, Lizzie caught a glimpse of Rachel Sue, hanging by her heels and eviscerated. ‘Kiah stopped to flip off Amber’s strapless heels, then slammed the door behind him
By the time Lizzie got back, First Runner-up Katie had already been sold; the well-built blonde had been hauled away by a Mississippi sharecropper. “Gotta get back,” he said. “Got some hungry mouths to feed.” Grandpaw offered to have ‘Kiah do the butchering, but the sharecropper turned him down: “Beth Ann will fix me up the best chit’lin’s in the Bayou,” he said. “You all come on by come Thanksgiving, and we’ll have a fine ham on the table,” with that slapping the girl’s solid thigh; Katie, her ankles now trussed and her feet bare, could only blubber through her gag as she was carried away to be slaughtered for her flesh by a denizen of the Delta.
Lindsey and Sarah remained on the flatbed, still wearing their pumps and nothing else but the rope around their wrists and the “6” and “4” painted on their bellies and backs. They stared at each other, wide-eyed. Petite, blonde Sarah had been curvaceous Lindsey’s rival in everything–cheerleading, homecoming queen, boys, school honors. It wasn’t even—it registered on them both simultaneously—the first time they’d seen each other bare naked; there had been some “experiments,” some girl-girl stuff, in a locker room, and again at a friend’s beach party.
So the two girls had used each other’s bodies…but their competition had turned less than friendly; they spread wicked rumors about each other, sabotaged each other’s school efforts. But now, they were in a grim battle to finish first in a depraved tournament in which the very flesh of the contestants was the prize.
Sarah swallowed hard, kept staring at Lindsey, who stared back; meanwhile, Mose had started again. “We’re down to our final two attractive young ladies,” the auctioneer intoned. “And couldn’t you just eat them both up?” A sea of laughter from the gathered Phillips kin at the rude joke; ‘Kiah had returned, more fresh blood on his clothes, and regained Lindsey’s choke-rope from his stand-in; brother Linus now had Sarah in tow.
“As you folks know, when it comes to the final runoff, it’s time for the talent competition. We’ll soon see which of these two ladies, Sarah or Lindsey, has the stuff to be Miss Jubilee. Let’s have the judges on stage!”
The fivesome who’d been rating the humiliated girls quickly clambered onto the makeshift stage; laughing, they fumbled with their britches. Lindsey felt a massive hand on her shoulder; ‘Kiah was pushing her down to her knees. As they banged hard against the rusty metal floor, a grinning hobgoblin of a hillbilly loomed over her; the tape was ripped off her mouth.
While Lindsey sucked on the first “judge’s” cock, her eyes glazing over as she choked on the organ, Sarah was being stretched on her belly across a bale of hay that had been propped on the flatbed. The helpless girl felt a massive body plop onto her, and soon the second “judge” was deep inside of her. As he ground against her, the announcer ambled by. “How is she, Amos?” asked Mose. “Not so tight,” came the strained answer. “This here young’un’s been hoorin’ around!” And the audience chuckled; Sarah, pinned under the dirty, smelly country boy, feeling his member twitch inside of her, closed her eyes …
As each “judge” finished with one of the two girls, another rushed to take his place. Lindsey’s mouth was ringed with semen, her belly full of it; she tried to cough, only to have yet another kinsman grab her by her once-elegant hair and pull her mouth to him. Finally, all were finished; as the two degraded girls sprawled on the cold metal and sobbed, the men who would decide their fates eagerly compared notes. “How say ye, cousins?” declared Mose.
The biggest of the five was silent for a second, then his face split into a big grin. “No question,” he said. “It’s Number 6.”
The Phillips kin burst into loud cheers; ‘Kiah clomped across the flatbed, lifted the prostrate Sarah by her once elegant hair, and hoisted her onto his shoulder. “And how about our runner-up?” cried Mose. “Let’s give her a big hand.” They jeered, laughed and derisively applauded as the naked young thing, whimpering into the still-intact gag, vanished into the dusk to meet her death at the end of a sharpened axe.
“Okay, folks,” announced Mose. “Time for the Jubilee Queen festival!” A dozen eager hands reached onto the flatbed, dragged Lindsey toward them; drool and incoherent syllables ran from the nude beauty queen’s mouth as the Phillipses lifted her high over their heads and marched her to the barbecue pit.
It was behind the pig pen, which had not been used for that purpose in a generation; cans of rubbish were stacked out front, empty feed sacks, old tires. It looked deserted from the front—but the pit, although seasoned, was well kept. Built of cinder blocks, the recessed six-foot square grate was just inches above the fuel; new, green wood was smoking and sparking beneath. A weather-beaten picnic table was nearby, with utensils laid out. The new queen’s court unceremoniously dropped her onto the table; Lindsey looked up to find a sea of faces leaning over her, lit by moonlight. And the closest was—
“Lizzie! Please!”
“Now, you jest hush up.” As if for emphasis, the girl stuffed a sawed-off end from a 2x4 into Lindsey’s mouth; Linus was tying the girl’s feet. “Grandpaw says you git t’ be my first. It’s’n old family tradition, the Coming of Age.” Lizzie’s knife faintly glowed blue, catching the moon and the smoke from the slowly building fire.”
“I already done pigs and goats,” Lizzie went on, just inches from Lindsey face; the Jubilee Queen swallowed, hard, staring into the other girl’s eyes—they shone with pure vengeance. “You oughta be a whole lot easier. ‘N more fun.”
And with that, Lizzie slowly, deliberately, drew the blade through Lindsey’s middle, starting between her breasts and right through her belly-button. Blood flowed; some trickled from the girl’s mouth, staining the rough board crimson. Lindsey’s face contorted, a clenched fist of agony. Lizzie expertly split her wide, reached in, took what she needed to take…
Lindsey was sprawled, open and emptied belly down, over the dull red embers; they hissed as each drop of the girl’s ichor was drawn from her by the heat, following in tiny droplets from her every point. Her skin had reddened; it would eventually turn a shiny sepia, hard and cracked so the juices could escape. The ropes had been removed; her arms and legs, moist and soft with the fat that gives a shapely young woman her padding, were already steeped in gloss as the fat came to the surface, then trickled back down over the curves. Her big, doe-like eyes were gone; blackberries filled the sockets. The wooden block still held her mouth ajar; a pear from the tree out back would fill that spot, later, when it came time to carve and serve her.
Grandpaw was basting the Jubilee Queen’s skin with a vegetable sauce, flavored with homemade liquor; Lizzie stood by. “These thangs hurt,” she complained. She was wearing Lindsey’s stylish pumps, her memento of the evening, her Coming of Age.
Grandpaw cackled. “Girl,” the grizzled old codger told his granddaughter, “you done a great job. We’s all proud of you. No more trips to Aunt Louise; Sunday dinners, you be here. Yer a Phillips, fer all that.”
“I know, Grandpaw,” she said, idly poking a fork into Lindsey leg, watching as the tiny river of fat cascaded to the hot embers beneath. “I surely know.”