Fumbling out of bed, you hunch over in pain as your stomach aches. You hurry downstairs to find something to eat. When you see what you’ve chosen, you gape at your hands wondering why you just ate raw steak.

The red myoglobin dribbled from my mouth, collecting at my chin before it drip, drip, dripped onto the tile floor. I dropped to my knees and cried.

It was cold out. Someone had left the porch door open and the evening Sun had set long ago, giving way to a brisk wind that brought the promise of rain with it. I could feel the cold bite at my skin, but the goosebumps were of my own making. My fingers still gripped the thick steak, nails digging in deep so as I tore into it the flesh wouldn’t give.

It had taken six months. They’d given me six weeks.

I raised the meat to my face involuntarily. My nostrils flared at the scent, the aroma daring me to bite it again. Just one more piece. I salivated and I cried.

It was the start of winter when I was infected. But I had loved her so much.

I chewed and chewed, as if by not swallowing the lump of meat I would somehow be able to escape the truth of my situation. But the primal urges grew and before I could think, I was grinding away at more meat, more juice leaking. I couldn’t fight it now. Every fibre of my being was screaming for the flesh.

She had been my everything and when she was infected I’d promised to watch over her. Make her comfortable mind in her final days, even as her body turned against her.

And when she broke free and I killed her, I could see my wife’s sadness in her eyes. And I kissed her and in that moment I knew the truth. The meat and the violence and the hate meant nothing, if I got to be with her.

‘Til death do us part.


Prompt originally posted by sixthreex on reddit and received 2 upvotes.

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