Separate

Decapitation was the beginning, and boy was it wonderful. We all stood around her waiting in anticipation, like dogs nipping expectantly at the heels of their master. A whimper here, a whimper there, nothing a good piece of scotch couldn’t handle and we were off. Off as in to say we were really on, but headless to say we enjoyed ourselves. Rather five-star I’d put it. She lolled around for a while, wag-wag and what not and we all had it rather joyous watching her head tumble around here and there. Eventually one of us has the nerve to jingle around with it and what it started to bite at him, later we figured it was the reflexes in her snapped neurons but it seemed ectoplasmic at the time. Really just splendid in that hovel. Of course her burnt body stumbled around for a little searching for itself in the few last moment of movements and that had us going off again. Laughing like a bunch of African hyenas staring at a vulture with a snapped neck except noffin’ was attached to this here one. Wonderful night, that was.

It was prim and proper, to be perfectly clear. See we wasn’t in the business of making a slop, and the lady, taking a few hours to really start a smell, well we got her out of there to find a suitable burial or burning. Pots, tin to be certain, and bags of linen right, we snatched them up and began the slicing. It was a regular butcher-fest with the daggers and shivs going in un-natural unison. A hive-mind of flesh, really wonderful. Well, sooner or later we took what we could from the larder, had the woman in carry-able bits and was out of the place, after requisatory cleaning and detoxifying of the scents. Couldn’t go out of our way to leave a redolent home in the middle of a settlement, even through the girders and rust, people had a way of smelling decomposition, must have tied back to our old instincts for eating what we could find on the plains, really just dreadful how it was.

Few snaps of the bone was all it took, really. Carried over the shoulder, stained bags and what, pals and I whistling a tune underneath the mask of din in the city. Through alleyways and dung-strewn mess we had to jaunt, but proud we was, eh. Whack of the canes and snap-of-doodles we did a number or two on the way to our own shack. Pile it up, I would say to them, and yes they would, we’d all jumble together all group-like and pose for the sky. Yes a pill of clanging, a mind-rumbling. It was cracks and bells for us fellows.