Survive

Survive

By Lisa McCourt Hollar

 

Her finger nails were broken, the skin surrounding them bloody and bruised. She sobbed, scraping at the door, begging for him to open it. Silence met her pleas. She ran to the window, where she’d broken the glass, hoping to escape. Bars blocked that exit. She screamed for help and was met with the same familiar silence. There was no one around to hear her… no one that cared. After a while she gave up. She didn’t know how many days she was there. Hunger came and went. She became delirious. Her lips chapped, she cupped her hands and pissed in them, lapping up the liquid. Then she knelt on the floor and drank from the puddle like an animal. In the distance she heard a sound echo, familiar and longed for. A click… the lock on the door had turned, opening. A small bundle was thrown in and the door locked again.

 

She threw herself against the door again, pounding weakly. As always, no one answered her cries for help. The tears came. She put her ear to the door. Was he listening? She heard nothing outside, but inside there was a new sound, a mewling that answered her cries. She crawled to the bundle that had been tossed in the door. It was a small object wrapped in cloth. She stared at it, uncertain. Then she heard it again, a muffled cry. The cloth moved. She snatched it up and pulled the material away, revealing an infant… a boy.

 

The baby was naked, the umbilical cord was still attached. She held him close, cradling him. She felt him nuzzle her, rooting around, looking for someplace to latch onto and feed. “I’m sorry, baby,” she whispered, her voice weak, “I don’t have what you need.” Still, he continued to search, crying for sustenance. Her stomach cramped, sharing his need for food.

 

She sang, attempting to ease his pain. Sticking her finger into his mouth, she felt him pull, trying in vain to suck anything out that would satisfy his hunger. Angry, he squalled, then sucked again, harder, desperate. She felt that if it would help, she’d cut her finger and let him drink the blood.  Eventually he slept. She wondered how long he would live without food. How long would she?

 

She slept too and dreamed. She was home. Her father was cooking hamburgers on the grill.

 

“Stacey, bring your plate here.”

 

He put a burger on her plate. She picked the meat up, not even bothering to put any condiments on it. She bit in, moaning as the juices squirted into her mouth. She chewed, swallowing whole chunks of meat. There was something wrong with the burger. It was raw. But Stacey was hungry, she didn’t care. Liquid dribbled down her chin. She ignored it, tearing more meat off. When the burger was gone, she reached for another and devoured it.

 

It was the baby’s screams that woke her. She opened her eyes and gagged. There was something in her mouth. She looked down at the baby and saw that the cloth was now soaked in blood and the child’s arm was ripped open. She spit, horrified by the masticated meat that landed on the baby. She screamed and dropped the baby.

 

“No. Oh my God, no!” She crawled to a corner and wailed. What had she become?

 

Soon the baby’s cries stopped. No longer able to find tears, exhausted, Stacey cautiously approached the boy. His eyes were open and he stared ahead, unseeing. His chest rose, slowly. He was alive, but dying. She picked him up and sang. Her stomach cramped. She knew if she didn’t eat, she would die too. What choice did she have?

 

She piled the bones in the corner and covered them with the blanket. She didn’t want to look at the evidence of her depravity. In another corner she emptied her bowels. Then she curled up and went to sleep.

 

She didn’t know how long she’d been there, it could be hours, it could be days. Weeks. Time no longer held meaning. Then the door opened again and something was pushed through. The door slammed shut and the lock clicked in place.

 

This time it wasn’t a baby. Standing in front of her was a child… maybe 10 years old. The girl retreated to one side of the room, huddling next to the blanket. The child nudged the blanket with her toe, revealing a small bone. She eyed Stacey. The girl had a hunger to her eyes that she recognized. She understood the look, knew what the girl had done to survive to this point. Stacey leaned up against the wall. Her stomach rumbled. A breeze blew in from the broken window and her fingers brushed against broken glass. Picking up one of the splintered shards, she waited.  She knew when the time came, she could take her.

 

Word Count: 816

The photo comes from PublicDomainPictures.Net

Dinner

Dinner

by Lisa McCourt Hollar

Humming to herself and sashaying to the salsa music playing on the radio, Stella was in a good mood.

"You know," she said to her neighbor who was sitting at the kitchen table, "I love to salsa, especially when I'm cooking."

Kim didn't answer, but Stella didn't mind. The two hadn't been the best of friends. Their fights were famous around the neighborhood and if anyone had seen them together now, they would have been shocked. Stella was glad though that they were working their differences out.

Filling in the silence, Stella said, "I tried to get Howard to take salsa lessons with me, but he hates dancing. He's more comfortable sitting in front of the telly with a beer in his hand. So I took them on my own. That's how I met Stan."

Finished with the onions, Stella placed them in a bowl and stared out the window. Sighing, she said, "Stan is the one that showed me how Howard was just holding me back. When I first started my affair with him, I was only looking for a little fun. Instead, I found my soul. He's coming for dinner tonight. I think you'll like him."

Kim's eyes widened and Stella laughed. "I know, it takes some gall to have your lover come to dinner with your husband, but somehow I don't think Howard will mind. Will you Howard?"

Stella reached into a bag and pulled her husband's head out, waving it gleefully in her neighbor's face. Trying to push herself away from Howard's severed head, Kim's eyes nearly popped from their sockets. Her throat strained, attempting to scream, but all she could do was make panicked grunts through the duct tape covering her mouth.

"Awww, what's the matter Kim? Don't you think he looks good?" Stella pushed Howard's head towards Kim's face, mashing his lips against her skin. The blood had already drained, so their wasn't any gore to drip on the woman, who seemed close to having a heart attack.

"Don't you want to kiss him, Kim? You didn't seem to mind last night, when he was panting all over you."

Sobbing now, Kim's eyes filled up with tears that spilled over and ran down the side of her face. Then a door at the front of the house slammed shut, causing Kim to jump. Hope shined in her eyes when a voice called out, "Hey mom, I'm home!"

"Straight to your room, young lady," Stella called out. "You have homework to do." She shook her head when a few moments later the sound of some metal band came blaring into the kitchen. "I swear, Miranda is going to ruin her ears."

Kim made some more noise through the duct tape and Stella tilted her head, trying to make out what she was saying. "I'm sorry," she said, shaking her head, "I don't understand. Maybe when Stan gets here...he is a speach therapist. He's good at figuring out what people are saying."

Ignoring Kim's muffled outburst, Stella began dicing something that looked like a heart. "It's Howard's," she explained. "I was actually surprised he had one."

Stella laughed at her joke, but when Kim didn't join in, she shook her head. "I don't know about you Kim. Maybe if you had more of a sense of humor, you would get more joy out of life. Then you wouldn't need to go sleep with other women's husbands."

Pausing, Stella looked at her neighbor thoughtfully. "I know, that sounds hipocritical, considering my affair with Stan, but that began because Howard had already left me for you, emotionally, if not physically. So I suppose I should be thanking you."

"Anyway, my first date with Stan was a misunderstanding. I thought he was inviting me to dinner, when really he was inviting me to be dinner. He thought my thighs looked tasty." Stella chuckled at that. "I have been doing Richard Simmons, Dancing to the Oldies for five years now, they had better look tasty. Anyway, there I was, trussed up on his dining room table, waiting for him to take a slice out of me and instead, he looked into my eyes and fell in love. Ruined his dinner plans. But it worked out. He ended up luring a little boy over and he made a quick stew out of him. I was of course horrified at first, but I didn't want to be rude, so I took a bite. Imagine my surprise when I discovered it was delicious."

By now, Stella had diced Howard'a liver and spleen and was mixing them with the onions. Sprinkling in a bit of seasoning, she poured the mixture into Howard's mouth and sewed his lips and neck closed with some heavy twine. Stella then placed her husband's head into a pressure cooker and surrounded it with potatos and carrots. "Stan gave me the recipe. It's a favorite of his, from when he was a boy. His mother called it Cheaters Delight. She went through a lot of husbands."

There was a knock at the back door. "Oh, he's here!" Excited, Stella ran over and opened the door, falling into Stan's arms. They kissed a moment and then Stella moved aside so Stan could inspect her handywork. He entered the kitchen, carrying a bottle of wine and sniffing the air, breathing in the aroma that was coming from the stove."

"It smells divine." Then he turned his attention to Kim. "Has it been long enough?"

"I think so."

Stan removed the duct tape and Kim coughed, trying to clear her throat. Dozens of black bugs came crawling out of her mouth, leaving their secretions on her tongue. "You wouldn't know it from the smell," Stan said, "but the dung beetle's secretions are a great marinade."

The kitchen door burst open and Miranda came in, yelling, "Hungry child here. You have to feed me. Oh, Hi Stan." Then, spying Kim, "Ooh I call dibs on the eyes!"

Word Count 994