The Feast 1

I lay here tonight. This place reeks of self-damnation. I strapped myself down on this cold, stainless steel table, the taut, braided rope bruising my skin. Of course, I leave the door wide open.

The beast enters and finds his feast laid out before him. I feel a spurt of energy course through my brain. A concentrated effort at a thought halts for a half moment of clarity. I know I should have closed the door. This half moment gone, I try to explore this thought, but it is truly a paradox in this dimly lit room.

The beast is so handsome, his touch so soft, his words so seductive and beguiling. I hardly notice when he pulls out his instruments. He came prepared for his delectable meal, so casually lying before him. He sets the fork aside for now on the table right above my head. In the other hand he holds a knife. The blade winks at me, sharing with me a delightful joke, as it catches a single ray of the minuscule light in the room. I smile in spite of myself and the beast believes the smile is for him to take.

He bends down and places a sweet kiss on my lips. His lizard tongue slides into my mouth and wraps itself around my own tongue. A burst of pleasure turns violently into an explosion of pain as he rips it out of my mouth and chews it with a smile caressing his tender lips. The knife winks at me again as I notice I am deprived of speech. For some reason, perhaps because of the emptiness of this room, this event does not bother me. I feel it should, but every ounce of marrow in my bones is indifferent to the matter at hand.

The beast lifts the knife and plunges it gently into the skin between my collarbones and slides it down to my pelvic bone, stopping right before the nest of hair that tries, in vain, to protect my innocence. He uses his strong hands to rip me open with that same smile now dancing with greedy hunger in his eyes. He looks into my face and he sees the smile, at least, reflected in my visage.

I don't know why I continue to smile. Another spurt of energy goes galloping through my brain. I know every stop I have taken here encourages this pleased beast. To stop him from devouring his meal, all I have to do is let the excruciating pain fade the smile in my eyes. The thought disappears again and I don't understand the significance of my smile.

He sets his knife down next to my thigh and seizes his fork. He submerges this utensil into me as he kneels down to shovel in every drop. I cannot see what he eats, but I can feel my stomach quickly disappearing. His snarling and moaning tell me I have prepared his meal well. This pleasure he partakes in should be of little comfort to me, but somehow I am delighted by his gratified gluttony.

He has moved up to my chest now, but I can still see very little. However, he makes a mistake in his feasting. He plunges his fork into something with a tremendous amount of pleasure and rises to his feet. He scoops it out of my chest cavity, lifts it high above his head, tilts his head back, and admires his prize. The blood of my heart drips on his face. He opens his mouth as if catching snowflakes on his tongue on a beautiful winter morning. He lowers his arm and places my whole core into his gaping mouth.

As I watch him chew, his continence changes. His radiant skin whips back as if overcome with horror to reveal a white, transparent version of his body. Now he wears a white robe and possesses great, white, feathered wings coming out of his back. So enchanting that it must have summoned all of the beauty in the universe to lay this scene before me. However, there is one slight imperfection that screams a message I cannot understand in this dimly lit room. His eye sockets are empty.

He kneels down, his knife wielded for one more cut. He quickly saws off the lips of my vagina as the knife laughs at my nest that yet again fails in protecting my virginity. He commits the cruelest rape as he rises to his feet in all his glory. With his wings gently flapping, his robe white as snow, he devours my possibility of sexual pleasure.

I no longer smile. He does not bother looking into my face, for he knows nothing kind or pleasurable will greet him after he has consumed my heart. His presence elegantly floats away from me and exits this room that reeks of self-damnation. His feast is complete and I am empty.

However, he made one mistake. I witnessed every sin he committed in this room. He left me my eyes. I will lay here a while more and allow this dimly lit room to brighten. I bared witness to his crimes. Soon, my feasting day will come.