“Oh, yes,” Cherry said confidently. “All those who want me to. I managed to eat twenty-six two years ago, and I’m hoping to do a lot better this time. So yes, my yummy little ones, there’s more than enough room for you all in here.” She patted her empty tummy lightly.
“You don’t chew, do you?” the same boy queried.
Cherry shook her head, her lovely long hair shifting a little over her shoulders. “Never. I want you to feel every moment when I eat you. And I want to feel you squirming as you go down.” She grinned. “So feel free to wriggle.”
“You won’t get indigestion if you eat too many of us, will you?” another boy asked.
Again, Cherry shook her head, and gave them a reassuring smile. “I didn’t get indigestion last time. I gobbled them all up,” she went on in a seductively teasing voice, “gulped them down, and digested them without problem. The whole way through. I’ll do the same thing” –she traced her finger over her lips, then slowly down over her throat, over her chest and down to her tummy– “to you. Any other questions? Feel free; we have time, and I love to get to know my food.”
“What’s your favourite hair-colour flavour?” the red-haired girl asked mischievously. Cherry laughed – a light, clear, beautiful laugh.
“I don’t discriminate,” she answered, obviously amused.
François tried to think of something to ask, if only to attract her attention and draw her beautiful gaze onto him, maybe ensuring that he would be remembered even long after having been eaten and digested… but he could think of nothing to say. He stood in awe of her beauty, fascinated by every detail of her face and body… and mesmerised at the idea that he would soon quite literally disappear inside her. With that thought on his mind, and all the feelings it generated within him, it was difficult to think.
“Oh, I almost forgot!” Cherry said, giving herself a light tap on the cheek. “How silly of me. I want to take a photo of you all! Something to remember you by. By this time tomorrow you’ll all look a bit different, so…” She gave them a heart-melting smile, and reached into her bag for a small camera. “If you’ll all just stand together…”
François moved in closer with the others, stood tall, and smiled, just a little shyly. His last photo… He wondered whether Cherry would look at it often after today – whether she would frame it on a shelf, perhaps, or whether she would just put it away somewhere in a drawer and forget about it. Whatever the case might be, she would have a picture of him, her one-day snack, a morsel of food among many, but immortalised in a way on film.
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