Consumption (2nd revision)

         “Do you want fun with a woman whom I met online?” solicited a hooded gunman with a whisper.

         “I don’t have any money for female implants nor time to share your prison cell” laughed Mark, a cousin wearing army clothes while that woman placed two glasses of water on a table before them and then went into her kitchen.

         On a corner of a dimly lit ceiling above the two men, there were two spiders. The smaller spider was approaching the bigger spider, like a man approaching a woman. The bigger one walked into a corner of the ceiling bounded by webs. The two stood only a centimeter from each other. Suddenly the bigger spider tore off the smaller one’s leg. Jolted by the pain, the smaller one ran but was snared by the webs. The bigger spider ate the smaller one that struggled and squirmed with one leg trying to break through the webs and escape but then twisted, broke, and stopped moving.

         “She looks like that sixteen year old girl who killed her kidnapper after five years in his basement. She was found partially chained near his dead body, wearing a diaper,” noted the veteran.

         “Anyways, I haven’t seen your sister since my imprisonment. How’s your sister?” asked the ex convict.

         “She’s still working at her medical office. She discovered that I had human papillomavirus, contracted from having sex, which evolved into terminal cancer spreading from my penis. Peeing burns a lot. Also, she’s living with her wife now.”

         The veteran covered his own eyes with a hand as the woman, without clothes, placed two identical covered dinner plates on the table and went to her bedroom, not closing her bedroom door across the table.

         “A comrade always tells me that an unmarried man shouldn’t wastefully complicate life by treating women and men differently because kidnappers do,” said the veteran as the other man winked at her.

         “Your comrade, a transwoman, a man who looks like a woman, might not know that men need sex. You can’t fight nature.”

         “I don’t need sex. My father divorced my mother and found another woman. I’d never want to be a man of adultery or fornication. How could you know my nature?”

         The ex convict didn’t eat anything but rather followed her into her bedroom while the veteran was finishing a drink of water. After he turned off the bedroom lights, he went into bed with her while laughing with her.

         Meanwhile, the veteran suddenly struggled to move after the drink. With his last amount of energy, the veteran uncovered a dinner plate: three boiled human eyeballs and a fried hand!

         Huge pregnant roaches crawled about her closed mouth, drank her foul saliva, and laid eggs in her weed-scented deformed throat. The front of her teeth was white but the back part of them was stained somewhat black. The inside of her skunky hair smelled like condensed sweat and was riddled with bed bugs. She smelled like feet and had not showered in a month. Her legs, coated with transparent urine, squeezed together to hide swollen genital warts. White roach guts and her feces colored under her nails.

         A fly crawled on her hand. She killed it between her palms, which rubbed its dead body like a poisonous cream. While silently farting, she secretly ate the flattened fly. She savored the flavor by keeping it in her mouth for about an hour like abandoned gum and fried rat.

         “It’s okay. I can’t hurt you” she sang after her rough feet kicked him off the liquor-stained bed and stomped on his body, strangling him so that he couldn’t yell. Her sweat smelled like old urine and he tried to vomit twice, pressed against a littered floor of suffocating burnt cigarettes.

         While he was shocked by her sudden behavior, she took out a butcher knife and stabbed between his legs. He yelled in extreme pain while peeing blood. He limped without clothes as blood gushed down his inner thighs. He turned on the bedroom light and tried to leave the room but she stabbed him again. He shouted under heavy pain and tried holding the dashed bleeding flesh dangling between his legs. Her quiet knife quickly slit his neck. He tried to scream while holding his ripped neck as blood erupted between fingers of his grip. Mark watched, paralyzed and helpless.

         “I want to be in your arms tonight,” she sang while stabbing Mark's cousin repeatedly in the stomach. Then her sharp nails went inside a stab wound and tore open his bloody stomach. He slipped and fell down hard onto a puddle of his own blood, vomit, and intestines where she stabbed his squirming back ten times on the ground under his great convulsions of pain. She picked up his liver, dipped it in his vomit, and bit into it. He could see a dead baby under the bed with its head covered in drops of bitter breastmilk and blood. She laughed while stabbing between the ex convict’s ribs, drinking some of his blood, and licking her unclean fingers. After her musty pungent armpits raised the butcher knife for one final blow, he never moved again.

         “I’m getting paid from some weird foreigner to not kill you,” she whispered to Mark with a grin as slimy chunks of her diarrhea exploded a sprayed stench on the floor and feces, some of which she chewed, hung between her legs. Then she opened the door and dragged his cousin's lifeless body into a bathtub of vinegar and cut lemons, before checking his pockets for money and putting price tags on the men’s clothes, phones, and shoes.