The feast

A feeling of happiness floats inside the mansion of this great family. The nightingales sing gaily in the park, playing melodic, complex and harmonious sequences. The sweetness of summer transcends the beauty of trees, which are greener than ever. The evening is falling. The sun gradually slides behind the horizon, painting the surrounding clouds with a light that's sometimes orange, sometimes pink.

Tonight is a big night. The cutlery of important meals was put by the maids on a huge table, installed in the garden for the occasion. Everyone has been invited: grandparents, uncles, aunts, children and grandchildren. In the kitchen, the chefs are busy preparing a very special dish, the favorite of this charming family, which gathered specifically to taste it. While waiting for the latecomers, without whom the feast can not begin, the children play kindly around the large building.

"Sweethearts, it's time to sit down!" shouts the mother after a few moments. With practically military discipline, all participants sit in their respective places, signposted by small papers placed at the corner of each plate, representing a little devil blowing the name of the person concerned. Children on one side, adults on the other. One begins to sympathize quietly with his neighbors, getting to know some cousins that are being seen for the first time.

The smiling cooks arrive with the dishes, revealing the precious nectar that the small tribe is about to savor. The family's feces were collected and kept in barrels for several months, then cooked and served hot. There is a dish for children, and another one for adults. Impatience is rising.

Once the masters of the house have given the right to start, everyone rushes on the delicious dish. The months of fermentation have given both a fragrance and a flavor that are truly indescribable to the still smoking excrement. Everyone is delighted to have been able to participate in the preparation of this main course. To prevent the food from sticking to the teeth, glasses filled with urine collected from the park's horses circulate. 

On the adult side, the discussions are passionate but consensual. While enjoying the rare gastronomy that's being offered to them, the guests discuss the importance of the collapse of any religious value in modern society. They are trying to develop plans to inject cultural marxism into the much too conservative breeding ground of the major platforms of opinion.

Their babbling is interrupted by painful complaints from the children's table. The second phase of the plan is engaged. This is where the party really begins. Adults and children were served a different dish. In fact, the children's share contained cyanide. The shit dish was just the beginning. From now on, the real main course is ready to be served.

The cooks, whose smiles have not been toned down by the fatigue of the evening or by the vision of a dozen toddlers agonizing on the mowed grass, provide the remaining guests the cutlery that will allow them to enjoy the fresh meat from their nephews, children and grandchildren. The housekeeper had, a few days earlier, made sure that there would be enough machetes and electric knives for everyone.

Devouring happily the cheeks, eyes, thighs and sexual parts of their own kids, the notables can rejoice in the philosophical dimension of this great banquet in the country. Through the long vatting of their body wastes and the painful and patient education of their children, they finally enjoy the fruit of their labor, like a farmer who would eat the vegetables he himself cultivated and maintained with passion. This meal, shared in the family, is not only the opportunity to enjoy original cuisine. It's the reward of a lifetime.

(2017)