A purple haze had come over me. It was tender and blooming, like a bruise, the swelling of blood to the surface of my skin flushing my cheeks and making me feel feverish, yet as sharp and cold as a light frost. It sent a delicate chill through my marrow as cottony as a spiderweb, its lavender polish adding a delicate, satiny sheen over my complexion that would soon melt to a taffy pink, and my innards felt whipped. Scraped with sugar, fluffy and sloshing around in the pit of my abdomen like cake batter. I made the sickening analogy because that’s what I was looking at. My gaze fixed slightly downward at the round table draped in an emerald green velvet cover, the ends of which swayed just a few centimeters from the plush, silken black ground that squished between my toes and worsened the sense of dread surrounding the feeling that wherever I was, was alive, I stared at the three-layered dessert served on a crimson red dish that matched in tone to the oozing of strawberry syrup from between the slathered coating of white frosting. And from the sputtering of this viscous cream, which dribbled a lighter pink down the frosting until it pooled around the edges of the cake, saw it was… pulsing.
The cake twitched and thumbed in front of me, the pace of its fluttering movements quickening the closer I got to it as though it sensed my presence and, out of excitement, began excreting more of its strawberry syrup. I assumed it was strawberry due to the sliced and globbed piles of the same fruit on top of the cake, the glancing of my attention toward their fattened, glistening state leading then, to my noticing of a gleaming knife set aside the plate. It was about six, maybe seven inches from hilt to pointed tip, the silver surface of the blade seemingly glowing even before its reflection distorted my features once I wrapped my hand around the wooden handle and pressed my fingertips to take in the rough splinters.
The knife poised upward, I exhaled slowly from slightly parting lips, fogging the edge of the curved blade while looking again to the cake and seeing that its pulsing had turned to deep, sensual throbs, steady and deep, the frosting fluffed and its exterior looking even more plush than before. My cheeks deepened in their purple blush, the heat of which continued to splash down the back of my throat as acidic as bile, before I pointed the knife downward at the hip and grabbed the edge of the table. The velvet fabric twisted between my fingers, my knuckles whitening from the pressure of my grip to ease their shaking as my mouth grew dry and my nausea suddenly clumped together into a mucus-wet ball of pure terror; the same kind of fear you would feel splitting open the belly of a pregnant spider and watching from the black blood matting its fur come spilling out hundreds if not thousands of more, skittering spiders all tangled up in each other, perhaps as scared as you from the horror of their birth, still drowning in its violent milk. Nonetheless, when I plunged the first two inches of the knife into the center of the cake, its body didn’t burst open and erupt with spiders, so I pushed in deeper till its extraction smeared a blend of red and white over the silver, and I successfully separated a standard-sized section from the whole cake.
Peeling this corner away from the middle and seeing the red musculature of its insides, aside from a single solid layer of sweet dessert surrounding the gore, the rest was made of meat. It resembled that of a midsectional cut of a brain to reveal the sagittal plane, only instead of grey and white matter, bright swirls of gummy pink, red, and a yellowish-white separating some of the pillowy flesh stared back at me; what I could only assume to be cartilage, branching across the matrix of tissue such as tree branches. The innards of the cake were even more gruesome than in its mystery. From the meat came trickling a pearly, off-white, thick cream, more watery than the whipped spread coating the outside, beading and smearing over the meat in its slick need, while the soft meat bulged from the cartilage and seemed to stiffen at the same time. I swallowed the hard, growing lump in my throat threatening to choke me and reached my fingertips out to graze this… surface, only for it to quiver at first contact, then spread open as my nails cut through it. It was doughy, permeable the way you would expect the sticky innards of a cake actually to be, but softer, and the pink engulfed me with little resistance.
I tore my fist through the meat and pulled it away, stringy residue hanging from and squealching between my fingers before it met my lips. Shoving the cake into my mouth, smearing the frosting across my cheeks, its silky texture melted against my tongue, and I dug in for more; taking two hands now to scoop the sugary pastel colors between my teeth, sucking the bits from my fingers until they glued to the back of my molars, then reaching back in. The soft texture and fluffiness, the slick connective tissue that slipped like bits of eel down my throat, it all reminded me of him, and just like him, I consumed voraciously until globs of batter, icing and half-dissolved swollen, canned strawberries began lurching back up, now oily and bitter, bits of hair flossing my gums till they bled and the taste of him always lingering. Hiccupping, I proceeded to reach to my left toward a cool glass of whole milk that previously I wasn’t aware was, or hadn’t ever been there, I didn’t care, but as the sweet white washed down the meat, I gluggled and gluggled and glugged until it sputtered from my lips and leaked from my nostrils.
Sinewy strings clung to my lips, and in my delirium, my head fell back from hot pink, before blunt nails reached to scruff the back of my skull, and I felt the knife cut open my lips again. And like the cake, I felt my core gush a sickly heat upon being spread open by the knife, all sugar and sweets, fluffy and pretty and tender, dissolving around him like vanilla frosting and gelling his long fingers once they swiped my face like the syrup of canned strawberries; satiating the throb of his sweet tooth with battered dough and crumbling in his fists when he raised them to his mouth. He turned me sickenly sweet, spoiled, soft, so much so it made his cheeks flare and teeth ache, his stomach rumble with hunger only to vomit this sickness up again, and again, and again—Nonetheless, looking up from the pile of crumbs, my cheeks, chin and hands stained red, bits of meat stuck between my teeth, my eyes moved over the tattered, shredded pit of ravaged intestines in their chewed and gnawed on pastel colorations of baby blues, lavenders, greys and pretty pinks all now streaked by the splashing and coagulation of pooled blood spilling from the folds of flesh curling away from his gut, and saw the pink blush of his cheeks, the now fogged hollow of dilated chocolate eyes, and rosy lips agape with one last breath long since exhaled, and I swallowed my own, refusing to let any of him back up. He sloshed and splashed in my stomach, filling me up with his love. I wouldn’t waste any of it.
Lifting my trembling hands over the violence to look down at them through this veil of clearing fog and delirium, an ecstasy quickly coiled around the bubbling horror in me, subduing it as I felt the knife still buried inside me, cutting through me, and adding just a bit of salt with the streaking of tears down my cheeks, I lowered my lips again to his and continued to devour the yummiest beef cake I’d ever tasted in my life until my teeth turned soft and green and rotted from the holes of sour gums. Letting him destroy me as I consumed him ♡ mm-mm-mm!