Love Me Deadly, Que Son [mobi reader TXT] 📗

it was transportation problem: they were so far from the nearest supermarket, I guessed.

 

So I directed the body back to the road. Now, darkness was complete but the snow had not slowed down at all, it continued to fall like it had saved all the snow in the world for the last ten thousand years just for this one. But my zombie walked on. Philadelphia was only ten miles away, but in this kind of weather and with this kind of slow walk, it might take my zombie until tomorrow morning or even later to reach the destination which was the house where my lover lived. In her mind, she might be thinking that I was stuck somewhere in the snow storm and it would be days before I could make it to the city. So she took advantage of this opportunity to see this guy. She might even wish that I was killed in the storm. If that was what she wished for, then her wish had been granted. I was dead. But that was not the end of the story. The story ended when she was settled in the zombie's stomach.

 

When the body reached the outskirt of the city, the snow had ended and the sun was shinning brightly. The sky was deep blue. Slowly, the body walked across the Ben Franklin Bridge, staggering through mountains of snow. The city was dead silent because the storm had stopped all activities and kept people in their homes. There were no cars on the roads. After the bridge, the body walked the streets of the northern section of the city and finally arrived at the house of the woman.

 

 

Three

 

So the soul that hovered over the zombie across miles of snowed terrain has re-entered the body and is now standing at a corner of the room. The body is now me, the broken-hearted lover. The knife is in my hands. I am about to kill. I step toward the bed and look closely at the woman's face. She is now only a woman, not my lover, not my sweetheart, not my darling, not my sweetie, not my pussycat, she is just a woman. Or should I say, a female animal? Thinking that way makes it easier for me to deliver her. You may say that I dehumanize her. She has a satisfactory look on her face. Her mouth is half opened in a little smile. That face is so familiar to me. Too bad, in a short while, that face and the smile will be no more. I tap the woman on her shoulders and she opens her eyes. She looks at the face that's looking at her and I know she knows she's looking at me even though the face she's looking at is badly disfigured. In less than a fraction of a second, as terror flashes in her eyes, she knows why she must die. That’s the crime, the arrest, the indictment, the trial, the verdict all rolled into one nano-second of justice.

 

I swing my arm and with one swift move, her throat is slit open and blood gushes out in violent torrents.

 

The man is still in his blissful sleep. He's snoring gently. While the woman is dying, I step over to the other side of the bed and look at him. I don't want to wake him up. Like me, he just wants love, and like me, he was given fake love. He is a sucker like me. Fools for love. I have thought about dispatching him. Simply, I cannot eat her while he's alive and watching me eat. He may get violent, trying to defend his "lover" which is something he should not do. Should not, because she is not his lover, like I was never her lover. I feel sorry for him. You may think that by killing him I am merely trying to eliminate a witness to a crime. Ha, what do I care about that? I am a zombie, remember? I am dead. I don't belong to this world anymore. Nothing of this world concerns me anymore. So like me, he is only a fool who does not know what he’s doing. He's innocent. So I will let him live. I tap him on his shoulders and he opens his eyes and I whack him on his head with the handle of the knife. He becomes limp. I pull him off the bed and lay him in a corner of the room. Then I take the sheet from the bed and tear it into strips and I tie him up, hands and feet. He curls like a shrimp. I also stuff rags into his mouth and blindfold him. I don't want him to see the blood and gore that is going to take place.

 

Then I walk over to the woman again. The bed is soaked in blood and she is dark blue, almost purple. The woman I love is dead. No longer is she able to run around and act like a slut. Does she deserve this fate? I think so. No, I know so. I am absolutely sure she deserves to die. If I let her live, how many more hearts would she butcher? Hmm, sounds like I am doing others a favor by stopping the woman, right? Yeah, in a way, but the motivation behind this killing is pure, undiluted rage over a betrayal, and therefore it is totally selfish. The fact that other men will benefit by this act is only unintentional, a byproduct.

 

With the knife, I slice off her arms and legs, taking care to guide the knife smoothly through the joints. I don't chop. I slice. Then I separate the head from the body. More blood gushing out. The eyes are all white. She's now in the other world. I never want a love affair, my love affair, to end like this, in this bloody fashion. I want lovers to love and live happily ever after. But at the same time, I know, people are weak, they are victims of their own circumstances and emotions. She couldn't help being a slut, and I couldn't help being an angry lover, so angry that I had to kill.

 

After the limps are removed, I open her torso and take out the innards. Heart, liver, intestines, spleen, kidneys, lungs, everything. It is exhausting work. And I feel sad. This is the body I have loved so much. In fact, I worshipped this body. It was a beautiful body. Now look at it: a terrible, bloody and greasy mess. I cannot believe this pile of meat used to be my lover's body. But I am doing what I have to do: taking revenge. I am doing what a zombie must do: eat. I take comfort, however, in the knowledge that I am not eating you, but I am eating my lover, to make her flesh my flesh, to make her one with me. We will never separate again.

 

I heard movements at the corner of the room. The man is struggling to untie himself. But he cannot do so because I tied him up well, very well. Weird sounds come out of this mouth which is stuffed with rags. He doesn't know what hit him. He doesn't know what's happening to him. Which is good. What I am doing would be too much for him to bear if he knows, if he sees what I am doing. I ignore him and return to work. I go into the kitchen and fetch a couple of garbage bags and stuff the body parts into them. With that man alive in the room, I cannot comfortably consume the woman. Because? Because it would take a few days to finish eating her and I don't like to have anyone around when I am having the feast. It is a totally private party, just me and her.

 

After all the parts are in the bags, I walk over to the man and whack him again with the handle of the knife. He passes out again. I untie his hands and feet and remove the rags from his mouth. In an hour, when he comes to, I will be gone. He will say what the heck happened when he sees his lover missing and the bed is bloody. I don't know what he would do then. He will be traumatized. Perhaps he will call the police. Whatever.

 

I drag the bags to the window and toss them out and they land deep inside the snow. Then I climb out and jump onto the ground. The sky is still very blue. And it's cold. I feel very cold. But it doesn't matter because as a zombie, I can put up with all kinds of weather. I walk through the snow with the bags on my shoulders and after about an hour, I find an abandoned building. I go in and sit down on the floor. Debris is all around me and I even see rats running back and forth.

 

I open one bag and start to eat. Delicious. And when I am munching on her arm, a thought pops into my head: Love is a deadly business.

 

(End)

 

 

 

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Publication Date: 12-02-2020

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