Let Them Eat Cake

“Demon blood tastes like what now?” You ask, a grimace oozes across your face as the smell ingrains itself into your memory.

Curled up at your feet, moaning and clutching her belly, is the thing responsible for the nonsensical description of her meal. She lifts her head sluggishly, blood almost as thick as tar is smeared across her face and is beginning coagulate on her chin.

“Barbeque sauce.” She splutters. Her stomach turns, not agreeing with her choice of food. A sickeningly wet belch erupts from her stained mouth. You come to the conclusion that if you hadn’t just watch Erin desecrate and devour what you thought was grey suited businessman but was even now melting into the twisted form of a squat vividly colored demon, the scene would have been hilarious.

The spreading puddle from the gored hole in the deceased man’s torso reaches the bottom of your shoes. You wrinkle your nose and swiftly step back. It does smell a bit like the spices in barbecue sauce. You remember your request to have steak at a newly opened restaurant in town that evening with your now debilitated girlfriend and decide against it. You’re certain you’ll wind up just as sick if you see another cut of meat or, looking down at the half chewed guts spilling out from the body, sausage within the next week.

Erin swears under her breath and stumbles to her feet. Her jeans are dyed at dark purple, saturated with miscellaneous gore and blood. She’s lucky to have worn a black blouse for the day, it just looks wet. She’s still clutching her middle, which is uncomfortably bloated from the sudden gorging.

Shaking your head, you sigh and help steady her. She grips your arm with her usual iron grip. A weak smiles twitches across her lips, half embarrassed, half relieved. She manages to fumble a couple kleenex from her pocket. Trembling, she dabs some of the blood away from her chin in a vain effort to clean up.

It doesn’t work. The blood is already drying and chipping away in fat, disfigured globs and flakes.

An awkward pause settles between both of you a Erin desperately figits to get herself looking... vaguely presentable. You look down and nudge a stray piece of what might have been liver a few seconds earlier with your shoe.

“So, do you still want to...” You let the question hang. It’s highly doubtful that she really feels up to going anywhere after her little...episode.

Erin’s face blazes hot red, making her face look more mottled from her leftovers. “Um, well. If you want to, I guess we can just circle back and I can get changed?” She prattles on, “We can just tell them that we ran into traffic, or I took a long time getting ready, or we got called away to an emergency or-”

“We don’t have to go, you know.” You interrupt.

Your companion gives a small shallow laugh and tries to wipe her hands clean on her just as messy jeans. She doesn’t say anything else, just keeps on her wavering stepford smile.

“What do you say, skip the restaurant? Go home and order chinese food? We could put on a movie, Midnight in Paris? Maybe Jurassic Park?”

She straightens up and lets go of you arm.

“Jurassic Park sounds good.” She mutters, “But I’m not hungry, you can get something for yourself if you want.”

Now it’s your turn to smile.

“Sounds like a plan. You should clean up first though.”

“Yeah, that sounds like a good idea.”

Walking off the way you came, neither of you think to hide the corpse.