Exotic Cuisine

Tommy started the fire, while Allison gathered wood. Ashford was no where to be seen, but that was his problem. I lifted the Observers body, and noticed a problem with this; if we were going to cook the Observer, we can't place it on the fire directly, it had to be slow roasted on a stick for maximum flavor. We were going to need a stick, a very long and sharp stick to impale it through its anus with so we could could cook it - To let the skin crisp on the outside, giving it a nice smoky flavor. In the center the Observer would be hot to the touch. My mouth watered thinking about it - Would we use any spices or herbs to jazz it up? I couldn't help it, I just had to know what it would taste like - What it's meat tasted like. In my head, all I could taste was the smell of raw fat on the outside, and the heat of the smoke and ash on the inside - I needed to taste the Observer meat, and know what it would taste like.

Would it taste like chicken? Maybe beef? Pork? Rabbit? Chicken and pork were easy, so I just had to hope the Observer was more like chicken.

Tommy found a long stick, about a foot and a half, and sharpened it into a point. He began to place the Observer on the fire, in a flat, shallow hole I had created in the ground for the hot pit. I tried not to think about what the Observer's anal cavity would be like, and the pain it would cause when it was impaled, but it was still easy to think of this body as food. Just as the Observers body was getting close to cooking, we had no idea what the Observer's meat would taste like. I didn't know what ingredients I would use to create the Observer meat, but I had a feeling it was going to be a delicacy.

I began to cook the Observer. As it burned, I made sure to be very careful not to get burned myself. I watched as the meat browned, and began to cook off any moisture from the Observer's flesh. I was careful not to start a fire with a big flame, and burn a hole in the Observer's skin, but I used the Observers own fat to help grease the skin of my Observer. I thought it was strange to cook the Observer in a hot pit, but I figured I'd save time, and we wouldn't be cooking the meat until much later. We'd be eating it as soon as it was cooked, and maybe even having it straight off the fire before it cooked any further.

The Observer's skin began to blister, and turn black; it should be done. With every piece of Observer skin, I peeled it off of my Observer, placing the skin on a large, flat rock to cool off for future usage. I placed the Observer on the hot pit, and left it. If it was anything like chickens, it was a delicious, savory meal.

Its juices oozed into my mouth, like an ecstasy of a meaty, savory, salty substance. I was tempted to lick my fingers to try and get more out, but I didn't want to make a mess of my hands. The Observer's meat was unlike anything I had ever tried.

Its meat was succulent, and chewy, but most of all savory - I had to have more. Is this what I taste like? This delicious meat? Me? I can't stop myself from thinking about it, this delicious feast is coming from me. I am the one feasting upon my own flesh. I love it. I love the fact it feels so wrong, like an abusive relationship I cannot escape from - A drive to keep taking that which is bad for my health. I needed this, I need this for more than this day. I want this meat.

I need this meat.