Chew, Chew, Chew

The blade of his knife penetrated the outer shell of the meat and slid in between the sinews, cutting the little strings of pink tissue apart, causing the flow of saliva in his mouth to increase. The blade took one ninety-degree turn around his fork, meeting a satisfying amount or resistance, and then another turn, yielding a perfect piece for him to raise to his waiting lips. Eat the steak, chew the steak, chew, chew, chew, it was something else, and now it’s part of you. Eat the steak, chew the steak, chew, chew, chew, it was something else, and now it’s part of you. Eat the steak, chew the steak, chew, chew, chew, it was something else, and now it’s part of you.

He patted his stomach satisfactorily when the steak was gone from the plate. He breathed in and out a few times, folded his napkin up, and cleared his dish from the table. He then crossed the floor of the studio, and knelt before his television. He tenderly put his right cheek and hands, fingers outstretched, against its screen. After enough time had passed, he turned it on, flipping between fuzzy networks and static. Bow down you head and kiss His hand, wait for messages.

After his food had settled and he had been thoroughly bored by the barrage of judges and people yelling at each other before crowds of hungry spectators that was midday television, he decided to go to the park. He pushed himself up from the floor, and put on his gray-green zip-up sweatshirt. He went to the studio door, and put on the worn, brown leather shoes that lay by its frame.  He was careful to make the bunnies go through their holes twice, so as to avoid anything becoming loose. He locked the door behind him and went down the twenty-three steps to the first floor, and the five steps from the building’s door to the street.

He walked four blocks over and three across, until he could see the green leaves reaching up toward the sky. He walked in the gateway and looked around him: see the children playing on the swings; see the old ladies feeding the dirty pigeons; see the flies fly above the children’s spilled frozen ices; see the squirrels dart up and down the trees; hear the dogs bark in the dog run; feel it all throb and pulse. It is Him and Him is you, what is part of Him can be part of you, meat and trees, honey and bees, eyes to head, head to knees.

He walked past the pair of benches near the entryway, and crossed into an open field. He settled under a large oak tree which gave him some shade in the afternoon sun. He leaned against its bark and felt the park breathe around him. What a beautiful day, he though. Sit under a shady tree and wait like the Snake for your own Eve.

He sat for what must’ve been an hour, maybe more. The playing children dwindled, replaced by joggers and dogs and their owners. The air began to take on a bit of a crisp bite. The joggers ran in the same circles around him and the dogs chased one another and things unseen by men. He noticed a gray poodle wearing a collar but no leash, following some scent through the field, coming towards him. The poodle, nose still in the grass, came closer; it was about the size of a large baby if those could walk. The man liked that it’s gray-brown fur made the dog look almost like a dirty lamb. The dog neared the tree and it stopped a few feet from the man’s legs. The man whispered under his breath, “Here doggie, here doggie,” wiggling his fingers in its direction.

The dog froze and stared at the fingers. After a few moments, it inched closer, and then, it began to lick the fingers. At once, the man took the dog into his arms. The dog barked, small and shrill. The man put a finger to his lips and whispered to the dog again, “Shhhhhhh, shhhhhhh,” but this had only a momentary affect before the dog resumed the barking. The man didn’t understand why it persisted in making noise. He clamped his hand over its mouth, and stuffed it inside his sweatshirt. He rose from his spot under the tree and headed out of the park, past the empty swings and empty benches, past the thud-thud of the joggers feet, and out the gateway again. He could hear a woman’s voice calling “Roxy, Roxy, here girl,” faintly from somewhere beneath the trees.

Jesus got it wrong. He was not supposed to die for our sins. He was His son, and He was sent here to observe us, judge us, and kill us. What is something else, make it His again. What is something else, make it His again. Jesus was supposed to do this, make it all one again, but Jesus got it wrong, couldn’t see that the whole came from cutting into the sinew. He got Me right, He got Me right.

The man took his had from over the dog’s mouth once they reached the stoop of his building. He looked inside his sweatshirt at the dog; it was very still, very quiet. The man opened the front door and ascended the twenty-three stairs to his landing. He opened his door and unzipped his sweatshirt, letting his passenger fall to the floor, its small nails making a scratching sound on the floor. It stopped and stared up at him as he unlaced the brown shoes and put them in their place by the door. The man looked down at the dog. Cut the flesh through the fur, cut the flesh to the bone. Take the knife to the skin, bring it across, make it naked again. Bring it across, make it naked again.

The man picked the dog up and held it at arms length. Then, he brought it to the kitchen counter. It sat still. The man went to the knife holder and took out a long boning knife. He held the dog down on its side; its back legs kicked out, but it did not bark, did not whimper. Take the knife to the skin, bring it across, make it naked again. Bring it across, make it naked again.

The man turned on the flame, put on the pan. He cut the meat smaller careful to avoid the bones. He ran his fingers over its pelt, so much like a lamb’s. He put the meat in the pan smelled the flesh cook. When it had browned, he put it on a plate. Eat the meat, chew the meat, chew, chew, chew, it was something else and now it’s you.

There are not seven days to the week, but nine. This is why the prophets have never been right about The End. We have all been wrong because the beast does not live in the Earth but in the skies. The beast controls the sun and moon and the cold things far away that decide our fate, and the beast manipulates them to deceive our perception of time. He lives inside the Earth, and when the chosen die they’re returned to heaven, inside the Earth’s womb and they are part of Him again. Eat the meat, chew the meat, chew, chew, chew, it was something else and now it’s you. It was a dog, it was a cow, it was all and none, and now it’s you. Now it’s you and you is Him and you are one meal closer to the womb again.

When the man finished his dinner, he cleared his plate from the table, and swept the bones into the trash can. He crossed his studio to the television set and kissed it, loving it totally before he sat back and turned it on, flipping through the networks.

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