Page 90 of Morsel

It’s been one year since we lost such a strong female artist, a professor says to the reporter. She was a total icon. And her influence shows that she was a nationwide role model for all of us. It’s only right that we dedicate the university’s new art studio to her.

Another voice cuts in: Thank you for that. The story of Mona Milk’s disappearance has touched us all. But now, we leave California and head to our home state of Florida, where there’s been another disappearance. Lindsey Jones was last seen a week ago outside of Panhandle Elite Community College.

Another woman’s voice cracks as she adds: We just want our daughter back.

I turn over my shoulder and watch the screen while idly thrusting into Mona’s dry cunt. On the screen, the father wraps his arm around the mother’s shoulder. The mother has the same freckles as the woman on the roast. I laugh. If they wanted her so badly, then they shouldn’t have let her walk home by herself. Maybe they should’ve taught their daughter better than to get in the car with a handsome stranger who claims to be in her classes.

The mother cries, and with that noise, my dick explodes inside of Mona. I pull out, then leave her decaying torso on the table.

I power off the television and head back outside to check the rotisserie. Lindsey’s skin is a golden brown now, her freckles darkening under the fire’s heat. With each woman, I perfect my craft. And if you only count the women—not Artemis or the mobile home’s previous occupant—then Lindsey is my seventh kill. My mother was my first. Mona was my second. Then there’s the five additional women since then, and that’s only the beginning of my legacy. After all of this careful control, I finally have everything I’ve ever dreamed of.

The trees are thick in every direction. If you go back far enough, you’ll find swampland, and the locals are rightfully afraid of alligators out here. That’s why I stay away from the water myself. Florida is funny like that; you can be close to the interstate, but when it comes to the woods, no one goes into the dense trees to find the monsters creeping around and feeding on flesh, like me.

If I stay here any longer, they’ll find me. So instead, I’ll keep moving in search of an abandoned farm where I can keep a woman like a pig. Where I can raise her, kill her, then eat her. And even then, I won’t stay there for long.

I didn’t need Mona to love me like I thought I did. I just needed her to give me that final push into self acceptance. And with each passing day, I grow stronger because of everything she did for me. That’s why she’s on the folding table. I like keeping her by my side.

Most days, I feel invincible, but sometimes, the clarity rings through the hunger and for a few seconds, I know I’m not unstoppable. Meiwes had one, Fish had at least three, and Dahmer had sixteen. We all have our weaknesses, especially when it comes to our pride, but I’m better than them. They got caught, but me? I’m smarter. Stronger. Faster. I’ve avoided the government before, and I can do it again.

Mona showed me that all it takes is cutting off someone’s legs to make them stay with you. So, I’ll keep this going for as long as I can, maybe even into old age. And when the police find me—no, if they find me—they’ll know how powerful I am. How many women I’ve eaten. How many cunts I’ve slaughtered. And there won’t be any leftovers. I’m not wasteful like that.

These women are the source of my nutrients, and their heads are my collectibles. I’ll keep them all. Especially Mona.

After all, food is more satisfying than love.