Breakfast, Lunch, and Dinner

A little piece I wrote about two friends that get a little hungry. It's as simple as that. Hope you like it.

 

                “It’s really that easy of a deal. Would I trick you?”

                Reynolds gave a smile, “Coming from someone like you, yes. Now what’s the catch?”

                His friend smiled back and licked his lips. “I want his blood, his brains, all the juicy bits. You know how I get when I get hungry.”

                Reynolds nodded his heavy head, “Oh yes, let’s not go through that again. I’ll try and get you the best parts, if they’re not damaged in the process.”

                His friend slithered in his seat, “Ooh, and maybe a nice tough liver for the main course? And for desert, let’s have a heart.”

                “Sure. I love the tough meat.” Reynolds stood up and walked across the campsite. He decided to not take his hatchet this time. An incredible tool it was though, he could chop anything but a solid piece of rock with it. He could slice through a whole log with one swipe, He could sever an entire tree branch with one hack, and he could sleep well, assured that tomorrow, it would still be able to cut through limbs, both of a tree and a human.

                Reynolds turned around to his friend before he set off. “Hey, don’t forgot to heat the water up this time. I like my food warm.”

                His friend chuckled slyly, “I’ll start it right away.”

                Reynolds left the campsite. It was a far walk from where his campsite was, in the middle of the woods, to where he needed to be, down by the actual campsites at the lake. That was where all the best meat was. It was like a damn grocery store, you wouldn’t believe how many people still show up to have a nice little vacation, even after all the missing person’s notices.

The woods was black and bleak tonight. None of the usual critters were out to greet him. No bugs, no bats, not even a mouse squeaking in agony as it got lifted into the air. Reynolds liked hearing the sounds of the owls as they swooped through the trees, hunting for prey. He envied them, those owls. It was always a dream of his to fly. Reynolds looked down at his heavy sets of legs. He tried to be as quiet as he could, but even that was still stomping. He stepped as gently as he could on a twig, and it burst with pain, exploding into two halves. Reynolds felt a little bad, the poor twig was just lying there, and he had crushed it. Then he crushed a few more, and it made him feel a little better.

As Reynolds approached the campsite, he scanned the area, trying to keep his breath as calm as possible. Where were they? Usually this place is crowded with people. They always loved to come out here and swim in the middle of the night. The silly lovers always though they were alone when they did. Reynolds had watched as dozens of people got busy on the cold beach in the mask of the night. They always thought they were alone, but Reynolds was always there. He liked to watch them sit by the fire the best. He always imagined that they were cooking inside of the flames.

Reynolds decided to head to the other side of the camp. He walked carefully outside of the cabins. He listened through the walls on each one. Nothing came from any of them. Where was everyone? What is this? A famine? Reynolds peered inside the cabins. He could see himself in the reflection. Reynolds still didn’t know how all those red slashes had gotten on his eyes. He groaned in hunger as he walked out into the open. There wasn’t a soul in sight.

Reynolds then heard the faintest noise. The slightest of melodies. Someone was playing a guitar somewhere. Reynolds never tried to play a guitar. Maybe he should have. But then again it wouldn’t matter now, his hands are too big. He hustled over to the noise.

His feet stomped through the trees, until he finally caught a glimpse at it. It was beautiful. The guitar that the woman held was like a piece of art. It made Reynolds eyes shine. It sounded beautiful also. The noise it produced made the bugs dance inside of Reynolds skull. Now he wanted to play it. After he had a good meal, of course.

Reynolds crept through the brush until he got as close as he could without disturbing them. There was a whole group of them. They had kept quiet because they were listening to a song. The woman then began to play it with ecstatic joy as she shook in her seat and sung with her soul. The children that huddled around her enjoyed it also; they sang along as best they could, which wasn’t good at all actually.

Reynolds got distracted himself. He had been sitting here listening to the music for too long. He shook himself out of the trance and jumped up. He rushed out of the brush and bellowed at the humans, almost as if he had joined in. They screamed in response and one of them ran away crying. Reynolds grabbed the guitar woman by her neck and shook her as hard as he could. He watched as her face turned blue and then he held her up into the sky. Before he crushed her skull on the rock that she had been sitting on, he realized that his friend had wanted the brains. He just tore her head off after that, and her blood spewed all over the fire. It sizzled as the rain of blood washed over it. His friend had wanted the blood too, Reynolds felt a little guilty that he had forgotten. With the kids still screaming and crying, Reynolds ran back the way he came, into the woods. He carried the woman’s head in one hand, and his fat, moldy fingers clung to her windpipe with the other.

When he returned to the campsite, Reynolds was exhausted. He lumbered himself up to the campsite and sat on his stool. He heard it crack underneath him. It was going to break soon, but he could find another one later. His friend slithered out from behind the tree.

His scaly face glowed under the burning, bubbling pot of water. “Told you I’d get the water started.”

Reynolds threw her body into the boiling pot, and then he tossed the head to his friend. He caught it with his claws. Reynolds began to lick the blood off his arms.

“I see you didn’t forget either.” His friend hissed.

“S**t. I did forget.” Reynolds said through his blood soaked tongue.

“Forgot the blood? Its fine, I’m fine without it.”

Reynolds shook his misshapen head, “No. The lady had a guitar. I wanted to play it.”

His friend gave him a sharp look. “You want music?” He stuck his claws into the pot and pulled out a bone. He scratched at it for a minute and then he smiled. “I can play the flute.” His lip less mouth blew into the bone, and it made a piercing sound that echoed through the camp. Reynolds smiled and laughed as he coughed up some of the blood he just swallowed. The laughed for the rest of the night, even as they ate dinner. It was a well spent night, and guess what was for breakfast? Leftovers.