2021.01.26 06:29 Psy_Derp Words of wisdom from Urdnot Grunt
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2021.01.26 06:29 -darthjeebus- IIL the sound of metal, but not the guttural vocals what would I like?
There is a ton of metal that I like... until the vocals come in. I like the distorted riff oriented guitars, driving drums, double bass pedal drum stuff, chugga chugga guitar sounds, but I really don't like the guttural screaming style of vocals. What is some stuff that has a more natural sound to the singing, without just being alternative rock?
Duality by Slipknot is an example I like. Also, Avenged Sevenfold. These are super main stream, what are some I probably don't know?
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2021.01.26 06:29 Puzzleheaded_Can89 SUB FOR SUB LIKE FOR LIKE PERMANENT
2021.01.26 06:29 StreamAnimeTV Hakuji
2021.01.26 06:29 EnvironmentalTap6314 Should all student loan debt be cancelled?
2021.01.26 06:29 Oersted95 Daily Kasumi #258 [made by @mossan351 ]
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2021.01.26 06:29 yoloxxxswag My first tattoo! Done by Landon Sheely at Gold Heart Tattoo in La Crosse, Wi
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2021.01.26 06:29 Superdragonma I made this instead of writing an essay.
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2021.01.26 06:29 omarkop10 [No Spoilers] when the vikings fight each other
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2021.01.26 06:29 Devoiddragon389 Gimme dem Doots
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2021.01.26 06:29 Herald0808 Can you guys tell me if this product i am planning to buy is fake or not.
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2021.01.26 06:29 sacky85 Rubber ban
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2021.01.26 06:29 An-Idaho-Potatt Which is the worst
2021.01.26 06:29 iTARIS New gun owner looking to build an AR-15 - Looking for feedback on these parts
My goal is a lightweight rifle, mostly for range trips, and a bug out bag. I was pretty influenced my InRangeTV's WWSD rifle.
2021.01.26 06:29 R0knrolla Thanks, I hate foot sandwich
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2021.01.26 06:29 ear2016 What did pro segregationsts and conservatives have in common . Please follow me on my tiktok : @redsatisfy
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2021.01.26 06:29 PorkyPickle All the other countries are laughing at us. Please follow me on my tiktok : @redsatisfy
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2021.01.26 06:29 butternaan_nine2 AWP Fire Serpect
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2021.01.26 06:29 StreamAnimeTV Hakui no Shihaisha
2021.01.26 06:29 kalakuttaa Badass Doggo posing for the parade
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2021.01.26 06:29 EmbraceLifeTim Invest Ethereum w/Forsage Workshop: Work around for Banking issues when ...
2021.01.26 06:29 _Alpha_Mail_ Need Some Opinions (Content Warning -- read the beginning for reason why)
Alright. So, I wrote a short story (which has some very disturbing material in it - hence the content warning - so I advise against you reading if that's not your thing) and presented the original draft to four different friends. Two of them said the story is fine as is, one of them said the ending needed to be a little longer, and the fourth one said the ending needed to be extended. After adding an extended ending, the fourth friend said that the story is still "lackluster" and doesn't really paint a good image. After revising said ending, the friend that said the ending needed to be a little longer said the extended ending makes the story worse than the original ending
Basically, I'm getting a lot of mixed opinions on this story and it's stressing me out because I just feel like this story is almost better off being scrapped at this point. However, I want to ask you guys for your help in settling the mixed opinions. Below I'm going to paste the entire draft and then cut-off to show you guys both the original ending and the extended ending. Please tell me which one you guys prefer. If you guys want to give opinions on other parts of the story, you can, but I am mostly interested in the ending
Quick disclaimer: the city and company names in this story are completely fictional and are not intended to resemble any real-world places
In the few years that I’ve been a truck driver, I never bothered to ask people what their preconceived notions of the job were. I knew that everyone saw the profession a little differently. Some saw it as a long, mundane task like a college exam that ceased to end no matter how many questions were filled out while others saw it as a fun, magical adventure like an amusement park roller coaster.
Me? I was personally indifferent to the whole thing. Trucking was great for guys like me who didn’t really have many skills. I could drive and I could lift: the two main components of the position. That was my thought process when I got hired by Jamison and Son’s Co. in my hometown of Londer, anyways.
There were some benefits to the job. On top of the handsome salary, trucking was an often peaceful activity for the mind. It was one man against the open road where he had all the privacy in the world… provided that there was no traffic, of course. The relaxing solitude of my long hauls often provided me with both solace and perspective as I traversed across large areas of land. It wasn’t for everyone, but I had grown quite accustomed to it.
The most notable portion of my hauls was something that some of the guys I knew referred to as ‘the dry stretch’. While the men joked that it could also refer to the sex bans imposed on them when their wives were pissed off, it was mainly used to describe the one-hundred mile road between the cities of Dernton and Hawksin.
It was called ‘the dry stretch’ for the sole reason of it being a long highway spanning across a lonely desert. There was no civilization whatsoever, giving anyone who drove on the route a feeling that they were truly the only human left alive. No doubt about it, the first trip unsettled me when I held that notion close.
As I looked down the seemingly never-ending road with nothing but a spacious, barren desert on both sides, a few anxious scenarios intoxicated my brain. For instance, there was always the possibility of my rig breaking down, and with the added chance of my cell phone losing reception, I would be stuck on the side of the road for Lord-knows-how-long until I could flag down somebody to help me.
But, once I finished that drive for the very first time, I concluded that it wasn’t all that bad. There was a certain magic about it, actually. Sure, the idea that I was all alone with absolutely no one in my field of vision was eerie at first, but it slowly morphed into a ‘Hey, is it really that bad if I’m the last man alive?’ feeling. It was relaxing that for a day, I could escape from people’s bullshit and drift off into a peaceful sense of self-company.
Alas, ‘the dry stretch’ wasn’t without its perils. It all started on a balmy evening in late August. The sun was beginning to set on the desert horizon, painting the canvas in the sky a mostly yellow-orange landscape with scattered streaks of blue. With the temperature being no less than ninety degrees, I was dressed in a white tank top with an unbuttoned plaid shirt that had the sleeves ripped off along with a pair of blue jeans. My wavy, chocolate-colored hair blew in the gentle breeze that resulted from my window being rolled down.
At first, the atmosphere was nothing less than undisturbed. The only sounds I heard was the hum of my wheels against the pavement and the ambience of the outdoors, both of them mixing together quite nicely. This was true, of course, until an interruption threw the equated blend of noises off of its balance. From the depths of my abdomen came a violent growl that sought to turn the environment from tranquil to discomposed.
“Damn it,” I uttered out in a small groan. Despite the fact I had driven down this route so many times that I could accurately predict when I was reaching the end with my eyes closed, I was still stupid enough to forget to adequately bring enough food for the trip.
That morning I had stopped at the truck stop in Dernton and ordered myself a hearty breakfast complete with sausage, eggs, hash browns, and a short stack of pancakes. Eager to get on the road, I failed to consider ordering a pastry or a bagel to keep me satisfied on the trip.
With one hand on the wheel, I diverted my eyes from the road for a moment to search around the truck and see if there was something edible. It was somewhat probable given that there was always a shameful amount of clutter in my vehicle: empty bottles, old receipts, magazines that would make my poor mother slip into an early grave…
Ah-hah. My heart surged with a tiny bit of hope upon finding an open box of cheese crackers. I picked it up and looked inside to find— empty. I sighed, carelessly tossing the box back where I found it. Just to add insult to injury, my stomach growled again.
I weakly looked at my mileage and saw that I had only traversed sixty miles. There was at least another hour until Hawksin with absolutely nothing to satiate the monster inside of my stomach. Certainly, my portable mug filled with now cold coffee wasn’t going to do the trick. I couldn’t even risk getting in trouble borrowing from the shipment because I was transporting furniture.
Just as I was about to sink into a deep puddle filled with woe, some semblance of a saving grace came my way. Off into the distance on the right side of the desert stood a wooden kiosk with a sloppy white-and-yellow paint job. Two stools were stationed in front of it, indicating its openness to visitors.
My head tilted at first as my gentle green eyes focused on the structure, confirming that I wasn’t hallucinating from my hunger pangs. This was new. I had never seen any sign of life on ‘the dry stretch’, much less a full-blown kiosk. Ah well. I thought. Here’s hoping that this is a food kiosk.
Within minutes, I pulled over on the side of the road and got out of the truck with all intents and purposes of approaching the stand. I maintained an even, careful stride with my hands jammed into my pockets and my thumbs sticking out. The mild crunch of the sand under my feet whispered into my ears.
The first thing I saw inside the kiosk was a man. He was bald, rough-looking, and couldn’t possibly have been any younger than forty. His arms were crossed and a mean scowl was prevalent on his face, but it wasn’t enough to scare me back into my truck. Some folks were just naturally pissed off.
“Howdy,” I greeted the man with a short lift of my hand from my pocket once I was a mere few inches from the stools. A calm aroma of meat and vegetables wafted its way towards my nostrils, causing my stomach to beg like a sad pup. I took a seat on the left stool and rested my fists on the edge of the counter. “I reckon you got somethin’ to eat?”
“I only serve one thing here: meat stew,” he answered in a gruff tone, his dark eyes accentuating the boldness of his words.
I cringed, my eyebrows lowering as my jaw tensed. That was what I was smelling? Stew of any kind was my least favorite thing in the world. “Got anythin’ else?”
“I meant what I said,” the man asserted. “Meat stew is the only thing I got. Take it or leave it.”
It was a choice between eating something I knew I wouldn’t enjoy or torturing myself with the overbearing sensation of hunger until I could reach a diner at the entrance of Hawksin. Reluctantly, I went with the former. “Fuck it. I’m hungrier than a stray dog.” Reaching into my back pocket, I pulled out my wallet and opened it up to fork over some cash. “How much?”
“Seven dollars a bowl.” I pulled out the exact payment and placed it on the counter. The man unfolded his arms, picked up the money, and got to work. He briefly bent at his knees to pick up a plain white bowl. He then turned around to a giant pot that he had behind him and lifted up the lid to fill up the dish with some stew using a ladle. After that, he placed the bowl in front of me as well as a spoon.
Observing my food, I couldn’t help but feel disgusted. To be quite frank, it looked like something that would come out of my ass after a really bad bout of food poisoning. Perhaps if I look at this long enough, I’ll no longer be hungry. Right away, I noted some peas, potatoes, corn, and — as the name implies — meat. Steam rose from the visually unappetizing meal and hit my lightly sweaty face.
I took a deep breath and relaxed my shoulders. The stew was already paid for, and I wasn’t about to ask Mr. Scrooge for a refund. My only choice was to taste it. I dug up a spoonful that had a chunk of meat and a couple of peas in it. Bringing it up to my lips, I blew on it for a quick moment before shoving it into my mouth.
Upon biting into the meat, something intriguing happened. A mild, pleasant taste glazed my tongue; it was one that I had never experienced before. What in blue blazes was this? Staring down at my bowl, I took a closer look at the meat. It certainly had the consistency and look of beef, but it didn’t taste anything like it. Instead, the flavor was more of a… pork? Veal? A combination of the two, perhaps? Even after I swallowed the spoonful, I couldn’t make a good enough guess on what it was. It was slightly bitter, but mostly good.
With fluttering curiosity, I pointed my eyes at the man and asked: “Excuse me, sir, what meat did you use for this?”
One of his hands gripped onto the counter while the other rested by his hip. “It comes from a very fine specimen,” he said, his sharp eyes honing in on me. “It’s exotic.” Exotic, huh? And he only wanted seven bucks? “You can call me Marshall.”
I let out a hum of intrigue. “What a coincidence. My last name is Marshall. Call me Blake, though.” Carrying on the conversation, I took another spoonful of the stew. “So, Marshall, are you from around here?” Shoving the spoon into my mouth, that foreign taste from before greeted me once again. I was starting to appreciate the flavor a little more with each tender bite.
“You could say that,” was all that dispersed from his dry, chapped lips. I figured that Marshall wasn’t one for conversation, so I didn’t press any further topics and instead ate my mysterious yet scrumptious stew in silence. I looked up a few moments later and saw that his gaze had moved away from my eyes and slid down towards my torso. Uh, he’s not one of those ‘save a horse, ride a cowboy’ dudes, is he? “You don’t happen to look very… meaty,” he observed aloud.
“That’s a mighty harmful stereotype,” I replied, a note of offense reaching my syllables. “Not all of us truckers are plump. Some of us happen to stay in shape.” My free hand rubbed along my tank top where I felt the ridges of my muscles.
“It was just an observation,” Marshall defended, a low growl oozing through his tone. “No need to get your panties in a twist about it.”
I found his observation to be a little odd to say in the least, but I heeded his words and didn’t let it get to me. With a shrug, I went back to feasting on the savory dish that I had quickly grown to like. About fifteen minutes later when the sky had begun to fade into slightly darker hues, I swallowed my last spoonful and breathed out a satisfied sigh.
“I gotta tell ya, Marshall,” I started out, briefly pausing to scratch the side of my face where my smooth fingers met with the rough whiskers of my stubble, “I normally hate stew, but this has to be the best I’ve ever had. Especially the meat.”
He took my bowl and spoon away from me and stuffed them somewhere under the kiosk. The only comment I got in response to my appreciation was: “Glad to hear.” I offered him the benefit of the doubt and decided that he was just being humble.
I got off the stool and stretched my arms out. On top of it being very warm outside, stuffing myself with a hot meal made me sleepy. A nap would be in order once I got to Hawksin. “Well, I’d like to stay and chat, but I've got to finish some drivin’. I’ll make sure to come ‘round again.” I sent him a wave before walking back towards my rig, feeling both physically and mentally fulfilled.
My words to Marshall were not just a pleasantry. Just by using exotic meat, he turned stew from something I hated to something I enjoyed very much. I wasn’t sure how much of a chef the man was, but he should’ve been damned proud by achieving such an accomplishment. Though, given how firm of a man he was, I doubted that I could make him feel any sense of positivity.
Nevertheless, ‘the dry stretch’ was not quite so dry any longer. Over the next couple of weeks, I made a stop at Marshall’s (the kiosk didn’t have an official name) every single trip to and from Hawksin. He appeared to be out there serving up that stew every single day, and as a loyal customer, I made sure to have an empty stomach every time I passed by his little kiosk. Some might have been quick to call it an addiction, but I called it a passion.
Eventually, Marshall became the talk of a few other guys who had to pass ‘the dry stretch’ to do their hauls. Us truckers agreed that the mild flavor of the meat in his stew was an enigma because we couldn’t agree on what the taste was comparable to. Half of the guys thought pork, and half of them thought veal, even though that’s not what the meat actually looked like. There were a couple of outliers who thought that the meat was just some really rare beef.
The chef on the desert road had to have been raking in bank. Truckers who didn’t even need to cross ‘the dry stretch’ made a visit down to the kiosk just to see what all the rave was about. Hell, I had floated quite a bit of money at that place myself. Especially since there were a couple of trips where I got two bowls of stew instead of one.
“Seems like you’ve become one of the most popular cooks ‘round these parts,” I told Marshall one day after finishing my order of stew, my voice tinged with delight from the amazing-as-always flavor. “Have ya considered openin’ up a shop in the city? Hawksin’s got a few places for rent.”
For the first time that I had seen with my own eyes, emotion invaded him. The corners of his lips curved upwards ever so slightly to form a smile as thin as a wafer. A short, hearty chuckle followed right after. “Nah, I wouldn’t make it for very long in the city.”
“But why not?” I asked with my eyebrows raised. While wiping the sweat off my forehead with my forearm, I added: “You’re the talk of the trucker’s union, and that’s sayin’ a helluva lot given that we love our food. If we like your stew, I reckon everyone will.”
His mood faded back into his typical scowl. Those dark eyes were filled with a grim expression, giving off an almost soulless appearance. “My meat is too exotic for a large crowd. A shop in that area wouldn’t last long.” Loosening the severity of his gruff tone by a slight notch, he finished with: “I get by just fine by setting up my kiosk here.”
I questioned what the hell he had meant with that statement. How could a meat be too exotic? Sure, the meat might have been expensive, but he could make more than enough to cover it by opening up a shop. As long as everyone still had a boundless love for his stew, how was it possible for the place to not last long?
Unless, by ‘too exotic’, he was referring to something else other than cost.
A sinister truth was revealed towards the middle of September when I was traversing ‘the dry stretch’ with the intention to stop at the kiosk. A mild overcast blocked out the sky, but the heat was as wicked as ever. I ditched the ripped sleeves back at Dernton and drove in just my tank top, leaving my firm arms exposed to the blanket of warmth covering the desert.
As if on schedule, my stomach alerted me that it wanted to be fed. I checked my mileage and ascertained that I was about five miles away from the kiosk. Who would’ve thought that in those five miles, I transitioned from a man who was happily humming a tune to his favorite country song to a hollow husk inundated with absolute horror.
When the familiar white-and-yellow kiosk came into my view, an unfamiliar sight tarnished the entire structure. Police tape was wrapped around the entire thing with a sheet of paper attached to the front. Confusion brewed inside of me as soon as I saw it. Marshall had been shut down, but why? Did he not have a permit? Was it illegal to sell food on ‘the dry stretch’?
None of the questions that were circulating my head could even begin to reach the ledge of the gritty reality that I was faced with. I pulled over as soon as I was close enough and briskly walked towards the kiosk upon exiting my rig. Pausing as soon as I approached the note, I took a deep breath and braced myself for the inevitable unfortunate reason as to why my new favorite meal could no longer be enjoyed.
The first thing I noticed was that the letter was stamped by the Yellowton County Police Department, and the reason for that was all too apparent upon digesting the words below. It read:
Marshall Benson was arrested on the night of September 13th after he was found brutally murdering a teenage boy in a back alley. Following his arrest, we conducted a thorough investigation and found that he was using human flesh for the ‘meat stew’ that he was serving at this kiosk.
To anyone who may have dined at this kiosk: contact your health provider immediately to inform them of your ingestion of human meat. Consuming human flesh is hazardous to your health.
For any further questions, please contact your local authorities.
The letter was then signed and dated, but that was the absolute least of my worries. I read the entirety of the notice just to make sure that I wasn’t fooling myself, but as soon as I confirmed that it wasn’t bullshit, my entire body gave out.
First, my eyes widened and my jaw dropped as I was forced to allow the news to sink in. For the past couple of weeks, I’ve been eating human flesh. I’ve been eating other people. People who were murdered. People who had loving, productive lives. A tear was brought to my eye upon making such a horrendous, blood-curdling realization.
The worst part about all of this? I enjoyed eating the meat. I sang high praises about it to everyone and licked my lips whenever the thought of it came to mind. There was no denying that I was now a cannibal.
I couldn’t hold it in. Fiercely grabbing onto my stomach, I keeled over and threw up all over the ground. The chunks of food doused in my bile weren’t from the meat stew, but I sure wished that that had been the case. A cold sweat broke out as pure terror coursed throughout my entire nervous system. It felt like I was dying.
Wiping my mouth with my arm, I didn’t have the energy to stand on my own two feet. Instead, I rolled over onto the sand and looked up at the sky, my chest heaving in unadulterated fear and disgust. As I baked in the desert heat, I couldn’t stop myself from thinking about the heinous act that I had just committed. It was a powerful force that my mind couldn’t ward off no matter how much mental strength I exerted.
I was forced to live with the shocking, terrible reality that I was a consumer of other human beings. With that, I would never be the same Blake Marshall ever again.
How am I going to live? I questioned myself as the shocking, terrible reality that I was a consumer of other human beings cut deeper into my brain and left scars bigger than a knife wound. How does one just move on from such a thing?
The answer? I didn’t.
The initial trauma of the incident stuck with me for the next few days. I performed my job as usual, but the mentality I had while doing so was nothing close to usual. By the time my next haul was scheduled, the kiosk had been torn down meaning I no longer had to withstand the sight. Regardless, traversing across ‘the dry stretch’ now felt eerie, and that feeling was only heightened by the stark silence that enveloped the atmosphere.
Bathing in the deep waters of silence wasn’t good for me, because doing so only brought forth two sentences that wouldn’t leave my brain: You ate human flesh. You loved the taste. Those damned bone-chilling words were accompanied by a strained, raspy voice highlighted with a desperate, tormenting edge.
I tried to rationalize with my own self. Yes, I loved the taste when I thought it was animal meat. Now that I knew what really delighted my palette, my morals didn’t want to believe that the taste was good any longer.
I did as much as I could to dampen the silence that stirred up those disturbing, gruelling thoughts. Turning on the radio, I blasted the songs that came out at maximum volume. I even got myself a miniature fan for my dashboard and powered it on all the way so the whirring of the blades would be distracting enough to keep me away from the dark abyss of unwanted notions. Little did I know, though, the bleak sentiments were just a little bit louder than the blaring noises that I tried to wrap myself in. Admit it. You’re craving that meat again. You want more.
Though I didn’t think it was possible, the taste that I fell in love with completely ravaged me and left me wanting more of it. I tried to block it out by ignoring the desire, but then it completely evolved until it was insatiable. Somehow, despite being initially horrified by the wrongness of my actions, I was willing to overlook that just to reap the benefits.
But I wasn’t willing to conform to such a nasty, inhumane practice. Instead, I turned to the glowing light of solutions. At the absolute height of my craving where it was slowly rendering me insane, I picked up some veal from the butcher shop back in Londer and purchased a small assortment of vegetables from a produce stand. I had the rest of the ingredients at home.
After a couple of hours of cooking in the small house I lived in, I was under the impression that I had crafted an acceptable substitute for the meat stew. The presentation was almost just as appealing, and the smell fueled my appetite with a sense of intrigue. But once I lifted the silver spoon to my mouth, the flavor was disappointing.
It didn’t capture the elegance of Marshall’s cooking at all. Even though the veal had a nice flavor, it wasn’t to the same standard as flesh. I didn’t like it. Eating this meat as a substitute for the meat I was used to was directly comparable to drinking almond milk as a substitute for the real deal. Both imitations were reminiscent of the actual flavor, but the intensity of the resemblance wasn’t enough to curb the craving in its entirety.
Frustrated, I threw my spoon down and buried my rough face into my hands, tugging on my hair in the process. My mind and body were both in a deadly war. My mind knew that everything about the situation was wrong, but my body disregarded any morality for other human beings and adopted the greedy primal urge of fulfilling my want. Even just a small taste of the stew would be enough to satisfy me.
The withdrawal only got worse over the next couple of days. Every time that I thought it would get better if I just held out for a little while longer, it got so much worse. Just like a tumor, my hunger for the forbidden beef grew to be bigger and nastier. Dreams of eating the stew at that kiosk infiltrated all of my attempts at a peaceful night’s rest, leaving me waking up with a flurry of different emotions that pelted me sharply from all fronts.
So, I began to lose sleep. And when I started to lose sleep, I started to become more irritable. And when I started to become irritable, I slowly started to lose my grip on everything until my brain was vulnerable to every single deadly attack from the blunt weapons of my most evil wishes. Not only had the sentences become more boisterous, but I was beginning to utter them myself from the depths of my dry, scratchy throat. Fantasy was about to succumb to reality.
There came a desolate moment on my very next haul when I was coming back from Hawksin. The black sky of the night slowly faded into the soft blue of the early morning as I neared my third hour on the trip. Running off of little sleep, I drank my coffee all the way down to the very bottom out of refusal to let even a single drop of the caffeine evade my tongue. I needed all the energy I could to make it across ‘the dry stretch’.
With nothing but spare time on my hands, I took a few moments and peered into the rearview mirror. I hadn’t taken a good look at myself since that fateful day when the truth about the stew was revealed, but I figured there was no sense in escaping from the moment any longer.
The man that sent his gaze back at me was one that I didn’t recognize. His hair, still as wavy as ever, had become longer and unkept. The gentle green in his eyes had become surrounded by a bloodshot red. The short stubble on his face transformed into a short beard. Not only did I look like one of those bums on the street corners who lacked self-care, but I lacked even caring about myself.
It didn’t help that I was forced to deal with the musk emitting from my skin after a good while of not showering. Though I certainly had the time on my hands to bathe myself properly, looking at my bare flesh in the tub only made me want to cut a chunk off and mix in a pot with some vegetables and cooking liquid. I was able to blame my stink on the desert sun to the clients I delivered to, but the lingering worry in their eyes indicated that they knew I was letting go of myself.
I almost screamed when the unwelcoming presence of hunger erupted in my stomach, sounding off an unhealthy request in my mind. My body wasn’t telling me that it was in the mood for any food. No, just like every drawn-out day, it was begging me for the palatable human meat. This was what Marshall had done to me. He had not only stripped me of my self-care, but my humanity as well.
With my teeth grinding together and my hands gripping into the wheel until my knuckles were a stark white, a grim conclusion plagued my entire being and drowned me in its poison: I needed to get my hands on some flesh before I ended up getting admitted to one of those looney bins that my father threatened as punishment to deter me from having tantrums as a little boy.
There were ethical ways of going about the whole thing, right? I could always steal from a casket, or I could take a sample from somebody else’s kill. It couldn’t be murder if they were already dead. If I didn’t kill them, then was there any harm in sampling the corpse as a result of not letting it go to waste? My head violently pounded in response to the internal proposals that brewed inside the boiling pot of my imagination. Was I really trying to normalize this behavior? Had this sick inclination invaded my sanity this much that I was willing to sell my own soul for a taste of that delicious meat?
The answer became disturbingly clear during my drive. I was just barely over twenty miles away from Dernton when the sight caught my attention: a young man walking on the side of the road who was most likely in his early twenties. Dressed in jeans, a dark-blue t-shirt, and a baseball cap, he seemed like a fine gentleman.
My breath grew heavy as I slowed down the speed on my truck, keeping a close watch on this man. With sharp, narrow eyes, I stalked him like a vulture. Rationality had completely left my mind at this very moment, leaving me to draw absurd conclusions. It was just me and him… all alone… with nobody within a reachable distance to see either of us...
There was absolutely no thinking involved in my course of action. My drive of wanting to be fed was taking the reins. Quickly pulling my rig onto the side of the road and slowing it to a stop, I got out of the vehicle and began the execution of my plan with haste. “Excuse me, sir!” I hollered at the stranger from several feet away.
He turned around, meeting me with a set of polite hazel eyes and mild freckles dotted on a clean-shaven face. His appearance was an innocent sight, but I didn’t allow the purity of his features to curb what my appetite was asking of me. “Oh, hey there. What’cha need?” A polite expression was painted across his lips.
In an effort to come off as genuine as possible, I forced a wide smile to grace my mouth. “Think ya could help me with a little somethin’? There’s a bit of an issue with my truck and it looks to be a two-man job. I’ll make it worth your while.”
The man appeared to give out trust like candy, because my request was convincing enough to make him walk towards me. “Sure, I don’t mind lendin’ a hand.” He proceeded at a normal pace.
A strong manifestation of determination reached my chest, causing me to sprawl out my fingers in preparation for the daring act that I was about to engage in. The man kept his happiness as he neared… five feet away, four feet away, three feet away… Finally, when he was no more than two feet away from me, I snapped.
WIth the force of both of my hands, I lunged forward and wrapped them around his neck in an effort to strangle him. Blindsided by cruelty, I guided him to the side of my truck where I would have more of an advantage over him. I didn’t think about what I was doing. Instead, I simply peered into his terrified hazel orbs and watched as life slowly left them.
He choked loudly and gasped for air even though it was a useless resource for him at that point. By pure instinct, his hands grabbed onto mine as he tried to pry even a few fingers off of him. Unfortunately for his case, his strength was vastly lower in comparison to mine.
I felt a strong sense of heat rush through my body while my ears started to ring, nearly drowning out the strained cries of my victim. I hadn’t a clue what he saw in my eyes, but upon seeing his fear-stricken face, I could only imagine that he was peering into a soulless void. He broke out into a sweat as a tear or two leaked from his eyes while his skin started to lose its bright, peachy color. By the time he was barely clinging onto the vine of the living, his shade was akin to that of a ghost.
Within the next few moments, his skin went from warm to cold, his eyes rolled back into his head, and he succumbed to the darkness with death as its pretty name. I let go of the man and watched as his now lifeless corpse slid down the side of the truck and onto the sand below our feet. Looking towards his neck, the spots where I roughly pressed on him were stained with ugly bruises.
I breathed out a heavy breath as my eyes remained fixated on the lifeless corpse before me. Though what I had done was extremely horrid, I couldn’t help but bring forth a grin. My muscles relinquished their energy in pure relief. Finally, I had gathered the one resource that would put an end to this whole withdrawal that I had suffered through.
From an objective lens, I had taken someone’s life. But from my own twisted view, I was simply gathering an ingredient for my next batch of meat stew.
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2021.01.26 06:29 Bbaftt7 jdmowners • r/jdmowners someone suggested starting a subreddit for people that own JDM vehicles, so I did! Come check them out! If you own a JDM vehicle, post it!
2021.01.26 06:29 CryptoCrunchApp Bitcoin Is A Better Store of Value Than Gold Says Bank of Singapore
|submitted by CryptoCrunchApp to CryptoCrunchApp [link] [comments]|
2021.01.26 06:29 LarryLaffer5 Why sell a GPU box on ebay? & is $650 for a 3070 8gb card a good price?
I see a few 3070 and 3080 boxes, says BOX ONLY NO GPU in description, with bids on ebay ranging in an acceptable price (I mean if you wanna buy an empty box) of $10 all the way up to $200+ (with bids!). I wonder if the bids are bots, or are mad people that can't find the GPU they want... Or could an empty 3000 series card box actually sell for $200? It just boggles my mind.
And $650 for an ASUS 3070 8gb card isn't a bad deal huh? I mean the 3080 is going for close to $850-1000 for the AIB cards I've seen msrp.
submitted by LarryLaffer5 to graphicscard [link] [comments]