The Final Meal

“My love?” I asked desperately, begging for her words to be a lie. How could I, how could I be the one to end her life.

On a fretful morning during our final dish, our final discussion began. And by the end I would have eaten her, mind and heart.

“With this dying body, I must discuss what I want you to do” Her shaky hand trembled and quivered, holding onto mine. For years she’d fought a sickness only a few could escape from. And for years I stood by her side.

Her plate, full of ordinary nutrients, hid the taste of the crushed pills fed every morning. Even food had become that of what is only for living, a tedious matter. Despite this, my plate was full of various foods she cooked for me. My wife loved to cook, she loved to eat. And yet this sickness that overtook her stopped her from such. I couldn't eat however, I’d rather starve than take another bite without her. 

“My love please, please don’t say such dreadful words.” My voice was weak and pitiful, much less than a man, “You musn’t..you musn’t please you can’t leave me” Tears invaded my eyes as I sobbed into the lap of my wife. “I’ll go with you, I can’t bear to spend another minute without your touch, without your presence”

 My wife, my wife was much more than any man could describe. To say I loved her was much more than an understatement but rather could be no more wrong than the devil himself. I loved her as much as an artist loves his masterpiece or a writer loves its muse. If she were only just a dream then once I woke up I wouldn't go back to sleep, I would search for her because there is no chance that any mortal would fathom something as grand as her. She was my everything, the only thing that was anything to me. I could stare at her for hours and my eyes would never blink so I would never miss a single second of her. 

And yet she was being taken from me. 

“Don’t be like this” her voice so gentle my tears came to a stop, “My love, through this wish I mention, we won’t ever have to be apart–i'll be with you, apart of you” Her fingers pressed against my face pinching into my flesh, blood dripping down my blushed cheeks. “So don’t argue, my dear, don’t persist with this meaningless discussion and listen” My wife was in and out of hospitals both mentally and physically, and yet I could not tell what was right or wrong so long as she told me to do it.

 She was my everything, the only one who truly knew what was right for me. And so I did as commanded. To be with her forever, to be able to enjoy her final meal for me. My wife, despite being banned from making any dish again, persisted. And so with her request, with her dying body. I ate.

Through years of work to simply be able to work by her side, I have become something of an artist. I paint my places with the blood of animals I've morphed, dipping my brush touching the cold lifeless skins dragging it into my canvas. I was the opposite of my wife who viewed food as much more than eating, to her it was metaphorical in a sense. However, for me it was something much more sinister. For me it was love.

“My love, my love let me avenge your life by eating this sickness away, ravaging all that took your precious life away” my words were hot, full of desire. And with every word that escaped my lips, was a time closer to beginning, “thank you” And i’ve begun.

I sank into the flesh that pinched against my teeth. Feeling the warm pressure against my gums as unbeknownst to me a flavor of the most horrid iron swirled and infiltrated my taste. Hearing the tears of the skin that pulled and twisted, the sound was sickening. So much so that I couldn’t help but indulge further into the symphony. The feeling as the bone hit my teeth sent shivers instantly knowing how much depth I've fallen. My tongue would desperately search for the sensation in an effort to extend the almost everlasting pleasure. With every swallow and every chew I could feel my mind spin and everything become blurred, I began to lose myself to a pleasure so grand it couldn’t be defined. 

So as I stared down at her while she laid between my cold embrace, between my arms, between my teeth, I couldn't think of anything as wonderful as this. 

I loved her much more than anything I had ever thought I loved before. 

Isn’t this the most beautiful thing, the most romantic gesture in history of all creatures? The benevolence of it all was to awestrucking for me to put into words. She would remind me every morning of this. Every bite I took she praised. 

“Eating is much more than that to live” she would say through the shrew voices in my head, “It is to be reminded, reminded of whatever it is you must remember” 

As I took a bite of her tongue, I was reminded of her sweet words whispered to me through the phone of the hospital. Tearing her fragile skin I remember her fragile touch that soothed me to sleep every night. The memories swirled, twisting into forgotten fantasies.

 Her voice would continue,

“It is to become apart of something, whether that be metaphorical,” the voice became distant, yet I couldn’t quite get myself to notice, I was far too indulged, “ or just the very thing you’ve enjoyed”

To be a part of someone forever–to have them so close to you is much more comforting than any intimate touch of the skin. If anything this is the most intimate act, having her so close to me as all of her touched me. It was wonderful–this feeling of the most intimate act. The world spun and looked so dizzily and yet I could hear her so clearly, feel her, touch her, and taste her dearly. I would close my eyes only for the tears to travel down my face and sip into her beautiful crimson red stains left on my face. 

Finally I was done

I’ve finished her last meal for me. Twisted in my own high I would no longer care of how monstrous our love had been.

The numbness of everything I touched, the only feeling was the warmth of knowing I was with her forever and always despite her life slipping away.

My love, My only love 

With me forever and always 

So close her taste lingered on my lips, my tongue, my entire being 

My love, this would be my final ultimate romantic act for you and always you. 

Let our final discussion be the beginning of something more, the final dish. 

“Are you satisfied now?” I asked quietly, peering down at the mess of what was once my everything. I’ve done what was asked, I've taken her life. I’m left alone now, a life not quite without her but not quite with her. “My love?’