Meat

Truth, the hardest thing to face, yet very real. Real enough to feel it, but not believe it.

That day I was alone at home. Alone, but I felt there was someone hiding behind the curtains, above the almirah or below the bed. But I was alone. You must have felt this; someone following you, watching you, but there is no one.

Since childhood, I have lived with baba and kaka. They have never left me alone. Even if baba went to work, kaka was there. Baba always believed him. And that belive was because of meat. Kaka made the finest meat. My father was addicted to it. But he had never let me taste it.

That day I was alone, no one would know if I ate some of it. So I went to the fridge, opened the door and had a piece of it. It melted, delicious, spices mixing in mouth. I devoured for it. So I had another bite, then another, then another. Till I ate all.

That was a fatal mistake. That was when it came. The feeling of despair, like someone pulling down. "Never, I say never eat this" My father had instructed. I felt crumbling in stomach, and above all a fear to be caught. He had always been weird about it.

I wanted to hide. I wanted no one discovers. Wherever I went the feeling haunted me. I looked around. Basement. Father told me never to go there, the place was perilous. But I ran, ran like I had no place to go. The basement was large. It had refrigerators, open almirah filled with knives and axes and a strong metallic door. There was something fishy. The place smelled of decay. It was very uncomfortable.

Curiosity, yes out of curiosity I pushed that metallic door with both hands.

And my eyes popped out, the horror had no sound, I was rooted to the floor. Across the room were decaying bodies of children and women. Flesh taken out from places, skin flapped, eyes open and insects crawling all over.