Meat

Written for the inaugural Sound and Scribe (EDIT: unfortunately no longer with us) flash fiction competition, in which it came second. Clocks in at just under 500 words.

Be warned, this is an adult story.

The industrial fans whup-whupped a kind of white noise. I focused on that instead of the moans, checking the knots one more time.

I hadn’t ever noticed the fans before. Normally the cacophony of the processing machinery drowned out everything else. My best investment to date had been noise-isolating earphones.

I met his eyes as I reached for the nearest hook, pressing the release and pulling it down to hip height. He wailed through the gag, red-rimmed eyes rolling, pleading with me. The livid purple bruise around one eye made it even more stark in his sweating face. I could smell a hint of his piss over the stink of cold animal carcass and disinfectant. A wave of nausea rolled up my throat but I squashed it, clenching my jaw. What I was doing was right. He deserved this, even if the police didn’t believe me. I was done waiting for them to listen.

I grabbed his wrists and heaved them up behind his back, wrenching his shoulders until the wrist rope was high enough for the hook to slip under. I grunted with the effort, dropping him onto the hook. He tried to kick his legs but I had them bound so he just bucked weakly, a fish on a line.

I met his eyes again, pulling the photo of Laura from my pocket. “This is for her, you fuck.” I said, and spat, pressing the button to raise the hook.

He thrashed, moaning, shaking his head with such force I thought it would come off at the neck. The machine hummed as the hook rose. At first he could bend to let the arms raise, but at a certain point his shoulders gave way with a pop and a scream and his legs flopped back to floor level while the winch kept humming. I closed my eyes and swallowed. This was justice. No turning back now.

I opened my eyes, nodded to him and walked to the wall. I paused, right hand on the starter button. The picture of Laura was still in my left and I held it up, gazing at her smiling face. A sob escaped my throat. I kissed the photo, placed it in my chest pocket and smacked the green button with the palm of my hand, blinking back tears.

As the conveyor lurched into action I stepped through the side door, putting in my earphones. Despite them, the squeal of the grinder was all I could hear. I vomited in the alley, then sagged against the wall and smoked four cigarettes in the cool night air. I tried to smile. She could rest now. I went back inside.

The sun was rising by the time I had finished cleaning and driven out to the moor. I burned my clothes and added her photo to the fire. I said goodbye as the sparks rose in the air.

The grinding echoed in my ears.