Meat Deprivation Psychosis - Short Story

[Shrekstasy]

Hey guys! I wrote this a while back for my contemporary English class. I thought I'd post it on here to get some reviews. Uhm, it is a mature piece, and contains themes that would probably get me banned from this, but it's art. So yeah, if you guys can stomach mild gore fiction, it should be a decent read. I would not like to ruin the plot for you guys, so dive right in. Leave comments or suggestions, I'd like some feedback about improvements or what not. Enjoy!


[spoiler=Meat Deprivation Psychosis, 17+]My eyes jolted open from a very engaging dream of meat. The most basic thing to know about myself is that I have an obsession with meat - Cow meat, pig meat, crab meat, any meat. If it is meat, I will eat it. My stomach roared like the cave troll from the first Lord of the Rings movie. “Hungry,” I mumbled. I drew back the sheets covering my pajama’d body. They were amber sheets with little leather hams and chicken legs sewn into the fabric to make the unique design. I made these sheets myself.
My outstretched arm was searching wildly for my glasses for a moment or two, smacking the adjacent nightstand like a whore’s ass. My vision was restored when the thick framed spectacles were rested atop my nose. The frames were organic, carved out of bone. And like the sheets, I made these myself. They were in the shape of a Thanksgiving turkey, coated in a deep amber paint.
I stumbled out of my amber bed towards my slippers. These slippers, to your disappointment, were not meat shaped. They were your average amber slippers you would buy at your average clothing store for $12. They were warm enough, though. The fabric lining the inside of the slippers tickled my bare feet like a morphine needle tickles your gums before oral surgery. The fabric reminded me of fur, as it should. Smooth and soft. I liked meat.
Like a zombie, I wandering into my kitchen, my thoughts fixated on my fridge and the delectable meats inside. I thought of pulled pork sandwiches deeply coated in barbeque sauce, raining from the sky to land in my gaping mouth. These porks morphed into strips of raw, red beef. The beef conjoined together to create a castle of meat. Its drawbridge fell gracefully to the kitchen floor and through which I wandered inside.
The walls of my castle were lined with fat pigs swaying beautifully from meat hooks. The floors and walls were composed of thick steaks, the kind of steak you cannot chew for the life of you, but suck the amorous flavor out before you swallow the hard candy meat. In the middle of the meat yard was a fountain. The fountain functioned much like a geyser, spraying its heated steak sauce into the air and catching the wonderful fluid in the basin.
An amber glow emanated from a corridor that apparently led deeper into the castle. It was akin to the lighting one would expect from a safelight used in a dark room to develop photographs, dull. I felt a sudden bewitchment overcome my famished body. Being a man possessed, I sprinted reckless down the corridor. I ran for hours past endless amounts and varieties of meats. As my hunger elevated higher and higher, time seemed to become slower and slower.
As I turned a beefy corner, the amber light became as blinding as the sunrise during an early morning drive. I ran into the light and bumped into my refrigerator. Amber tears rolled down my amber face as my amber hand grasped the amber handle. I pulled the door open to be greeted by the familiar yellow light. As my eyes adjusted, I had spotted a problem.
The meat castled vanished. The amber light vanished. The muscles in my face twitched. I fell to my knees and my stomach gurgled again. The fridge was emptied – there was no meat.
I swaggered out of the door of my ranch. My whole being was twitching. I became consumed by my fleshy craving. I went into my yard and into my shed. I switched the amber light on, and my workshop was lightened. The central wooden table was splattered with dried blood. Empty meat hooks hung from the walls, with empty buckets caked with dried blood below. I went to my table and snatched my trusted meat cleaver. Its blade was as sharp as the day I had pulled it from my father’s mangled corpse. That was the first time I was denied my meat.
Like a fugitive evading hounds, I sneaked my way over to my neighbor’s property. He had reported his two daughters missing months ago, they were still missing. And he was still shaken with grief. He was pitiful. Those little girls were very annoying, always wandering into my yard and bothering my livestock. The girls’ basted cadavers were as delectable as they were obnoxious in life. I masterfully picked the lock to the door, and I silently invaded the home.
Quiet as a church mouse, I went up the staircase. My psychotic grin was wider than a Glasgow smile. My eyes were wild. The cleaver trembled in my shaking hand. My other hand involuntarily opened and clenched, over and over. I felt like a dog mad with hunger.
I entered the room. An amber light from the digital alarm clock dimly lit the room enough for minimal visibility. He lay there in his unmanaged bedding. His sheets were as white as a wedding dress. I watched him for several minutes, observing. He was having a nightmare, which would explain the rolling and messy bedding. “No...no...no,” he mumbled softly. I smiled.
He looked as peaceful as he looked pitiful. The amber lighting complemented his rugged middle-aged face. He worked as a factory worker in the city, making weaponry for the war in Europe. They told him he was too old to enlist to defeat Nazism.
I loomed over him, inhaling his rotten night breath. I put one hand lightly on his built chest, and then applied pressure as I slit the meat of his throat. The steak sauce sprayed from his neck like a fountain. His eyes immediately opened and his hands lurched for his mortal wound. He looked at my smiling face and into my crazed amber eyes. The moment was beautiful.
He succumbed after a short boat of gurgling. His body stopped pretending to care. The sheets were red. My eyes beamed with savagery. I felt powerful.
I struggled to drag his meaty corpse into my shed. He had grown pleasantly fat as he pleasantly aged. With my meat on the table, I was ready to work. I cut down his middle with a knife, and peeled away his hairy flesh. I figured his hide was the ideal thickness to make a lampshade for a new lamp to be placed on my nightstand; I’d be able to find my glasses easier that way.
Under the amber glow of my overhead light, I removed a large chunk of raw meat from his chest, which I rolled in my hand like a child. I greedily gobbled up the beef. More dopamine flooded my brain than 10 lines would yield. I ejaculated.
I placed the chunks and organs into plastic bags and put them in my cold refrigerator. I placed the skeletal remains and hide in a drawer. I searched my shed for gasoline. I doused the outside of his estate with the liquid and lit a cigarette. After releasing a memorable puff, I tossed the little amber flame into a small pool. The amber flames climbed higher and higher, wildly insane as I. I could hear the screams of his dogs, and it was music to my ears.
The home was engulfed in my precious amber flames. I felt like a god.[/spoiler]

[Enguin Enguin Enguin Enguin]

Disturbing....That's all I have to say on the matter.

[Vairocana]

[spoiler=]My eyes jolted open from a very engaging dream of meat. The most basic thing to know about myself is that I have an obsession with meat - Cow meat, pig meat, crab meat, any meat. If it is meat, I will eat it. My stomach roared like the cave troll from the first Lord of the Rings movie[b](weak simile)[/b].
[b](dialogue goes on a new line)[/b]
“Hungry,” I mumbled. I drew back the sheets covering my pajama’d[b](not a fan of "pajama'd")[/b] body. They were amber sheets with little leather hams and chicken legs sewn into the fabric [s]to make the unique design[/s]. I made these sheets myself.[b](if you made them yourself, they are unique (unless you are a profesional sheet maker))[/b]
My [s]outstretched[/s] arm was searching wildly for my glasses for a moment or two, smacking the adjacent nightstand like a whore’s ass. My vision was restored when the thick framed spectacles [s]were [/s]rested atop my nose. The frames were organic, carved out of bone. And like the sheets, I made these myself. They were in the shape of a Thanksgiving turkey, coated in a deep amber paint.
I stumbled out of my amber bed towards my slippers. These slippers, to your disappointment[b](uh, I wasn't disappointed.)[/b], were not meat shaped. They were your average amber slippers you would buy at your average clothing store for $12. They were warm enough, though. The fabric lining the inside of the slippers tickled my bare feet like a morphine needle tickles your gums before oral surgery. The fabric reminded me of fur, as it should[b](why should it?)[/b]. Smooth and soft. I liked meat[b](how does that relate?)[/b].
Like a zombie, I wandering into my kitchen, my thoughts fixated on my fridge and the delectable meats inside. I thought of pulled pork sandwiches deeply coated in barbeque sauce, raining from the sky to land in my gaping mouth. These porks morphed into strips of raw, red beef. The beef conjoined together to create a castle of meat. Its drawbridge fell gracefully to the kitchen floor and through which I wandered inside.
The walls of my castle were lined with fat pigs swaying beautifully from meat hooks. The floors and walls were composed of thick steaks, the kind of steak you cannot chew for the life of you, but suck the amorous flavor out before you swallow the hard candy meat. In the middle of the meat yard was a fountain. The fountain [s]functioned much like a geyser,[/s] spray[b]ed[/b] its heated steak sauce into the air and [b]caught[/b] the wonderful fluid in the basin.
An amber glow emanated from a corridor that [s]apparently[/s] led deeper into the castle. It was [s]akin to the lighting one would expect from a[/s] [b]lit like a [/b]safelight used in a dark room to develop photographs, dull. I felt a sudden bewitchment overcome my famished body. [s]Being a man[/s] [b]P[/b]ossessed, I sprinted reckless[b]ly[/b] down the corridor. I ran for hours past endless amounts and varieties of meats. As my hunger elevated higher and higher, time seemed to become slower and slower.[b](why doesn't he eat the meat castle?)[/b]
As I turned a beefy corner, the amber light became as blinding as the sunrise during an early morning drive. I ran into the light and bumped into my refrigerator. Amber tears rolled down my amber face as my amber hand grasped the amber handle. I pulled the door open to be greeted by the familiar yellow light. As my eyes adjusted, I had spotted a problem.
The meat castled vanished. The amber light vanished. The muscles in my face twitched. I fell to my knees and my stomach gurgled again. The fridge was emptied – there was no meat.
I swaggered out of the door of my ranch. My whole being was twitching. I became consumed by my fleshy craving. I went into my yard and into my shed. I switched the amber[b](at this point, you're just beating me over the head with the word "amber". You have color symbolism, good for you! Now cut it out.)[/b] light on, [s]and my workshop was lightened[/s][b](that tends to happen when you turn a light on. Redundant)[/b]. The central wooden table was splattered with dried blood. Empty meat hooks hung from the walls, with empty buckets caked with dried blood below. I went to my table and snatched my trusted meat cleaver. Its blade was as sharp as the day I had pulled it from my father’s mangled corpse. That was the first time I was denied my meat.
Like a fugitive evading hounds, I [s]sneaked[/s] [b]snuck [/b]my way over to my neighbor’s property. He had reported his two daughters missing months ago, they were still missing. And he was still shaken with grief. He was pitiful. Those little girls were very annoying, always wandering into my yard and bothering my livestock. The girls’ basted cadavers were as delectable as they were obnoxious in life. I masterfully picked the lock to the door, and I silently invaded the home.
Quiet as a church mouse, I went up the staircase. My psychotic grin was wider than a Glasgow smile. My eyes were wild. The cleaver trembled in my [s]shaking[/s] hand. My other hand involuntarily opened and clenched, over and over. I felt like a dog mad with hunger.
I entered the room. An amber light from the digital alarm clock dimly lit the room [s]enough for minimal visibility[/s]. He lay there in his unmanaged bedding. His sheets were as white as a wedding dress. I watched him for several minutes, observing. He was having a nightmare, [s]which would explain the rolling and messy bedding[/s]. “No...no...no,” he mumbled softly. I smiled.
He looked as peaceful as he looked pitiful[b](but he doesn't look peaceful. He's having a nightmare)[/b]. The amber lighting complemented his rugged middle-aged face. He worked as a factory worker in the city, making weaponry for the war in Europe. They told him he was too old to enlist to defeat Nazism[b](but he's....middle aged. That's a man in his prime.)[/b].
I loomed over him, inhaling his rotten night breath. I put one hand lightly on his built chest, and then applied pressure as I slit the meat of his throat. The steak sauce sprayed from his neck like a fountain. His eyes immediately opened and his hands lurched for his mortal wound. He looked at my smiling face and into my crazed amber eyes. The moment was beautiful.
He succumbed after a short [s]boat[/s] [b]bout [/b]of gurgling. His body stopped pretending to care. The sheets were red. My eyes beamed with savagery. I felt powerful.
I struggled to drag his meaty corpse into my shed. He had grown pleasantly fat as he [s]pleasantly[/s] aged. With my meat on the table, I was ready to work. I cut down his middle with a knife, and peeled away his hairy flesh. I figured his hide was the ideal thickness to make a lampshade for a new lamp to be placed on my nightstand; I’d be able to find my glasses easier that way.
Under the amber glow of my overhead light, I removed a large chunk of raw meat from his chest, which I rolled in my hand like a child. I greedily gobbled up the beef. More dopamine flooded my brain than 10 lines would yield. I ejaculated.
I placed the chunks and organs into plastic bags and put them in my [s]cold[/s] refrigerator[b](are there refridgerators that are not cold?)[/b]. I placed the skeletal remains and hide in a drawer. I searched my shed for gasoline. I doused the outside of his estate with the liquid and lit a cigarette. After releasing a memorable puff, I tossed the little amber flame into a small pool. The amber flames climbed higher and higher, wildly insane as I. I could hear the screams of his dogs, and it was music to my ears.
The home was engulfed in my precious amber flames. I felt like a god.[/spoiler]

[b]1. This is the wrong section. Should be posted in Creative Writing[/b]
[b]2. Very simile heavy.[/b]
[b]3. Cut it out with the amber thing. You mentioning it more than four times is excessive.[/b]

[Enguin Enguin Enguin Enguin]

I thought repeated use of "amber" was more of an emphasising technique than bad writing.

[Vairocana]

[quote name='Ęɳɢuǐɳ' timestamp='1333151662' post='5895410']
I thought repeated use of "amber" was more of an emphasising technique than bad writing.
[/quote]

There's repettition to signify importance to the reader, and then there's bashing the reader in the face with it, then strangling the reader to death with it, then taking the reader out back, and taking a metaphorical dump of sybmolism on their corpse.

You mention something once, it's likely to be unimportant. You mention it twice and it could be a coincidence. You mention it 3+ and you're likely going for a theme. You mention it 20+ times in a 1200 word story, and you need to cut that s*** out.

[Shrekstasy]

Actually, it was a motif based assignment for my literature class in response to Slaughterhouse Five, which does basically the same thing. I would have cropped it out and replaced it for you folks, but I'm pretty lazy.

[Admiral Tim]

The part where he says "I like meat." not everything has to relate directly. You have to understand this is a psychopath who loves...meat and will mention it everywhere. Not everything should be explained. But I do agree 'Amber' is used to much.