The stench of meat is so heavy that I feel it may suffocate me. Blood flows in a stream from where the butcher is hacking away at a carcass, dampening the ground. I dig my toes deeper into the bloody earth and let out a sigh of contentment.

Ah, it feels so good. I have to stop my eyes from rolling to the back of my head. Otherwise, I might miss the show.

He raises the butcher's knife and then strikes at the warm, pink flesh before him, sending a splash of blood my way. It splatters onto my face and dress, and I waste no time in licking my lips to savour the red liquid. Mmmm... it's quite thick.

The butcher pauses. 'You buying anything?' he asks.

It would look suspicious if I don't so I give him a big grin and tell him that i'd like some offal. Brains, intestines, the works. I'll have a great time playing with them. It doesn't hurt that they're free.

As I walk back home cradling a bag of guts in my arms, I notice that a crowd has formed near the centre of town. On closer inspection, I see that an execution is about to take place. This should be interesting.

'Ingrith, there you are!'

'Wren, what's going on here?'

'Oh, Ingrith, don't you know? Didn't you hear the crier announce that a beheading was to take place?'

I shrug. 'I was at the market.'

'That also explains why you're covered in blood. At the butchers again, eh?' She eyes the parcel I'm holding and wrinkles her nose. 'How you can like eating that, I'll never know.'

I smile. 'Oh, I don't eat it.' is the reply I want to give.

'I'm going to get closer.' I say.

Pushing my way to the front is an arduous task, but I manage it just in time to witness the first blow of the executioner's axe. The executioner himself is not very impressive. He's a weedy thing who barely seems capable of lifting the axe. Nevertheless, the convict trembles. This isn't going to be a swift affair and the whole crowd knows it. My heart rate begins to accelerate.

The axe is raised. The convict whimpers. The crowd holds their breath. It's like the whole world is holding its breath.

Do it!

A scream shatters the heavy silence and the crowd erupts in a bout of 'Ohhhs'.

Ohhhhh, yes. That must've hurt. The executioner missed the convict's neck entirely and instead lodged his axe in the man's shoulder. Blood oozes out of the wound, which causes a familiar sensation to arise in the pit of my stomach. The same feeling I get when I watch the butcher work, only it's more intense this time.

I marvel at the executioner, how his skin is slowly turning crimson as he, to put it blunty, butchers the man he was paid to kill. The urge to go up there and embrace him overwhelms me. I bite my lip to suppress a moan as I imagine his arms, slick with blood, wrapped around my shoulders.

'He's so unskilled.' someone comments.

'This is torture.' another pipes up.

'I wonder what crime did he commit.'


Out of nowhere, an idea hits me. After watching this marvelous man, the butcher no longer interests me. Playing with entrails just won't do anymore.

The executioner has finally finished the job and is panting like a dog. Sunlight makes his blonde hair look like it's actually golden thread. I eat him up with my eyes greedily, practically panting like a dog myself. Why didn't I notice it before? He's so beautiful I could cry. I know what I want now, and I know what must be done. I want him to make me bleed... and the whole town is welcome to watch.