Free Sick Bastards by Matt Shaw

always be her parents. They’ll always be our parents.
     
    “What are you waiting for?” Father asked, that same smug look on his face. “We’ll even move the barricade from the front door. Save you from having to leave via the window again.”
     
    I hate him.
     
    “Fine,” I said after a slight hesitation - trying to decide whether Sister would change her mind or not. It appeared not.
     
    “You might want to eat that,” said Father as he pointed to the meat on the bedroom floor, “you haven’t eaten anything since yesterday. You’ll need your strength out there if you’re going to survive for long...Lot of walking to do. Could be miles.”
     
    I looked at the meat. Father was right. I didn’t want to eat it but I had to. If I left on an empty stomach I’d get hungry even quicker once I had walked for a bit. At least staying in the house, doing nothing, kept hunger at bay for a little longer. Out there, doing the exercise, though - I’d definitely need a full stomach before I left...
     
    “We’ll leave you to your meal.” He smirked at me as he beckoned Sister from the room. She didn’t even look back at me as he closed the door behind them.
     
    I walked over to the meat and picked it up. Certainly not as fresh as it was yesterday but it will do. In my mind I pictured a nice fillet steak. And then I bit down on a section which squelched between my teeth.
     
    To think - this used to be hard.

 
     
     
     
    PART SIX
    Before
     
    The First Bite
     
    We were all sat around the dinner table, empty plates in front of us. Father was sitting at the head of the table, Mother was sitting next to Sister and I was alone on the other side despite having the option to sit at the other end of the table opposite Father.
     
    He had called us there to discuss what had to be spoken about. The man I had killed earlier, with the axe, was still lying in a pool of clotted blood at the front of the house - no doubt already attracting the attention of swarms of flies and other insects all looking for an easy meal.
     
    Father had told us that it was just meat. He had told us that we were supposed to picture something else - like a steak - when we bit down into it. He told us that it would be easy if we didn’t think about what we were doing. If we over-thought it then we would find it harder.
     
    Of course it wasn’t just a case of Father telling us how to go about eating the meat. There was also some protesting too. Mother didn’t really say anything; she agreed with Father that we didn’t really have a choice. Sister was against it though. One hundred percent. I was too - despite my initial thought that it was the best option. Now it was laid out in front of me (so to speak) the idea repulsed me.
     
    “I’ll take the first bite,” said Father, “I’ll tell you what it tastes like. Prepare you.”
     
    Sister still didn’t look convinced. Would it really have made a difference whether Father went first or not? The idea of him reporting back saying it tasted as disgusting as we thought it would be surely wouldn’t have helped us conquer our own fears of eating human flesh.
     
    Can’t think of it as human.
     
    It’s not human.
     
    It’s meat.
     
    Nothing more.
     
    Nothing less.
     
    Meat.
     
    “Anyone want to say anything?” he asked.
     
    No one did say anything. Whether they wanted to, or not, was another matter altogether though. I’m sure we all had something to say but realised there was little point. At the end of the day there was no sense dragging it out any longer than entirely necessary. Father nodded his head and stood up. He picked a knife up from the table - a large butcher’s knife Mother had brought in - and headed towards the door to go and get the meat.
     
    I nearly offered him a helping hand. Nearly. I couldn’t though. The thought of what needed to be done (cutting skin off a still-warm corpse) before having to eat it...No way. There was no way I could see the body and then