The Fridge

Written for the Paul Stewart’s “Unnerve, Unsettle and Scare me” Challenge. Find all the details below.

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They always keep it cold down there, much colder than the other rooms. In the strange event that you die of your own volition, the meat will stay fresh. Constant shivering is there to keep you company. It generates very little body heat but let’s you know that your fading pulse has survived another frigid night.

You see thick blood as it slowly drips from the ceiling and oozes out the edges to stain the walls with permanent red lines, marking a sadistic history. You can’t imagine how much is spilled up there to allow it to seep through; blood coagulates.

You’ve become desensitized to all the screams and pleas for mercy. Your ears learn to tune it out. It's tiresome. The daily routine changes, depending on the demands for sustenance. You accept that your turn is quickly coming. No one ever lasts too long down there.

The senseless crimes and petty theft you’ve committed are all your fault, you own it, but have done nothing cruel enough to deserve the fate of what’s behind this twisted, revolving door of misguided souls.

The judicial system is long gone, it may never return. It simply could not sustain itself after the government was overthrown. Local police are allowed to do whatever they want to you. Just keep the criminals off the street, they are told. This is far worse than any of the penitentiaries that used to exist.

An inhumane death sentence awaits you, with no date set for execution. Its agonizing wallowing in self-pity, reflecting on what life meant to you, what could have been…should have been. It’s far too late for any of that. You and the others are disposable, deemed useless to function in what's left of society.

You hear sirens blaring. They are getting closer. This always agitates you. You know the doors will be opening soon and more fresh meat will be added.

“Afternoon Frank! How many you got today?”

“Only two, been a slow week.”

“That’s okay, we still have a half dozen in the fridge. But you know the holidays are coming up. Are we are going to be able to meet the demands?”

“Yeah yeah yeah, don’t worry. Just keep those knives sharpened.”

You can hear the heinous laughter up there in the butcher shop. It swirls and echoes in your thoughts like a deranged psychopath trapped in the headspace of your mind. These crooked men enjoy their job a little too much.

Life is on the utter brink of dystopia. There are no such things as cows or livestock anymore. Oceans remain polluted, fresh fish is a rarity. Criminals are the new beef. They sell the flesh in butcher shops across the states.

The door opens... All you see is a tall shadow of a male, wearing a blood-stained apron. He tosses two more warm bodies to the cold floor. You will break the news to them like the ones before. Is this justifiable murder or an insane sport devised by crooked cops in search a quick buck or their next meal? It doesn't even matter. No one is going to prosecute them for their ungodly solution to feed the masses. You are no more guilty than they are. After all, we are what we eat!

Happy Halloween!

A/N: Thanks Paul. I've never been this freaked out by something I wrote, lol.