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The Only Juice

A young executive seeks to attend a meeting.

By Skyler SaundersPublished about a year ago Updated about a year ago 5 min read
2
The Only Juice
Photo by Alex Padurariu on Unsplash

The platinum watch flung into the air. Six hundred thousand dollars worth of craftsmanship and focus just landed on the large oak desk. A black man, CEO of Fortune Foods Harvard Golpin, 42, started to undo his one hundred dollar red power tie. He loosened the top to his five hundred dollar dress shirt and tore off his suit jacket and ripped off his trousers, those garments totalling four thousand dollars together.

He stood completely naked. Then, he extracted from his jacket pocket a large knife and began slicing huge chunks from his person. Like a butcher, he cut into chops and steaks and allowed the blood down his legs like oil from a piece of machinery. He didn’t whimper or shout. He didn’t wriggle or writhe in pain or anything. Daphne Quart, light skinned, 38, got up from her chair. She loosened her diamond necklace worth two hundred thousand dollars. She extracted her one hundred thousand dollar tennis bracelet. She dressed down to her bra and slip. A straight look crossed her face. Golpin slid the knife like it was on ice down the table. Daphne grasped it. She began hacking at her thighs and bottocks and breasts. Blood squirted on the table. The other c-suite executives switched from total mortification to a queasy and unsettling desire to take part in the bloodbath. Rao Benton, 51, took hold of the knife and just started shedding off skin once he removed his clothes and jewelry. No sounds of anguish ever rose up in the room nor of delight. The slight sound of dripping on the table became the normal cadence to a room without morality.

No one exchanged words. They simply looked at each other. COO Tremaine Place, 44, attempted to remove his eyeballs. He was successful without a scream. They were animals preparing themselves for the slaughter by their own hands.

Then, the wall opened up and an arctic blast chilled the bloody group of businesspeople. Hefty men in smocks with blood smeared smocks moved about in a large meat processing facility. Metal slabs wheeled to where the men and women stood, blood still dripping from their bodies. A yellow light flashed and signaled the occupancy of the room and the men in the smocks started to descend on the group in greater numbers. More wheeled slabs brought the sliced and chopped bodies who lingered on the edge of death. Finally, Golpin died. The men cut out his tongue, drained it, and wrapped it in paper.

The men and women offered their hair. Like spools of yarn, the hair hit the floor and the bodies had been stripped of the outer dermis and all body hair. Each man moved with a precision and a dedication to rid these corpses of their earthly bodies. They scrubbed away the blood with sophistication. Every amount of energy and effort poured into ensuring that each had been sterilized and ready for consumption.

All but one of the executives sacrificed their bodies to the blade. A black woman, Seretta Joyner, 34, a senior vice president, had not been in the room. She had gotten her coffee from the kiosk. When she reached to the room, she noticed that the wooden door had been sealed. She called for security.

“Yes, I’d like someone to come to the forty-fifth floor. The door seems to be jammed and I need to get to a meeting,” A bit of apprehension rose in her voice. She looked at her two hundred thousand dollar timepiece. She was about six minutes late. I’m on that CP time for real, she thought. I just hope I can still do my presentation. No one answered her call. Seretta found that strange. She moved on, however and noticed that the door was not in fact locked but had been blocked by a chair. When she saw the carnage, a scream leapt from her throat that would pierce any window and shatter it into a million pieces.

She struggled to find her phone and decided to call 911.

“Yes, I’m at the Galbraith Building in Wilmington, Delaware, I’ve just witnessed a site of a possible homicide or mass murder.”

“Are there any victims ma’am?”

“No, just blood stains everywhere! There’s nobody here. I need you to send someone.”

“We’re sending out a police squad to investigate.”

“Thank you.”

Uniformed police and forensics experts assessed the scene. Seretta waited in the lobby for the law enforcement to present her with new information. Her coffee had grown cold.

“Whatever happened here is the possibility that a major death scene occurred,” Detective Angelina Cedric outlined.

“So where are my colleagues?”

“That’s the main query,” Detective Rolik Fareski declared.”We just can’t pinpoint that right now.What we’re monitoring is the pick up and drop off points of the trucks located in the basement of the building.”

“What are you saying, Detective?” Seretta asked with sincerity.

“We’ve been getting word that businesspeople like yourself are sacrificing themselves in some ‘Eat the Rich’ cannibalism challenge.”

“I just went for a cup of coffee,” Seretta explained.

“That cup may have just saved your life,” Angelina replied.

“Why would they do something like this?” Seretta asked.

“We think it’s in response to the growing trend of people who view people with money as ideal for a meal. Literally. The idea of dining upon wealthy people stretches back to the eighteenth century and before that. I think your fellow c-suite folks took the idea to the furthest extent.”

“But why? I knew them. Our CEO has been giving to his favorite charity and we hold drives to give out food to the needy. Do they really need to eat rich people?”

Angelina sighed. “That’s just it. His favorite charity. The company gave out turkey dinners because you all wanted to do so. This is not enough. People want blood and agony. They want actual human flesh. If you wish to do something and get a value out of it, it doesn’t count. That’s what I think happened to your co-workers. They saw a way of sacrificing themselves and getting nothing in return. They contributed to moral and actual cannibalism.”

Seretta’s face looked like cut granite. The stone visage tried to match up with what was going on in her mind. As she listened to the detective her eyes brightened.

“There is a wall that opens. Whatever is back there will reveal something.” Detective Fareski ordered all units to block the routes of the trucks down below the floors. He also commanded for a team of medical examiner vans.

The uniforms and police returned to the site which had now seen specialists cleaning it. Seretta led the officers and detectives to the wall and opened it. The vast warehouse became apparent and the men working there scrambled to get somewhere, anywhere past the cops.

Ultimately, they slit their own throats. The elevator held the remains of Seretta’s team members. She wept. The trucks didn’t get far and the drivers slit their wrists.

“This is the code of altruism come to its horrific end. Their acts based on whim-worship led to utter destruction,” Fareski said. “Have comfort in knowing that a rational way of life doesn’t include acts like this. If you need mental-health care, we can provide you with a list of numbers to call and sites to peruse. I’m sorry we had to meet you like this, but rest assured, you can become an advocate for capitalism and defeat this menace.”

“I already am, I and I will.” The authorities brought her out of the room and Angelina tapped Seretta’s phone with the information.

If you enjoyed this story, feel free to share with your friends and followers, tip at least $20, and for Vocalists never hesitate to pledge $2.99 to my profile:

https://vocal.media/authors/skyler-saunders-8cilwv0ab8. I thank you in advance.

S.S.

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About the Creator

Skyler Saunders

I’ve been writing since I was five-years-old. I didn’t have an audience until I was nine. If you enjoy my work feel free to like but also never hesitate to share. Thank you for your patronage. Take care.

S.S.

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  • Jennifer L Osborneabout a year ago

    Excellent! Keep writing!

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