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| Rooster Right, Vladimir Llievski |
1- WITNESS TESTIMONY
1 breath 2 breath and strike 3 breath 4 breath
1 breath 2 breath and strike 3 breath...
I didn't believe it, I don't like thinking about it. I'm a reasonable guy. Normal. Even boring. I just repeat patterns until I'm thinking about work or something around the house that needed done. A screw to tighten. A lightbulb to change. An exercise to perfect. But every morning it's there to greet me. Proof.
Take the evidence or ignore it like I did.
I worked at the Rycho Meat Plant. Ever since the accident, I haven't seen a drop of blood. The first time I noticed it was from shaving. It just seemed like I didn't bleed as much. Though maybe I finally got the hang of it. Then I was shearing the sheep. It took careful steps with one hoof, and always favored the other leg, so I ran my hands up the fleece.
There was a fat tic in the hide. It had gotten between its front leg and ribs. Swelled up so much that I thought it must be a tumor. When I looked closer I noticed six bumps hanging from the same open wound. Each little head fed from one open vessel. They filled themselves for months, but the sheep did not bleed when I pulled their feeding tubes from the open vein.
I dug into the sheep’s flesh with a hook, the wound was the size of a quarter after I removed them one at a time. 1…2. breath… 3…. Ugly things were pissed. Little hair legs rolled up.
Their pinchers were stuffed with the flesh of my sheep. I'm not cruel, I killed them with a torch first. Then I smashed one with rock because I wanted to see it burst. Instead it popped like a balloon.
At first it didn't seem like something I could talk about. Just a freak thing that happened...weird, but nothing to worry about. Then I was in the bathroom at lunch. the gutters from the killing floor came in. They peeled off their gloves, washed their hands, scrubbed their wrists, and wiped their faces with towels. When they left I glanced at the sink. Each one was clean. I looked at the inside out gloves they disposed of. One dirty pair after another. Clean. Dry. The towels. Unsoiled. The aprons the gutters wore looked pristine.
I tried to forget it. Pretended to think of the fruit trees. But I didn't care about the spring. Stories my grandpa used to tell me came to mind. About how flesh and blood always moved somewhere, even if it felt like it was stuck in place.
One night though I decided to test it. I took a scalpel and cut across the line on my finger. It stung, I could feel the flesh coming apart, I could feel the air reaching the nerves, I could feel the blade scraping across the joint. Not a drop of blood appeared.
You pinched the vessels shut, I think. So I began cutting a small incision into the edge of my palm. I waited at first. It looked crazy so I did it in the dark. It hurt enough to make me gasp. The skin peeled apart, the muscle snapped. I waited for the numbing sensation, and waited for the warmth to drip down. But I didn't bleed. Nothing at all.
My wife called out to me, "honey what're you doing there standing in the dark?"
"Brushing my teeth." I tell her.
"Again?" She says. "Why don’t you just come to bed?"
"Something at work." I told her. "It's the carcusses they brought in. They were no good. Too old. Tough meat just jammed the grinder… made it hard to clean."
"Oh no. Did you get it all done?"
"Yep. Mixed them with salt, packed them up in a box and shipped in a big refrigerator. "
I told her as I wound tape around the cut.
She gave me a big kiss.
"Tomorrow will be a better day." She said.
I turned the lamp off and got into bed. She giggled, but I just did it to hide the wound.
"It’s better already."
II -Butcher
Everything in the butcher shop was spotless.
The red digital clock ticked by the second.
The whine of an engine stabbed the silence. The blade only spun for a moment. The motor sputtered and the piston that turned the blade stalled. Sofia checked the safety switch. She bent her knees and unplugged the machine. She lifted the safety guard, ran her finger down the teeth of the blade. Dull. She twisted the tension knob, wrenched the blade from the pulley, it sank into her hand but she felt fine. She tossed the old blade into the dumpster, and tightened a new one.
She plucked the new blade.
She set the safety switch, but before she hit the trigger, she realized she left her ring on. She took it off, put it on the counter, and tied her hair back up. She put on gloves. Then triggered the saw. The blade turned into a blur.
She checked her list. Everything was prepared. The only thing she didn’t check was sausage filler.
The butcher shop smelled sterile.
The floor was so polished that even the grout between the tiles had its original color back. Her boots squeaked when she walked across it. She looked under the sink. She could see the reflection of her socks in the pipes.
A row of knives hung on the rack. Cleavers were greased. Each blade sharpened.
The freezer hummed. Its door shined like a mirror. She opened the freezer door. The vapor settled. No smell.
Trays of meat sat on the racks. Each one perfectly portioned and labeled.
A row of meat hooks hung on the wall. They clinked like wind chimes.
One was missing.
A few years ago they had to close the butcher shop. Two workers there fought over the same girl. It ended with one of them using the meat hook to drag the body. He used the large cleavers to separate the limbs, he stored entrails in the sink, bones in the garbage. He ground the rest into sausage.
The butcher himself did not witness the fight. He ensured everyone that his cleanliness would calm everyone down. Rumors of him serving human flesh, or that he was taking people's pets persisted around town, but it would change when they saw a sparkling butcher shop.
"It was just a little accident." The butcher said.
Sofia prepared to close down for the night. She noticed the reflection of the meat saw in the glass. Something trickled down the blade.
III - The Health Inspector's Report
The strip of buildings had been deserted. Wild chickens roamed the street. The assessment of Davyd's Butcher Shop went without complication. The owner was compliant but he did not tell me where his new source was coming from. The labels on his boxes didn't match the documents. Dates misaligned. Inconsistent weight. It all looked clean. Too clean. Before I left town I checked into a motel. That was just so someone could find me if I didn’t make it back. I was going to check the plant out.
A billboard depicted a happy factory. Happy workers. A happy cow smiled.
The walls of the meat plant were quiet. The machines hummed in the dark. Heart beats. Conveyers spun. Carcusses floated down the shaft. I walked the floor between saws and blades, lining up boxes as I went. Nothing sticky on the floor. Even the dumpster for damaged carcasses gleamed. Nothing was out of place. Not even a scratch.
Blood should have been splattered on the walls. The animals should've been bleating from cages. The knockers should've been standing on the floor with electric wands. The hide puller should've been spinning. The safety tags on the machines should be slick. The carnage swamp where waste is dumped. It should've REEKED. There should have been clots and pus and foam from the bacteria. There wasn't a drop. In the pipes, on the hooks, on the trays. They carried only air. Yet I could still smell it.
Copper powder sifted through the air. Spoiled, diluted, but it steamed from the grate. I could smell it through the wires of the conveyer, under the floor tiles, through boxes with torn labels. A sense I no longer possessed teased me, like a hunger deep in my stomach. No matter how hard I searched, it could never reveal itself.
Maybe he gets cheap meat from one of these farmers. Maybe he drives to the city and gets it.
Maybe a shadow came in through the window and bit everyone's neck. Then I saw it. A beam of light in the dark. The polished silver of a sterilized meat saw. A drop of blood on its teeth shined like a red sun over a dark realm.
The butcher gave me some meat. I threw it out for the critters. I stayed up hoping to spy a cat or dog. Instead something flew over the lamp posts. It sank down, took the meat in its teeth, and then vanished into the darkness.
Even though that place and its curses are gone, I still see blood where there should be no blood.
A lunch box.
A clean linen sheet.
The face of a child.
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