Life of the Party. Flash Fiction.

Francine lifted the fork full of raw meat to her mouth, slowly, almost sensuously she put the fork into her mouth and closed it, slowly drawing the tines between her lips. She savoured the taste for a second, then she started chewing. She swallowed, then sighed in satisfaction, “Perfection. Sheer perfection.” there was a polite round of applause, she gestured at the table and the guests picked up their own cutlery and started to eat.
“Oh, Francine this is just delicious, so vibrant, so full of life.”
“Thank you Damien, it was just slaughtered this afternoon, you couldn’t get any fresher unless you ate it right off the bone.”
“How do you manage to always have the best meat?”
Francine smiled “I’m afraid that’s a secret dear, my source wouldn’t take kindly if they found out that I had been telling people about them.” She took a sip of her wine and smiled. The five other people at the table focused on eating, three of them closed their eyes with each bite, focusing entirely on the food.

They ate their way through three courses until finally they sat chatting over coffee, the candles giving off a soft, gentle light, the guests would stay until the candles had extinguished themselves and no longer, as was tradition. Though the dinner party was a success, as usual, Francine found herself distracted and wishing the night was over, she had saved a special cut of meat for herself and she was dying to have a bite or two. She had restrained herself during dinner, taking only the smallest portions all in preparation for what was waiting for her on the kitchen counter. Finally one of the candles went out and everyone began to gather their things.
“Are you still OK for hosting the next dinner Mary?”
“Oh of course, I’ve already started making preparations for it.”
Francine showed them to the door, graciously accepting their compliments as they went until the front door closed and she was alone. Francine walked down the hall, ignoring the dining room and the dirty plates, those would keep until the morning. She went into the kitchen and went straight to the counter, slices of brain lay on a white porcelain plate, the meat glistened in the soft light. She opened the drawer and pulled out a knife and a fork.

When she was done she took three slow breaths, already she was feeling stronger, not that that was any surprise, the lovely donor of the meat had been a fifteen year old girl, full of life and fun. Francine didn’t know where her supplier found them, she didn’t want to know, it was none of her business really. All she cared about was the quality of the meat and it was always top quality. She left the kitchen and went upstairs, a glass of wine held in one hand. She stripped out of her dress and took off her jewellery, then she cleaned the make up off her face, pausing only to take sips of her wine. When she was done she climbed into bed, she needed her beauty rest after all and there was nothing like an infusion of vitality to help smooth away the wrinkles. She closed her eyes and with a small content smile on her lips she drifted off into a pleasant sleep.

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About Alan James Keogh

I am a 26 year old writer who somehow tricked U.C.D. into giving me not only a degree in English and Classical studies, but an Hons Masters in Creative Writing too. Visit my blog where I post short stories twice a week (Monday and Wednesday) and an installment of a serialised novel on Fridays. I did consider writing this in the third person, as though it was written by someone else, but Alan is not comfortable writing in the third person as it seems kinda creepy and unbalanced so Alan decided it was probably best to write in the first person. He hopes it went well for him.
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