Sick Bastards

by Matt Shaw

He was staring at the head. It was on the floor - its mouth still violently gnashing and eyes still wildly fixed on us; a look of hate rooted deeply within them.

I held her tight, clinging to the memory of how it felt to cuddle her when she was human.

Humanity will be the death of me but without it, I’d feel lost anyway so what does it matter?

Without society here dictating what was right and wrong, things have changed quickly. We had become more animalistic in our nature and I hated it.

Who was it (in the first place) who deemed the difference between rights and wrongs anyway? Who was to say they were right in what they initially said?

I welcome death, yes, but I’m too afraid to run towards it with open arms;

I started the evening by eating human flesh and then I ended it with dreams of fucking my own sister.

In my mind I watched from a doorway as Father pinned her to her own mattress. The mattress we had shared on many occasions. Naked, he was pounding her hard and deep. She was screaming for him to get off. Clawing at his back and scratching at his face. Of course, Mother was of no use. She was sitting in the corner with her panties pulled aside, rubbing herself with a piece of left-over meat from an old meal. Sighing with pleasure as her eyes fixed upon what Father (husband) was doing to Sister (daughter).

Everything starts off okay and then it changes when the food vanishes. Before you know it you’re killing people, eating them and fucking your family as a dessert.

What they were doing was criminal but they got away with it because they hid behind government badges.