(Some of you may have read this before. I wrote about three years ago).
Colin parked the Sierra on Clerkenwell Road and walked towards Smithfields Markets. The place was packed with people and animal carcasses. The roads around were crowded with Rascal vans and Japanese estate cars accompanied by a continuous stream of kebab and fried chicken shop owners. He looked at the cows hanging from the big meat hooks. The stench was incredible; a sickening raw flesh type of smell that penetrated every molecule in your body and periodically forced stomach acid up through your throat and into the back of your mouth. He picked up two cows and a pig. After exchanging cash the butcher helped to load the dead animals into the back of the brown Ford. The rear seats had to be folded down so as to make space for the big bodies. The butcher offered to lend some plastic covering to protect the upholstery, but Colin didn’t have time for that. Any more delays and it might even be too late.
The Sierra drove towards Bethnall Green. London was waking up. It was going to be another hot, hot day in the city. The carcasses oozed in the back of the car.
He stopped at two wholesale butchers and picked up a further half cow, two lambs and 12 chickens. It was almost nine before he returned to Homerton High Street.
Colin’s neighbour was leaving for work just as Colin had begun unloading the morning’s purchases.
‘My god! Are we preparing for a nuclear war or what?’
Colin tried to ignore him, but his neighbour was just too annoying, too smug.
‘Shouldn’t you be at work, Dave?’
‘I’m leaving as you can see. By the way what do you do these days? I haven’t seen you leave for work for two weeks now.’
It was true; Colin hadn’t been to work for the last 16 days. He shrugged and continued to battle a dead cow through the front door. He couldn’t let Dave get to him, not now. What he was doing was too important, too significant for something or someone to get in the way. He dragged the last cow out from the boot, unto the drive way and then through the hall, the living room and finally the garden. With a lot of effort he managed to throw the cow on top of the already 7-foot mound of meat he had been building since the night before. The stench was unbelievable. The sun was high now and the meat was rotting in the baking heat. More flies had arrived to feast and breed on the mountain of flesh that adorned Colin’s garden.
Noon. After having slept for a couple of hours, Colin began his construction again. The mound had to be higher, much higher. It was difficult, what considering the weight of the meats, it’s deteriorating state and the lack of material. That was it. He needed more meat. That way he could build a bigger base for the mound, enabling him to build a higher and wider cone shape. If the base were big enough, he would be able to extent the mound by maybe 7-8 feet at least. He rushed to the Sierra, and sped off towards Ridley Market in Dalston. He could smell the meat, his nose tuned to the stench of flesh, blood and guts.
It was impossible to park so Colin double-parked on Kingsland High Street and rushed down Ridley Road. Picking up as much meat as he could afford. £637.53 later he drove down Graham Road took a right and then a left for Morning Lane. At least Tesco’s is open until ten tonight he thought. He took a left under the bridge and then a right to get onto Homerton High Street. His ground floor flat was more or less opposite a mini market whose meat stock he had explenished late last night. Colin parked the Sierra around the back now, because the High Street was filling up with the usual alcoholics, unemployed and teenage mothers. He didn’t have the time for distractions, and he was aware that his baggage might attract attention. Colin began dragging and carrying the meat through his garden door and dropped it on the dry grass. The sound of the flies was louder now than earlier today. Almost an ecstatic collective humming. Colin looked at the mound. The smell was unbearable. He ran into the house and threw up in the kitchen sink. He took a nap.
Around four forty-five in the afternoon he resumed his construction. He swiftly disassembled the pathetic mound, and placed all the meat in piles according to size and shape. Then he did the same with the meat he had bought in Dalston. He tried placing the bigger carcasses in a circle, roughly 10-foot in diameter. It would be stable enough, he thought, and began piling meat on top of the base in order of heaviest and largest first. After having worked for about an hour (in which he was sick twice), Colin’s wife returned from work. He went to the kitchen, picked up a stainless steel frying pan and greeted her with a hard blow to the head. She immediately lost consciousness, and fell to the hall floor. Her body started twitching almost rhythmically only interrupted by frequent periods of gasping for air. Her faced was covered in her own blood. Colin turned around and resumed his construction, leaving his wife to play a concert with her spasms.
Dave returned from work at six-thirty. He was now standing in his garden, looking over the 5-foot fence at his neighbour’s construction.
‘What the hell are you doing, Colin? Have you finally lost your mind?’
Colin started and turned to face Dave. He had been so engrossed in his work that he hadn’t noticed Dave’s presence.
‘Colin.. My kids are complaining about the smell.. And all those flies…are you sure it is hygienic this time of year?’
‘Not now, Dave… not now’
‘Look, Colin… I know things haven’t been going well for you lately, what you losing your job and that, but this is just stupid. If you don’t get rid of all this meat I’ll have to call the council…’
‘Dave…’
Colin walked quickly towards the fence. He picked up a pair of garden shearers and swiftly took a big chunk out of Dave’s throat. Unable to speak, Dave clambered to the fence, desperately trying to stop the blood squirting out of his neck. Colin took another piece out of his neighbour’s neck. Then he grabbed Dave’s body, and dragged it over the fence. He clumsily severed Dave’s limbs from his body with the shearers, and threw the torso on the mound. The legs, arms, hands, feet and head were placed in the organized piles taking up the rest of the garden. He threw up, and went to bed. He was tired. Needed rest to complete his work.
Nine o’clock, and Colin had run out of meat. The mound was now 11 feet, and looking pretty impressing. But there was still room for more at the top. He took his wife’s credit card from the stained purse, covered her body in paint-stripper from the shed and went to the Sierra. Once inside the car, he looked over the fence and admired his construction. Then he snapped out of it, and sped towards Morning Lane. He parked as close to the entrance as he could, and half-walked, half-ran into Tesco's. He used the cash point to take out as much money as possible. Luckily him and his wife had separate accounts. A few people looked as he emptied the frozen meat section methodically into his two trolleys. He paid for the meat, loaded it into his car and then went back for a second round. This time he went for the fresh meats, and stuffed his two trolleys with an almost religious fervour.
Eleven-twenty five Colin had finished placing the last of the frozen turkeys, chop-steaks, processed burgers and mince on the mound. It now stood an impressive 14 feet. It was done. His job was finished. In the hall he dismembered his wife who now was barely alive, her skin and clothes disfigured by the etching chemical liquid. He carried her parts upstairs into the bathroom. With the cold-water tap running, he stripped and slipped into the freezing bath. He then picked up bits of his wife and covered himself in them. Once he was covered in a blanket of flesh he turned of the tap and fell a sleep, shivering in the cold water under the freshly butchered meat.
