“Extant” by A. Whittenberg……………………………………………………………………………..…7 “Cannibal” by Catherine Moscatt

“Cannibal” by Catherine Moscatt

Quickly, quickly oh how foolish he’d been. To stay out this late, the sun setting precariously in the sky, setting the horizon on fire. How did it get so late?

How foolish he had been to think himself immune to the bogeyman that prowled the streets. Hungry bogeyman. And food had been so scarce. Even at home Ma was stretching meager amounts of food so Anton and his sisters did not starve. He noticed her plate empty on more than one occasion. Not Father’s though. Father was the bread winner. Father still clung to his job. Father was a success. Father deserved to eat.

Shit, it was almost dark. He would be one of “those boys” snatched from the jaws of life. He would be served to a mother and her four children and none of them would dare question what they were eating. Cannibal. He was running now. They couldn’t, wouldn’t catch him. He’d fight. He’d claw. He’d kick. They wouldn’t take Anton down. And now it was fully dark. Were those shadows or specters? Anton was home. He burst into the home (the modest brick building, 1st floor, no indoor plumbing). His mother was crying all over the cauldron in which she made their dinner. His sisters were red rimmed. “Anton” hissed his mother angrily “I worried you were gone forever” “I’m sorry Ma. I lost track of time” It was a feeble excuse. It hung in the air broadcasting his own stupidity. Suddenly Father appeared. He clapped Anton on the shoulder. “Anton is too old for cannibal stories. Anton wouldn’t let a strange man grab him” He seized Anton and picked him up much to Anton’s alarm. Anton kicked. He clawed. His father was unfazed. He brought Anton over to the large cauldron. Anton tucked his legs to his chest so the water wouldn’t scald his young legs. “Put him down” his mother said. But it was a plea not a command. She had no power here. “Is this what you want? To be someone’s dinner? I bet you would taste mighty fine. Then your mother wouldn’t have to worry all the time. Selfish brat” His father threw him to the ground. Anton scurried to the corner, fearful of the cauldron and his narrow escape. He never came home after dark again. And he never questioned what they were eating.