Human Agriculture by Priscila Flores
“What are we getting for lunch today?” Asked Bell to Mud. “Let’s go to the market. I think I’m feeling feet or a couple thumbs.” There they went, surrounded by food and peers unknown. Human organs, appendages, and muscles and bones. A world where the cows and pigs reign the top of the food chain, disassembled, deceased humans posing for ad campaigns. There’d be eyeball ice cream, child arms at the fair, finger nuggets, and fried scalp after carefully having plucked the hair. There’d be baby back ribs, a stomach without the ache, penis sausages and even a great juicy thigh steak. Breaded women’s breast, greasy cooked belly fat, bits of flesh wrapped with veggies and the lips of an obnoxious brat. Human burgers, human tenderloin, and as a delicacy, thinly sliced groin. Forcefully bred in captivity, moos and oinks not understanding sympathy. “I could never live without eating meat.” Softly announced Mud. Then he continued to chew on his human meal, taking small sips of blood.
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