I woke up today at four knowing it was going to be the same old crap as the day before, and the day before that. I meditated, while still in bed, just to hold off on starting the day a little bit longer. Finally I pulled myself off the molded sheets and walked into the bathroom, not a long walk in this shit hole apartment. Looking for a clean pair of pants was difficult, I settled with a pair that only had minimal amounts of blood on them.

By the time I headed out, with my knife bag in hand, I was already on my fourth cigarette. I should quit but why bother. I automatically open the car door, forgetting it’s been a month since I blew a gasket. I don’t have the money for public transit so I walked. A mile away and seedy alley later I reached the factory.

The huge door whined the same way I did not more than twenty minutes ago, even it doesn’t want to be up this early. I switched on the lights and the few that still worked flickered while the generators warmed up.  The long metal slab waited for me all night still shining brightly in the dank factory, just like I left it.

Placing the knives in all their proper holders has become a ritual, something I actually enjoy doing. Steel carbon knives, top of the line hacksaws, a clever from japan, hell I even brought the hatchet my old man brought back from his trip to Finland.

The door to the only other room in the building opens easily after I changed the hinges and lock. Inside the bodies wait for me, twenty-two small carcass lay on the floor and another two larger bags hang from meat hooks. I remember when it was me doing the killing, fresh air and sunshine were bad for me.

I started with the smaller ones. The heads came off like rose petals, and the knives cut the flesh cleanly. It’s tricky work cutting out the insides of the smaller ones, for obvious reasons. Luckily I don’t have to strip them, they come nude. After I fill the first bucket with heads and entrails I walk over and start the furnace, I’ll have to get rid of them like this till I can pay for a dumpster.

I finish with the first twenty when the truck guy, I think his name is Ben, arrives with another load. I guess they can’t kill enough up north. I peek into the black body bag and see a few pigs; I need to get these out of here as soon as possible.

By the end of the day I am worn out, too tired to even hit the bar. I sit by the furnace, watching the heads watch me back as they burn. My old man lied when he said this would be easy, I hate being a butcher.



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