The time has come. I sauntered into the kitchen where Florence was doing the dishes. She looked back and saw me ”Belle dearie, hungry yet?” But I didn’t hear her. Blocking everything else out, I stared adoringly at the prize- Her bulging stomach. Florence took me into her home six months ago, after finding my then homeless and hunger-stricken self on the front pavement of her house. Her husband- Victor- was hesitant at first but he soon succumbed. Florence, large-hearted Florence took me in and cared for me. Well, seems like her kind heart would result in her death.
I snapped back to reality. She was already leaving the kitchen. Now’s the time. “Belle, would you like some…” I ran out swiftly in front of her. No, I won’t. She tripped, lost balance and fell. She hit her head hard on the floor tiles and passed out. I reached for the kitchen knife, hopped on her and tore her blouse open. My eyes shone with glee and sheer delight made blood run speedily through my veins. I silted her lower abdomen horizontally, cutting all the way to the hip bones. Blood and water seeped out from the opening. I made two vertical cuts. One above the slit and the other below. There was blood everywhere. I flung the knife, it clattered just before the kitchen entrance. I circled her slowly twice. I released evil chuckles under my breath. Yessssssssss. I stopped moving. I dug in.
I walked out majestically like a king when I was done. The trail of blood stopped in the corridor. I went out through an open window. Thanks Flo, that was a sumptuous meal. Damn! The foetus was just of the right consistency. Oh and the blood… I smacked my lips together. Here I am, on the streets again. Off I go to find another one! Soon I’ll be “homeless” and “hunger-stricken” on someone else’s front pavement. Are you less than six months pregnant? Are you in need of companionship? Will you take me in? Please take me in…
It was 3:01pm when Victor finally got home after a seemingly unending day. He was exhausted and felt as heavy as a log of wood. Florence wasn’t answering the bell. He used his key and went straight to the living room. She’s heavily pregnant, she doesn’t go out. He dropped his briefcase on the couch. “Florence!!! “ The house was quiet. Too quiet. He checked the bedroom, still no sign of her. He made for the kitchen. “Flooooo!! No games baby. I’m too tired”. He stopped short. What is that? There was a red, simmering liquid flowing slowly out of the kitchen into the corridor. BLOOD! His heart raced. And something else… he moved closer. Footprints… of blood. Bile rose into his throat. He dashed into the kitchen. What he saw would haunt him for life. His pregnant wife has been degutted! On his kitchen floor! Who could have done this?! Who?!! It dawned suddenly on him. Of course! The only being that was with Flo in the house when he left… Belle, their cat.
Peace Popoola, Pen Name: Peace Pop Peace, is a budding talented fiction writer who hopes to reach the world with the tentacles of her creativity. She loves interacting with intelligent people who she believes will help her mind reach beyond the boundaries of its intellectual and creative capabilities. She studies Veterinary Medicine in the University of Ibadan.