Liposuction

The following was a writing exercise - a lipogram whereby the letter E is not used anywhere within the narrative. Perhaps this suggested the title of the piece...

Liposuction

Many folk talk about my habit of walking along woodland paths at night. Many say I am out of my mind, saying it is not as if colours will burst out from local flora. A fraction thinks my motivation for this unusual habit has a lot to do with my partiality for shadows. Dark and black. As black as soot in a – black soot bin. Possibly.

I’m also fond of sounds coming from nocturnal animals – owls hooting and so forth, sounds making my arms’ skin so rough that it is similar to that of citrus fruit rind. I find that particularly satisfying. No doubt you think this is slightly odd.  

Truthfully, I go to find victims. My companions and I join up to look for food. To sink our fangs into vagrants, though pickings don’t approach what you would call rich.

Throughout world history, you won’t find many of us about.

Now, Dracula and his ilk may suck blood from a victim’s throat, but my cohorts don’t go for that. I am part of a dying kind. Our compulsion is to suck fat. A stout guy’s stomach would do, but I must admit draining a plump girl’s thigh is gratifying. Why not a buttock with its additional fat, you may ask? It’s an alluring thought but I avoid that path. I don’t want folk to think I’m corrupt. 

A possibility is that, months from now, I will start up a liposuction clinic. My chums and I could work at such a clinic and finish our nightly woodland walks. Mmm, tasty.

The Meet

Tom looked across the laden table at Sally. She raised her eyebrows at the feast their host had set before them. It was far too much, but to comment as such could affect negotiations. As it was, they may be compromised by the absence of Derek, the third member of their team. A quiet cough grabbed their attention.

“Please. Eat.” The Councillor indicated the spread with his fork. “We can discuss business later.”

Tom picked up a serving spoon and added a selection of crisp vegetables to his plate, gradually forming an autumnal foliage of colour.

Lifting the gravy boat, Tom started to pour the rich stock over the meat, watching it flow around the irregularly placed vegetables like a chestnut stream. With each inward breath the aromatic steam caressed his nose - his mouth was already watering in anticipation.

There was a slight yield as his fork pierced a burnished carrot. His knife cut it to a mouth-sized piece, and he blew upon it before it passed between his lips. The balance of sweet and savoury, the texture – everything – was just right.

The same went for everything on his plate. Urged to take extra portions, he couldn’t help himself. It was so good.

“Oh my God,” he heard Sally say, “this is absolutely delicious.”

The Councillor smiled in pleasure. “I’m glad you like it.” He paused, and nodded towards the decimated platter in the centre of the table. “And how do you find the Derek?”