writing exercise: enumeration

This is a result of a two hour conversation with someone who writes horror and an evening meal at Denny's.

“The Late Night Menu”

I’m a creature of the night. Most days I don’t even appear until the sun has said farewell to the skies. If I was one of those people who collected friends, they’d give a short chuckle and say “Oh, that’s just -------- for you.” But my collection is far more interesting and I don’t do relationships. I’m more like a meal Denny’s: always available to satisfy your hunger, but you’ll usually regret indulging yourself later. I’m not those well-known classics either like Moons over my Hammy or a Grand Slam. No, I’m the Late Night Menu.

1. The Club Sandwich

Thinly sliced turkey breast, crisp bacon, lettuce, tomato and mayonnaise on toasted white bread.

He was actually my first. Most people assume I got my start early in life, but in truth I was a late bloomer. Since all of my education took place at home there wasn’t really much opportunity to mingle with the masses. I mostly kept to myself up until the death of my parents. That is a particularly interesting murder, involving painstakingly hollowed out severed limbs left in the vestibule of a church. Still unsolved, by the way, if you’re looking for a new cold case to obsess over. But I digress. My first time was kind of a cliché because it did take place in a seedy motel room off of the interstate. I met him in what the manager liked to call a lobby, but what was really a small room with five and a half chairs scattered around and one three-legged table piled high with old National Geographics. The décor of the whole room just screamed Yard Sale.

Anyway, I was reading over an article about the role of witchcraft in cannibalistic societies when I overheard a man complaining to the manager that the lights in his room wouldn’t turn on. The manager told him that the electricity should be working fine to which this stranger replied that, indeed, everything electrical except the lights was functioning properly. I think it was the way he spoke that drew me to him: extremely “proper” English spoken in a crisp and eloquent manner. It transformed this shabby little room into the foyer of an upscale country club. The way he looked only added to the illusion: tall and lean with clean white skin and blond hair smooth against his skull, all wrapped up in a impeccably tailored pair of tan trousers and dark blue sport coat.

Once he realized that any conversation with the manager was bound to end in confusion he wandered over to the table and inquired about the lighting in my own room. I told him it didn’t matter whether my lights worked since I wouldn’t be using them. He seemed intrigued by the comfort I found in darkness and ended up joining me on my hike to see a wild flower that only blooms at night. The original intent of my visit, you see. It was strange at first, having someone with me in the darkness. The flower became inconsequential after I noticed the way the moon kissed his body: starting with a streak through each strand of his hair. His skin, softly illuminated, was simply fascinating. How could I resist?

I was sloppy that first time. Didn’t enjoy it nearly as much as I thought I would. I’ve gotten a lot better at looking at all the ingredients first before I choose an entrée now. Frankly, that first time was simply too bland. He was an excellent conversationalist, though. I almost regret it.

2. The Double Cheeseburger

Two beef patties and four slices of American cheese. Served with lettuce, tomato, pickles and red onions.

This was one of my favorite nights. Normally I have some sort of plan for the evening, but I woke up at dusk feeling antsy. I turned on some music, hoping that if I got the blood flowing, the sensation would cease. But it didn’t. If anything, the uncomfortable feeling intensified and I couldn’t help but think that there was somewhere else I should be. Deciding to embrace the discomfort, I quickly dressed and exited into the evening. The deepening shadows offered some relief as I followed my feet to our destination. I didn’t even know the place existed. I only walked about two miles and there it was, the word -------- written in neon lights was the only indication that there was an establishment within the small rundown building. As soon as I walked in I was welcomed by a lingering cloud of cigarette smoke and suspicious looks from a few people at the bar. I only vaguely noticed the two soldiers when I took an empty stool next to them.

It was embarrassingly easy to entice them home with me. Almost no struggle at all. The more responsible of the two mentioned an early deployment in the morning, but the other convinced him to stay. They were two particularly tasty looking pieces of meat. Both were thick, but in a bulk muscle way. They probably could’ve easily thrown me across the room if they were given the chance. From their accents I gathered their recruitment took place somewhere more midwesterly than our “big city”. All American boys, fresh from the farm. I took it nice and slow that night, often stopping to run my hands down their flesh. It was particularly pleasing to feel the raised veins after I tied them up. Smooth skin, warm from the rush of blood as they try to escape the bonds. Yeah, that was an excellent night. I don’t think they ever did find the bodies.

3. The Spicy Buffalo Chicken Melt

A golden-fried chicken breast tossed in a spicy Buffalo sauce with lettuce and tomato, topped with melted Swiss cheese. Placed on grilled ciabatta bread with a zesty garlic spread.

Mmm, this is my best one yet. It happened when I was in Europe…