Butcher Part III

The world was a scary place. By the day, the planet was acting out, fires all out of order, flooding was everywhere. When he went out into the streets, they reeked of fear and death, they stank of blood and piss. He could see defecation lying on the ground, flies swirling around. He could see men running, as if the devil himself were chasing them. Maybe he was, maybe the devil had finally been let loose to do his bidding on the planet, unhindered. Maybe it was the end of days, he clutched his cross closer to his chest. He was so thankful to God that the good Lord had allowed him to make money, had given him the wisdom and foresight to save large chunks of it, and that he didnt live in a neighborhood too flashy, or too far in the dumps. He was in that rare medium where although the residents feared for their lives every day, the Breakers had not yet torn down the gates. They had better prey. The slums burned in the distance, smoke spiralling upwards, a beacon, a warning, slums in every city were on fire. The poor were rising, they called it.

He shuddered, and muttered a prayer under his breath. It was grocery day. They had stretched out their supplies as far as they could, from when the riots started, but they could no longer. He would go get meat, his wife would get vegetables. Thankfully, stores for both were in the vicinity.

He took his son.

The butcher’s store smelled as if it had just been cleaned. It was cold, the man shivered as he entered. His son was on his phone, the father could hear the birds hitting the pigs. Colin shook his head in exasperation, his son would not survive, he thought and said hi to the butcher, whom he had called in advance and made an appointment for.

“What am I going to do about him?” Colin said to the butcher. “Still focused on video games?” the man asked in a thick accent. “Yeah, and his phone.”

“Son, come here,” the butcher’s accent was Middle Eastern, heavy, it hung in the air, reverberating through the room, off the polished silver walls, thick in the cold air. The boy walked over to the butcher, eyes on his phone. “This is my thickest knife. I once skinned an entire camel with it, here, take a look. No, no, don't touch the blade. It is very, very sharp. Do you know what this meat is?”

The boy shook his head, entranced. Phone in his hand, limp by his side.

“Lion” the man whispered.

The boy’s eyes widened. 

“Now look around, there is panther meat here, see if you can find it.”

The boy went looking, the game was afoot. 

“Let me just go grab your meat from the back, Colin. Same amount?” he called back, already on his way to the freezer.

“Double. And listen.”

“Yes, Colin?”

“Thank you.” 

The man smiled beneath his bushy brown beard as he opened the door, and cold air rushed out.

The boy stopped and stared at the freezer in the back, inside of which he could not catch a glimpse of. The door had opened wordlessly, it had been oiled earlier that day.