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You gotta behave at Cannibal School.  They leave the meat section of the school lunch open.  It’s a middle school and the guarantee of trouble could only be thwarted by the kids coming together to decide that they will not be eaten today.  But an infraction as simple as the dress code or a forgotten homework assignment was enough to get you on the menu.



Insubordination was easy, and so was fighting and having banned substances.  You fuck up; you’re lunch for the day.  The chef would prepare the breads and desserts early in the morning.  Vegetables have to be fresh or they go limp.  Fresh kid was a special challenge.  This was a cannibal district.  You had to get the proper paperwork done and sent before butchering a kid.



It was decided that humane butchering would subject the other students to unwanted poisons in their meat.  Also, adrenalized meat was really tasty; at least in humans. 



There was always someone crying because somebody lost a friend or they’d had a big sports game and the top scorer got wise and was eaten.  The team would have to pull together. Of course, he was still with them; in spirit and in nutrients.



The kitchen and the school were not heartless.  They always left something for the parents to pick up.  Today it was Johnny.



He got wise with his math teacher.  They sent him out with security, and the vice principal thought it was enough. He looked like he’d make a fine stew…



“I was supposed to pick up my son Johnny for his dental appointment.”



“You can cancel that appointment.  Johnny’s arm is in the fridge.  The one in back.”



They’d wrapped it in some plastic, inside some plain brown butcher’s paper.



“We took care of the paperwork and e-mailed some tax forms to you.”



“Johnny, Johnny.  Well, we were going to get pizza and see a movie.  But I guess we’d better baste this arm instead.”



“He was funny.  We’ll miss him.”



“I guess I won’t be back until my youngest gets here in two years.  Take care, sorry about the trouble.”



She threw the arm in the trunk.







From Zaragosa, Spain, Roo Bardookie plies the oldest profession when not writing, and she once watched her sister get butchered by military doctors.  She currently lives in Alaska and goes to big cities to get money from convention boys.  Also, she wants to stick knives in Louis Marvin's eyes. While she’s published in some dark places, you can find her at www.roobardookie.com.


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