5th Hour Honours English
Yes, that needed mentioning (it may explain a lot (but don't get your hopes up))
Trampling in from the doorway, wind bellowing into the main hall, I came home from a typical day's work.
"I'm home, my love!" I called out, and as the seconds crept by, I realized that at this hour my dear Ivanka must have been preparing dinner. A coquettish smile crossing my face, I took off my jacket and placed it on top of the coat stand. Bert and Maggie weren't around, I noticed, but I assumed they were either in the kitchen or out working.
Bert and Maggie hadn't been around when Ivanka and I had first wed, but the marriage had never been as good as when they were there. Acting as Ivanka and my servents, they performed the mundane, everyday tasks that were far beneath the dignity of my midnight flower.
Making my way through the halls of our cozy home, I thought about what luck it was to find such a quaint place inside of New York. On a small street, our house was part of an unbroken chain, with walls being the only things that separated us from them. Thank goodness for the basement.
Pulling open the stairwell door, a growl escaped from my stomach as the rich smell of cooking meat hit my nostrils. Mouth watering in anticipation, I wondered if my lovely wife would mind if I had just a bite before we sat down for that evening's meal. Then again, it might be best not too- Princess was very serious about her meals, and I wouldn't want to get on her bad side.
Entering the main chamber of our subterranean residence, I saw my dark Princess, already dressed up for dinner. "Good evening, my love. I apologize for arriving so late, but I was held up by-" I was cut off as she grabbed me, pulling my head towards hers, ensuing in a passionate exchange. A faint groan reached my ears, unfortunately, my mind was distracted, and the moment was lost. Now more than a bit grumpy, I turned towards the man gagged and bound on the floor.
"Now that's a pretty one," I said, referring to the plumpness of the man, particularly around the oh-so-tender calves. My wife reached her arms around me in gratitude, and my cheek tickled as it brushed her feathered collar. While at times it was a bit inconvenient, it would have been improper for a Mayan Feast to take place without such homage to the gods.
We were a devote pair, Princess Ivanka and me. We had started off small, living in a small village in the Amazon. While on a class trip in Brazil, working towards my Major in anthropology, I got hopelessly lost, and Ivanka found me wandering. She took me in, and introduced me to her tribe. At first wary of the cannibals, I could not help but join them as my love for Ivanka grew. While passionate and fiery to the ends of the earth, she had these small moments that we could share, where she was quiet and, for all the world, sad. During these periods we grew closer and closer, until we had wed. By then I had long since tasted human flesh, and was devoted to worshipping our gods, but I was a city boy. Convincing Ivanka with tales of splendor and thousands of unknowing men and women, a veritable market for our tastes, we set off for New York, the city of lights and dreams.
And here we were, five years later, still passionately in love, and making a respectable living. I was the manager of a corner Reeboks store, earning more than enough money for us to live in a mostly worriless lifestyle, while Ivanka stayed at home, preparing our meals, tidying the house, raising our 2-year old, Manuela, and bleeding the prisoners to appease the gods.
As soon as the thought crossed my mind, my stomach growled again, and Ivana noticed.
"Not to worry, my devoted one, we shall soon feast with the gods again." She said to me, leaning in to change it into a seductive whisper at the end. My love and desire grew for her, but I controlled myself, if only for the presence of the obese man and Maggie, who was tending the fire in the back. When we had first bought this house, the chimney didn't reach down into the basement. A few hammer swings and a few hundred bricks later, and we could have a nice, private meal in our home.
And so I would. The end of the obese man's leg had already been removed, just below the knee, and left to stew over the fire until our broth was perfect. Nothing less for Ivanka. The man's wound had been cauterized, of course. It would have been foolish to let him bleed out, and risk the meat rotting before the next meal.
Manuela came down the stairs after Maggie rang the bell, signaling the time for dining. Ivanka took her place at one end of the table, as I did the other. Maggie sat next to Manuela, and Bert showed up from his long day, scouting the city for their next meal. I looked at them, my family, and I smiled. We were proud, and I was a man with a purpose, and the love of his wife.
(Jake's end note: I finished this at almost 3 in the morning. Did that affect the plot? I have no idea…)