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"Science Fiction" means—to us—everything found in the science fiction section of a bookstore, or at a science fiction convention, or amongst the winners of the Hugo awards given by the World Science Fiction Society. This includes the genres of science fiction (or sci-fi), fantasy, slipstream, alternative history, and even stories with lighter speculative elements. We hope you enjoy the broad range that SF has to offer.

Bits of Flesh

Brittaina Goffy is a tiger plotting revenge for her endangered animal status. You can find her on twitter @brittanianvamp and her blog tanyascreams.wordpress.com.

***Editor's Warning: Disturbing***
They say it's the most straightforward job in the world. You mark your wares, with the expense color-coded. You go to the cobblestone alley, and convince strangers to buy little bits of yourself.
You also buy and consume to seep other flavors into your flesh. Today you buy the flesh of the rather skinny Latino, because his eyes speak of richness, despite his body speaking of starvation.
You eat the strip of the Latino's flesh, his richness scattering across your taste buds, reminding you of your first sip of forbidden wine.
The next morning you stop in front of the Latino's stall and try to hide a smile. He tells you a little about himself, the standard diet talk again, and he mentions a book.
You hate the author but buy the book anyway.
That night, you roast a strip of him. His aroma intoxicates you and you eat it before it's done.
It's delicious anyway.
One morning, you notice that he's pale. He gives you a free sample of his flesh to prove he's not. You give him a strip of your flesh in return, although you worry that it's too bland for him.
He eats it there and smiles.
That night, you finish the book.
He can't stand up the next morning. You tell him to take a break, eat more flesh.
He can't afford more flesh.
You drive him home against his protests. You cook strips of yourself, watch yourself and all of the people you've recently consumed, sizzle and brown in the fire.
He still complains, even though he likes the food. He doesn't eat it all, though the quantity was quite consumable, and asks to be taken to his home.
While driving him home, you discuss the book. How you didn't like the author before, but this book has haunted you. How it reminded you of him. How he haunted you.
You kiss him goodnight before he can react.
The next morning, you meet his child nephew at his stall. His uncle had died in the night, he squeaked, but his flesh was just as good as, if not better, than his uncle's.
You take him home before he can carve himself.
The End
This story was first published on Monday, October 9th, 2017

Author Comments

I read a book someone recommended, even though I didn't like the author. It turned out to be something that got me through a difficult time, a book that slowed me down at a time I was going too fast. Trading books meant sharing a piece of ourselves whilst risking rejection, and turned out to be a catalyst for this story.

- Brittaina Goffy
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