A Nice, Romantic Man By Frankie Lassut

Men! All the same! But, all I want is a nice one! All he has to do is be interested in me, and throw rose petals in my scented bath (which he ran) just like in American Beauty! Not much to ask is it? I deserve it. She walked in the countryside with him, hand in hand; there was plenty of energy in the new romance. Love was in the air! Wildlife could sense this. Birds sang, grasshoppers rasped, and butterflies just did what they do.

They came across a copse. He said 'I've mountain biked here with my friends. I have a surprise for you. Do you like history?' 'Yes!' she replied (a bloke who has the ability to think! And with muscles! And he's nice!). They entered the copse.

'No one else comes in here you know, it's a secret place.' Fear shot across her mind, but was quickly replaced by gratitude. He was showing it to 'her'! Love! At last. In her head she thanked God, and immediately thought she would tell him. 'I've just thanked God for sending you to me.' She said, looking into his eyes. 'Oh, yeah! I'm an atheist, but ta anyway.' He replied, after thinking for a few seconds. A few seconds later, he led her into a clearing.

'Tra laaaa!' he exclaimed! What do you think?' 'Wooooow! What a wonderful place,' she replied, hugging his arm. 'Its quite old,' he said, referring to the ruined church. She screamed in a squeaky manner and gripped his arm tighter. 'What's up?' he asked.

'What was that scream above us in the trees?' she asked. He laughed. 'That wasn't a scream; it was the cry of a carrion crow. Look up.' She did, and squinted a little. There were two large black birds in one of the tall trees. 'Oooooh! They're looking at me!' she exclaimed. 'No,' he laughed. 'They nest here each year, and it's spring! Love is in the air. Can't you feel it?' 'ooooh yessss,' she said, hugging him now and kissing his chin. 'Look up again, follow my finger, see their nest?' Her eyes followed his finger. 'That black thing with sticky out bits? The sticks?' she asked.

'Yes' he replied, 'chicks in it, probably' 'Babies? How do you know?' 'Because they're both looking for food. All bird chicks are very demanding.' He put his hands round her waist and pushed her gently away and walked on. 'Look! here!' he said.

She looked once more at the crows, who were preening, (she thought them horrible) and then went over to him. 'What?' she asked. 'Gravestones! Wa haaaaa!' he replied..'You're stood on dead people!' 'Don't be horrible!' She said. But, really, she was interested. 'I'm going to study these. Hey look; 1782 this woman died. And this one, 1783, buried with her husband. How sad.' He had wandered a few feet away, and was looking at the crows again.

'Sorry?' he asked. 'These gravestones. Aren't they old? Why are you staring at those birds?' she asked him. 'Ahhhh. Just watching. I'm in the RSPB you know, the Royal Society for the Protection of Birds. They're fascinating. Look over there, by the edge of that bramble bush.' She walked over, avoiding sticky bramble stalks, and did. There was a large flat gravestone, with a large cross at the head of it.

'Wooow, 1637! I can't read the slab, it's all faded. Can y...' The rock smashed into the side of her head as she turned it to look at him. She fell to the floor, blood gushing from the wound. The expression on her face was that of a confused Jesus as the first nail went home to mamma. He hit her twice more, until she was still, forsaken by her non existent maker.

The crows just carried on preening, well used to the sight of death; all in a days crowing, actually. When he was sure she was 'gone' (an expression of non atheism) he walked to the side of the flag gravestone, bent down, and put his fingers under it. With great effort, he lifted it. It fell with a whooshm onto the floor. No open grave greeted him. No dilapidated, dry corpse. Not a bone! Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

He pulled her by the arms, and dragged her down the steps. Her head banged on each one, twenty in all. She had stopped bleeding by now, the platelets hadn't realised they were homeless and would soon die and decay. How sad. In the room below, there was a lorry battery with a cable coming from it. He hit the switch, and a light came on … kinda dim really, but enough. There were two tree trunks, both four and a half feet tall, with a large flat gravestone atop of them…his 'slab'.

He got her on her back on it, and stripped her bare. He threw her clothes into a black bin bag. He went to an old set of drawers in one corner of the room, and opened the top one. There were a selection of scalpels, and other small instruments. He withdrew a scalpel, and the cutting began. Thin strips. Three inches by one quarter of an inch. He placed them on a tray which he got from the second drawer down. When the flesh was cleared, he cut the bones with a saw from the third drawer down, and put them in another bin bag. He was hot. He decided to take a rest.

He opened the fourth drawer down (there are five) and took out a Mountain Biking magazine he hadn't yet read, and a torch: he bought them, didn't read them, and put them in the drawer to read whilst resting in the middle of a dissection. That way he didn't get bored. He put the used ones in the bones bin bag. Who would know? Organs? He had a boiling pot heated by a wood fire - very Hannibal Lecter, but so what? Kept him healthy! She was healthy, and now at least, she would be 'with him' forever. Even after shits. Intestines? Well, he squeezed out the contents into the bones bin bag, and then gave them to a friend of his who made very popular sausages ... 'skins'.

The skulls he de-brained with a hook (like the Egyptians), and then boiled them. These were sold with candles within to Goth shops in London. It was better than working! Christ, all you had to be was romantic! He took hold of his tray, covered in meat strips and climbed the steps. But first, he opened the fifth drawer, and removed the contents.

'Oldie! Bill! Food!' The crows dropped from the trees and landed on the gravestone cross he stood by (their old poo on it said it was their favourite landing place), and he fed them the girl. Some of it they took for their hungry chicks. He then walked out of the copse and onto the grassy bank. He put on the leather glove, and tied some meat he'd saved onto the end of the leather string. He then, lasso like, waved it in a large circle around his head. www.frankie-lassut.com

'Jenny! Jenny! Come on girl!' The Kestrel caught the bait, and feasted. Made a change from shrews. The next day, he took the bin bags to the tip and threw them into the incinerator. Then he went to feed his pets again, before the body rotted. One week later, he went out for a drink, and met a lovely girl. She was single. 'How would you like to go for a nice walk in the country with me tomorrow?' 'Oh, I'd love that!' she replied (a nice romantic man!).

Copyright © Frankie Lassut 2009

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