The dish is served. An artist’s canvas of soft browns, subtle pinks, crisp whites, and pulsing reds. A tantalizing mixture of aromas and textures that taint the air with decadence. I find myself already salivating, and Jane’s bottom lip quivers in restrained delight.

 

“It smells so divine,” she says.

 

Ecstasy, it is called, and not without good reason. Five-star reviews from even the most discerning customers:

“A delicacy like no other.”

“You MUST taste this!”

“Heaven on a plate!”

 

Restaurants had been booked out night after night since Ecstasy arrived on our shores. It was the newest, best thing that everyone wanted to experience, and I was no exception. It had taken me several weeks just to get tonight’s booking, but looking at the dish before us, it was well worth it. This would be a night to remember.

 

“Should we start?” asks Jane. Her dark pupils are already engorged, and her hands are poised above our meal.

 

“We should give thanks first,” I remind her.

 

“Of course. Thank you for this food we are about to receive,” says Jane, barely drawing a breath.

 

And then we set upon our meal with our bare hands.

 

It’s hard to remember what happened next. The taste was so sublime that I could focus on nothing other than eating. Cramming morsel after morsel into my mouth. Sucking and tearing and crunching.

 

It was Jane who broke the glass. Somewhere in the back of my mind I dimly remembered hearing the smashing sound as it fell to the floor. But it didn’t really register. I was too busy. Feasting. Lost in a labyrinth of my mind. By that stage, Jane and I had abandoned any decorum. We had perched ourselves on the table on all fours and were licking the last juices from the plate and from each other. All around us, other diners were doing the same. For all our pretense that we were civilized, it did not take much to return us to our primitive state.

 

Jane greedily licked the last reddish drop from the bottom of my chin, and then we were done. We returned to our chairs, our minds a little hazy, our bodies sated, our tastebuds still fizzing.

 

“Excellent,” Jane breathed.

 

“Exquisite,” I agreed.

 

We licked our lips and stretched out in our chairs.

 

It was then that Jane stood on the broken glass. A slight cut. The scent of her blood polluted the tasty air.

 

“We’d better get that looked at,” I said.

 

The kitchen staff had disappeared, leaving the diners to their depravities. So we searched for them.

 

“Hellllooo,” called out Jane. “Anyone there?”

 

We hadn’t expected to find the livestock. Sad-looking things in their cages, with their big eyes. Pink skin, brown skin, black skin. Red juices pumping, and crunchy white bones beneath.

 

“Is this what they look like?” asked Jane, her cut now forgotten.

 

“I guess so.”

 

“Odd things, aren’t they?”

 

“But they taste so good.”

 

One of the humans whimpered as my silhouette fell over their cage. Jane’s forked tongue licked the air.

 

“Fancy dessert?” she asked.

 

And I found myself reaching for the cage handle.