He leaves me with Patrick as he goes outside to grab something, and returns a few seconds later with a small axe, the one he uses to chop the wood for the hearth. Patrick’s arms dangle to the sides, blood dripping slowly from the wound Jasper created. He made sure to avoid any veins.
“Let's see if this wakes up our guest,” Jasper says with a boyish smile.
He lifts the axe, and it lands into Patrick’s knee with a wet crack, splintering bone once more. Jasper raises the axe for another round, hacking at the joints and ligaments, as if he were cutting up wood. The lower leg falls with a thud on the concrete floor, blood seeping from the severed flesh. With a small blowtorch, Jasper cauterizes the open wound. The amateur amputation did make Patrick’s eyes fly open from shock, but the sensation of having his flesh singed shut, made him pass out again. The other leg doesn’t evoke any sort of response, and for a second, I worry his heart might have given out, but when I press my finger beneath his ear, I still feel a faint pulse. It’s incredible how much the human body can endure.
Jasper isn’t finished yet, he shows me some fishing wire, moving it in front of me like a magician revealing a hand of cards. I smile at him, eager to see what he’ll do next. With quick movements, he wraps the wire around Patrick’s wrists and ties it in a tight knot. To keep the wire from moving, he uses the staple gun, shooting multiple staples into Patrick’s flesh to secure it. Then he attaches the wire ends to two planks and secures them again.
Jasper lifts Patrick as if he weighs nothing, his arms swinging loosely, the stumps still attached to his torso,unmoving too. He carefully sits Patrick down and secures him with a cargo strap to prevent him from shifting or sliding down.
He grabs a wooden plank and pulls one up, moving Patrick’s attached arm, and Jasper makes him wave at me.
“I’m naming this project, Our Flesh Puppet,” Jasper grins.
I let out a loud, barking laugh. Patrick slowly opens his eyes, no longer fully aware of his surroundings, but his eyes widen at the sensation of his stumps, the flesh still angry, swollen, and red. Jasper moves the planks for both arms, and it reminds me of a baby bird, flapping its wings desperately to be fed by its mother. Patrick is pale from all the blood loss, and I doubt he will stay with us much longer.
I take my camera and begin to shoot up close shots of his barren tissue, the gashes, his ruptured lips, his eyes reminiscent of distorted glass. All of it carries its own macabre beauty, and I fear I will never be able to do it justice, no matter how many photos I take. Through my lens, I study Jasper, who’s covered in red streaks, blood smeared everywhere contrasting with the dark ink, something I only notice now. It’s sexy, and I snap a picture, savoring the moment. I take a quick look, then take a few more. He looks like a God, and he’s all mine.
“What would you have done if you weren’t saving him for me?” I ask curiously.
Jasper glances at me, his lips curling in delight. “I would have gutted him… I mean, I still can… Imagine shooting that… A waterfall of organs that spills to the floor, creating its own piece of art. A mist of blood that follows.”
I lick my lips. I want to see him delve into it all.
“Do it,” I whisper.
Surprised, Jasper looks up at me.
“Are you sure? I don’t want to take away from what you had envisioned, my love. I already took too much to begin with…”
“Do it,” I whisper again. “I want to see it.”
Not one to need further encouragement, Jasper grabs a knife lying next to him and, in a swift movement, he slices Patrick's stomach. Maggots fall to the side, the writhing fuckers crawling over the floor. The clean, horizontal slash splits the belly open, the cavity beneath lay bare—slippery folds of yellowed fat drape over the edge first, clinging like wet cloth. Lost larvae dive into the wound, their greed knowing no bounds. A slick mass of organs writhes, as though the body resists its undoing. It’s grotesque, and I can’t take my eyes off it as I raise my camera and begin to snap away. Patrick’s head hangs forward, the last bit of life stolen from him by us. Jasper and I both watch his body take its natural course, his deceased organs finding their way across his blood-ridden skin like a river breaking through a dam. It’s sensational.
“You truly are an artist,” I gently murmur to Jasper, not hiding my admiration.
My eyes remain fixed on the corpse before me, slowly emptying itself. It doesn’t matter that I can't practice my traditional death photography, as the Victorians had intended; this experience was still worthwhile. A modern take on an old, barely forgotten art. It brought me closer to Jasper, allowing me to revel in his madness and immerse myself in it. Everything felt natural, as if sharing this moment allowed me to truly shed my former self and become who I was always meant to be. A kind of consecration. Our own private ritual.
“What is done with the bodies?” I ask.
“I let them return to Mother Earth. First, I’ll remove the staples and any other potential hazards that could harm wild animals, and then I’ll prop him up. Whatever the animals don’t take, the insects will.”
“You do this every time you kill someone?”
He nods, and I let the words sink in.
“So, does this mean your property is covered with human bones?”
He smirks at me. “Does that bother you?”
Again, I think about it and conclude that no, it actually doesn’t bother me. “No… It doesn’t.”
“I knew you were perfect for me the moment I said hi to you,” he smiles, pulls me flush to him and kisses me.
My body is on fire after our make-out session and I wait impatiently as Jasper grabs a pair of pliers and begins to remove the small clamps embedded in Patrick’s lifeless flesh. I kneel silently and start to untie the wire without a word, not disturbed by the blood that clings to my skin. I softly hum as I pry it free. The planks are already on the floor, and when I’m done, the wire curls inward as it lands on top of them. My skin is coated in the gore and blood that adorns the floor, and when I get up, my knees, thighs, and lower arms show smears of dark crimson. My socks hang loosely around my calves.
Jasper glares at me hungrily. The bulge that’s visible through the fabric of his sweatpants is evident. Without a word, I unclasp my bra, and step out of my thong. I suck in my lower lip, as his eyes narrow into thin slits. I feel the dampness between my legs, my pussy is drenched from his possessive stare. He tosses the bloodied pliers aside, and closes the distance between us with a few strides.
His warm torso is hard against my chest.
