Chapter 1

They say that in death your consciousness or soul moves on to another plane of existence depending on how you have lived your life. Some believe that this is either heaven or hell while others believe that you are reincarnated as a greater or lesser being. Others believe that there is nothing, and once your body is deceased that you no longer exist, they do not believe that the consciousness or soul live on outside of the vessel you piloted through life. Others believe that every particle of your being carried a little bit of you with it so that after you die, you go back into everything, spread out by entropy and nature into everything: a drop of rain, a gull soaring above the coastline, a gust of wind whispering to the living.

But, none of these are true.

Your body is your vessel in life and in death. Your consciousness remains within the confines from which it was created. Yourself now, that is who you are both alive and deceased. Your body is dead, but your soul is alive. But without your body your soul has nothing to hold it's existence and therefore for as long as you can you will cling to your body.

All those poor souls laid to rest underground to watch their bodies dissipate and whither into nothing over a long time, they don't have your finality. Those souls cremated, their bodies gone within seconds and then they are nothing have no time to process the truth of it all. But you, you get to enjoy your death. You get the privilege of knowing that your dead body is more than just flesh left to rot or burn. You are giving back to those who have given you so much, and made that shell to house your soul big enough for you to exist in.

No, my darling, your death is no different than your life, and based on your life your death is well deserved and those who provided you with the life you so enjoyed are owed their due.

Stockholm looked deeply into Madeline's cold dead eyes and pried open her jaw before wedging the apple between her teeth. He double checked the twine sutures across her neck and abdomen before her soul heard the oven door creak open and felt the heat of the coils roasting her massive body.

Hour after hour the door would open and a sudden relief of cool air touched her skin before she was basted in the scolding juices from her own cooking body. Her skin grew tighter as the fat melted out of her pores, the breading in her abdomen soaking up her flavor where her organs once were. She wanted it to end but she began to realize that she was still here, that he was right about how her soul was confined to her body, and feared what was to come.

The door of the massive oven opened and she was pulled out in her baking dish by machine and transferred to a sterling silver serving platter. He now golden brown skin was tight, squeezing her abundant meat to her bones though her oils had detached almost all of her tendons. She was aware of it all, and completely helpless.

The sharp carving knife and large three pronged fork were placed on either side of her well done body as if to taunt her.

She felt the cart moving underneath her platter, her final resting place. She felt the impact of the cart pushing open the large double doors between the kitchen and the banquet hall.

"Stockholm!" One of the guests exclaimed, "you've certainly outdone yourself with this one."

She knew that her eyes ha boiled in the oven, and that her eardrums had burst from the heat, and that her nerves were all but gone, but her soul could hear their voices as they complemented her captor, the man she gave into, on how well he had fattened, slaughtered, and prepared her. She could see their sickly pale faces and bulbous noses as they drank their bourbon and wine and salivated over her meat. And she felt the fork stab into her rump then the life carving slice after slice as she was divided onto the plates with sides of asparagus, caviar, potatoes, and carrots.

Her dead, boiled, motionlessly cold eyes simply gazed t the sunlight flickering as the curtain by the open bay window letting the slightest breeze in.