Mail Order

“Goddamnit, not again.” I looked up from the kitchen table over at the YouTube video playing on my laptop. Reaching out, I hit pause, then backed it up a little.
+++++The blonde stretched out on the table started to move, so I shoved the chloroform rag up against her face one more time. Blondie just wouldn’t quit.
+++++After a few seconds of the ol’ chloroform she stopped moving, and I turned back to the video. “Goddamned motherfucker,” I moved the little slider back, and picked up my knife, trying to follow along.
+++++Piece of shit movie was going too fast, I backed it up again.
+++++And now blondie was giving me a hard time. Fercrissakes, can’t a guy get a break around here.
+++++She just wouldn’t stay still; wriggling like a freaking worm on a hook when I’m busy and trying to do my job. I gave up with the chloroform and just kept going. The tape was holding her still enough anyway. The video showed a scalpel cutting through skin, and it peeling open nice an’ easy, like a banana.
+++++I got that part.
+++++Stretched out on the table, blondie twisted and tried to roll when the knife cut through her belly, blade dragging across her skin and opening her up. Duct tape held her pretty tight though, and her eyes stayed shut, so it was all good.
+++++I kept going.
+++++On the video hands in latex gloves lifted out the uterus, so I did the same, cutting as I went with the kitchen knife. I didn’t have any fancy clamps, so I used some pliers, and they did a decent enough job. I followed along with the video, using my knife just like the scalpel blade.
+++++I was getting pretty good; but you know what they say, practice makes perfect.
+++++Dropping the uterus in the Tupperware dish beside me, I reached for my needle and thread, ready to sew her up. Here’s hoping blondie’d last a bit longer than the others.
+++++As I wrapped my thread around those funny tube things, she started to buck, her face turning blue under the duct tape.
+++++Goddamnit to hell, not another one.
+++++She bucked a little more, but the tape on her hands and legs held her tight, and when she finally up and died on me, I tried to lift her into the garbage bag, and couldn’t. I had to cut her off the table first.
+++++Guess I used a bit too much tape.
+++++I tipped her legs into a garbage bag and lifted her off the table; letting her body hit the ground, and then tied up the bag with those twist ties that come with it. They’re actually pretty good garbage bags; I buy them at the Home Depot; industrial strength, the kind the contractors use, really good ones. Heavy duty.
+++++Nobody ever asks why I need so many.
+++++Bumping her body down the basement stairs, I dropped her beside the others; a few more black bags sat waiting. Guess I’d need to take out the trash pretty soon.
+++++Back up in the kitchen, I wiped up the mess blondie left behind and shoved the paper towels and Windex into another garbage bag, then popped the Tupperware in the fridge. I might get some use outta that later.
+++++Wiping off my hands with a fresh paper towel, I closed the YouTube video and opened up the order screen on my laptop; something about overseas romances or some such nonsense. I was planning on getting an extra one anyway, they don’t seem to last too long around here.
+++++Under quantity selected, I hit two.

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Liz McAdams

Liz McAdams is a short, sharp writer and lives in the wilds of Canada with her black cats and her laptop. Her work appears in places around the world, including The Horror Zine, Yellow Mama, Shotgun Honey, Feminine Collective, Near to the Knuckle, and Twisted Sister. You can connect with Liz through

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