This is not fake news. This is what people used to refer to as fiction. Is that still a thing in a world where people base beliefs on “their own truth?” Woodstein Media will not always post fiction on Fridays but every time a piece of fiction get posted it will be on a Friday. It will be clearly marked as fiction. Fiction Fridays will be few and far between, but this is the first of a trilogy that was written for a college class on fiction I took in fall 2025. The stories cut across genres and slip in comments on current events. The first story of the series was published on August 21st, and the conclusion will be released on September 4th.

***

“Out for delivery.”

Alex jammed the phone back into the pocket of their homemade apron with so much ferocity that the hand sown stitches of some unknown seamstress tore with a soft wail. Alex fell in love with the apron immediately upon finding it in the Blessed Bonanza thrift store and has worn it to threads since plucking it up for five dollars. The phone cracked against the concrete and Alex quickly snapped it off the ground checking to see it was not busted, then sank back into the peeling red paint of an aging plastic chair on the porch. That old chair has a terrifying softness that screams lack of support and will soon give up and snap under the abuse it suffers.

“‘Do not work for the food that perishes, but for the food that endures to eternal life.’ John 6:27” was boldly pronounced by the apron in pristine white block letters. Alex looked down at the words with confused recognition. It seemed to make perfect sense and muddle the moment simultaneously.   There was a lot of work to be done, and the delivery truck was bringing the key component.

Bill had sliced the meat up and passed it out with a warning it would need to be consumed quickly. The situation needed to be contained before anyone decided to talk about the incident beyond what he called the safe zone of their community. What better way to contain a situation then through sharing the bounty the Lord had delivered them. Bill had instructed Alex, Sarah and Jack, to invite other members of the congregation to their homes for food and fellowship as soon as possible. None of them had the slightest idea how long side of heathen would stay fresh so they all agreed haste would save waste, and in this case, waste could be incriminating.

Alex was not sure how much they had to worry. Almost everyone in any position of authority in town was a member of their church and all the key authoritarians – the mayor, the chief of police, even the chair of the Chamber of Commerce – were involved in the incident. You just can’t be too sure who is going to get the heebie-jeebies though, can you?

A short white delivery van pulled up by the curb and Alex leaped out of their seat and ran down the driveway to greet the driver.

“I’ve just got to snap a pic to confirm delivery,” the driver moaned in fatigue. Alex wondered how many accidents are cause by overworked weary delivery drivers and then pushed the thought away. It didn’t matter now; it was time to get to work.

Alex let the driver take the photo and then scrambled back into the safety of the house with the package before tearing it open greedily.  They were excited to prepare the meal more than to see what had been delivered. It was no secret and having already seen how well it worked when Bill brought his to the park, Alex knew that a four-star rating at Amazon was good enough for the job that needed to be done. The HAUSHOF Cordless Electric Knife had handily sliced through flesh and bone when the quarters had been cut.

A couple of thoughts drifted into Alex’s head. Where did Bill dispose of the head? As quickly as that thought arrived, it was gone. The other thought lingered longer. Wasn’t there a lack of mess when the body was being butchered? It was strange the way that it had quartered nicely, wasn’t it? It cut more like a portobello mushroom than the sloppiness and carnage Alex had expected. If there was a word to describe the process, they probably would have described it as divine.

There was a lot of work to be done, and guests would arrive promptly at noon tomorrow, right after Sunday service. Pastor Quackenbush preached punctuality, and the members of the church treated tardiness as a sin.

Of course, Alex did not want to miss Sunday service, so the whole feast needed to be ready a few hours early. Alex was not sure how long infidel flesh would take to cook. It would not have to thaw or cook from frozen because it was a fresh kill, but the mystery of preparation was the problem. Can you Google how to cook false prophet?

Alex pulled the meat out of the fridge. The left side of the torso. Alex was relieved to not have to deal with those lower icky bits of the heretic. Those naughty parts and the butt. They supposed there were probably some of the intestines in this portion, but Alex pushed the gross thoughts out of their mind. The breast area looked full of delicious meat that would make a good roast, and Alex was pleased to find that their Welsh roots would help dispose of heart and lung if they adapted Grandma’s old recipe for faggots. This pleased them because it would open opportunities during the meal for Pastor Quackenbush to have a fiery discussion about how no-one has the right to make them accept homosexuality in their church, for they know it’s a mortal sin. Alex smiled inside and happily set to work with the sharp new electric knife.

Slice, dice, blend and puree, they whistled happily as they whiled the time away. Alex loved to cook, and this project really allowed them to make use of their fully stocked kitchen. All the toys they had collected as a proud Prime member were finally getting a workout. They had been worried years ago when they spent almost a thousand dollars on a VEVOR electric meat grinder it would sit in the back of the cupboard unused, collecting dust until time drove them from the house. But no, it was saving the day and maybe, their life. They had never had to consider what prison was like before, but Alex did not think they were the type of person who would fair well behind bars.

Offensively delicious odours almost like seared and roasted meat filled the kitchen as preparation began on side dishes and desserts needed to fill out the menu. Through the window, dusk had arrived as bruised-violet clouds shoving down the flaming pupil of the setting sun in a flared wink goodnight. The longer they toiled on the meal, the more alert they felt.

Rolling dough, mincing meat, chopping vegetables, checking heat – Alex fell into the rhythm of the work and little by little the heretic that seemed like a test of faith yesterday, seemed like a transcendent gift set forth by God. The kitchen smelled ambrosial.

Alex took a moment to taste a small fibrous ribbon of roasted flesh and found it delightful. It reminded them of a faux pulled pork served at a vegan restaurant. They had not been able to believe that pork was really made from mushroom and not flesh of a pig, but here was that taste again and Alex had to admit this meat was nothing short of delicious.

***

I just don’t get it. This really isn’t normal. Jamie never stays away, and this will be the second night. I mean just last week Jamie told me that they can’t sleep alone anymore. They need me in the bed. What was it Jamie said, Oh yeah, I’m like their little teddy bear – soothing and comfortable.

Then where the fuck are they? They said they were just going to the park for a few hours yesterday and poof, radio silence. No word from them and they are not answering texts or calls. Straight to voicemail. That’s not normal. Jamie never ignores me.

The police assured me that this type of thing happens all the time in relationships and I should just wait. Yeah, maybe in their shitty abusive relationships, but Jamie would never take off without letting me know.

Christ! Jamie programmed me not to cheat at solitaire. “Three cards at a time, never less, never more.”

They must be getting annoyed with me at the hospital. I’ve called three times today to see if Jamie has been admitted or, well I don’t want to think about what could be worse.

These cards are stacked against me. I can’t help but deal again though. I need to occupy my mind. I need Jamie to walk in that door and say… Say what? They already told me they have become acclimated to sharing my bed. They can’t sleep well without me there. Even my light way of snoring. They said it’s a calming rhythm and that our tenderness is more important to them than our lust.

I can’t believe Jamie chose to spend last night away from me, and I know they would not want to be staying away again. Something is wrong.

The sun set hours ago but I can’t stop mechanically dealing out hand after hand of solitaire. This silence is killing me. Jamie, please come home.

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