Blood and Spoiled Hamburger

Ron Koppelberger

Blood and Spoiled Hamburger

Cold in bouquet, the final swallow of brandy didn’t cure his craving for blood. The package of hamburger was old, dripping, sodden, spoiled blood. On a bad day he’d chew a piece of raw steak or hamburger for the juice. He felt sluggish, his reflexes bypassed by an angry empty wont. For the love of warm sea salt and mossy spring, eternal he thought as he dreamed of pulsing arteries and coppery malt.
His spine tightened when the doorbell rang. He pictured Avon ladies and vacuum cleaner salesman in full blooming acceptance. Drink of us they sang, drink of our essence, our passionate cherry stain and our raspberry wine, come drink.
He answered the door in a hopeful flourish only to discover the shifting shape of his girlfriend. She was, in fact, a shifting dealer of countenance, a shape shifter by birth and her features changed with each passing moment. He let her in and explained his unbidden thirst. She paused to ponder this for an instant then offered her upturned wrist to his waiting lips.
He drank in greedy gulps until she pulled her wrist back, “Enough!” she said as she pushed him back. She went into the kitchen and yelled to the living room, “Did you eat this hamburger hon, it’s spoiled?” He replied shyly and self consciously, Yes, just a little bit darling.”
Later he became sick with food poisoning and she would have to secret him to a doctor, saving his life.
After he was cured they had Champaign and steak, “delicious.” he said between bites.
“It is scrumptious.” she replied as the Champaign bubbles tickled her nose. “And to think……,” he said “I nearly missed this moment with you because of spoiled hamburger.”
“I have to keep an eye on you every second hon.” she said tapping her plate.