TRIGGER WARNING: SELF-HARM
Recently, my wife has started making
me hamburgers for dinner. And by that, I mean that she’s been making me
hamburgers almost every night for the past month. At first, I thought it was
kind of charming. Home-made hamburgers, home-made up to her grinding the beef
herself in a little grinder she bought some time ago but never had the chance
to really use.
After the fourth night in a row of hamburgers, though, it
quickly stopped being quite so charming. I brought it up with her that eating
hamburgers this often can’t be healthy, but she simply waved my concern away,
telling me that she made sure to get the healthiest cuts of beef for us. Of
course, the plain fact of the matter was that, after two weeks of eating
nothing but hamburgers had passed, I was getting very, very tired
though, my wife seemed to enjoy it. She was discovering new and creative ways
to make the hamburgers every night, and even if I got tired of it after a short
while, she at least managed to make each hamburger dinner different in smaller
or in larger ways. I couldn’t deny that it was pretty good tasting meat, too,
so it at least had that going for it. Even though I had my issues with it,
then, I let my wife make hamburgers as much as she pleased, especially since I
hadn’t seen her this excited for something she was doing in quite a long time.
should get something out of the way right now, though. For as long as I’ve
known my wife – going on about five years now – I’ve never seen her get
seriously injured. She might slice her finger while chopping vegetables, or she
might bang her arm or leg against something really hard, but I’ve never seen
any real sign of those things having happened an hour or two afterwards. She
always puts a bandage or some kind of ice compression pad on the injury, of
course, but I’ve always found it strange how I can’t see any cut or bruisers by
the end of the day.
the time I get home from work, the hamburgers are usually already made – if not
the whole meal, then the patty itself is formed up and cooking on the grill. I managed
to get off work early, today, and I decided to come home and surprise my wife,
and maybe help her out with the dinner if I could. After all, it wasn’t fair
that she had to make the hamburgers all by herself every night, and maybe if I
helped cook them, I could learn to love them as much as she did, herself.
think you might see where this is going, by now.
I wanted to surprise her, I made sure to park my car a few houses down the road
so that she wouldn’t hear me pull into the driveway. I quietly walked up to the
house, and peeked in through one of the front windows that looks side-long into
the kitchen. As I did, I saw something that made my stomach churn, and it took
every ounce of self-control I had to not hurl right there on the lawn.
wife was shoving her own hand and lower arm into the meat grinder, barely
wincing as her flesh was ground into strings of meat that strung themselves out
onto the plate in front of the grinder. Blood splattered up a bit, but it
looked like she had some sort of towels or something to keep it from flying all
over the place. I suppose I would have suspected something the first night if I
came back to my kitchen covered in blood.
Either way, I watched in horror as
she continued to push her limb into the machine, losing more and more of her
body as she went. Eventually, she pulled her arm out, and what I saw next was,
perhaps, even more horrifying. Right there, before my eyes, her arm started to
grow back. In less than a minute, everything was right back to what I was used
to: A perfectly normal arm and hand, not looking at all like it had just been
put through a meat grinder. And yet, the ground “beef” was still
there on the plate, the “beef” that I knew would be cooked up into
the hamburgers both her and myself would eat later on for dinner.
must have stepped on a branch or something, because my wife twirled around to
look through the window in my direction. I think that I had managed to duck out
of the way quickly enough that she didn’t see me, but I didn’t take any
chances, and quickly retreated back to my car. I drove the opposite way from my
house, figuring that I could take refuge at a coffee shop or some such until
the time that I normally get back home.
so confused. I want to believe that maybe I was just imagining it. That maybe
she was just putting normal cow meat into the grinder, and I just couldn’t see
properly at the angle I was looking in from. But her arm. Her hand. I saw them,
missing, a bloody, mutilated stump where the grinder had stopped. And I saw
them grow back, grow back and looking like nothing had ever happened. It must
have happened. There’s no way it didn’t. The image was too vivid, too ingrained
in my head for it to not have been real.
been about an hour now. I’m supposed to be back for dinner soon. I’m not sure
that I can eat those hamburgers tonight.
At the same time, though, I’m
worried about my wife. I don’t want her to think that I don’t like her cooking.
Credits to: MissBrainProblems (story)