She disembowelled the priest on the altar he had once christened her on and then feasted on his intestines, slurping his guts like they were al dente linguini. It was her first real meal in more than a week and boy did it taste great.
Humans were hard to come by these days – the tasty, fresh, breathing kind, not the stinking mucus moochers. Of those there were plenty, roaming the streets of New Orleans.
Lukewarm blood sputtered from the priest’s aorta as she sank her teeth in into his heart. The cartilage was a bit bothersome but the juiciness compensated plenty. The altar by now had more of a surgical table after a messy operation. The House of God now a theatre of blood.
Not an edible part did she leave untouched. After scooping out the priest’s innards she moved onto the crunchy ears. She nibbled the flesh of his fingers and savoured the fatty goodness of his beer belly. By the time she was through with the priest only his gnawed carcass remained.
Satisfied she left the church through the sacristy were the priest had been watching his favourite movie in an effort to forget the horrors on the outside.
Edward G. Robinson could be heard snickering loudly.
“Where’s your Messiah now?”
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