The Last Steak In The Freezer.

I found his wife hard to take. She was a people pleasing do gooder with a flimsy humanist/feminist philosophy. Most philosophies have some kind of sacred text at their core. Hers seemed to have the guardian newspaper wrapped around the anti male sentiments of a feminist fish supper. Soon the appeal of what lay within the paper wouldnt interest dogs nevermind men. Maybe that was the whole point. It would just be refreshing occasionally to meet a feminist who went for the throat. Rather than the telephone. To report to Daddy that you were being mean to her. 

I got a call one day from my friend. This was rare. He hardly ever asked me for anything. Turns out his wife had taken the kids to her mother's. It sounded like he was sat at home drinking a bottle of whiskey. Crying. Looking at old photographs of happier times. I agreed to go round that afternoon to visit him. It sounded like every cliche in the book was crashing down around his ears. He had lost his job. He had gone to a bar and got drunk. He had pranged the family car on a lamppost outside his house. And his misses had found some cocaine in his pocket whilst looking for signs of him cheating on her. What a mess. I got in my car and drove round there. It was only a few miles away. I knocked on his door and pushed on the handle. Letting myself in. The air inside was thick with cigarette smoke. I followed the sound of the sobbing. He was sat in amongst a makeshift shrine made out of photographs of his family. He was wearing a dirty t shirt and Farah slacks, no socks. 

I went to the kettle and made him a coffee. Five spoons. He told me that his wife had screamed at him in front of the kids. She had said that there wasn't any food in the house. That he couldn't provide. The accusations sounded like the usual bullshit you hear when a persons filing for divorce. When they wanted the world on their side. But I knew my friend and he wasn't a selfish arsehole. Not really. He was probably going through some male crisis. After listening to his boring break up bollocks for three hours. I suggested a drive out to the country. At first he was dead against the idea. Now though after half a bottle of absinthe he was into it. We're going to get some meat I said. What do you mean? He asked. I know where there is a farmers field with lambs I said. We went to his garage and got a spring loaded harpoon from his adventurous years. Checked it still worked. I shot it into a wooden door. It took some pulling out. I also found a black widow catapult, with ball bearings. And an aluminium baseball bat. All ready mate? I asked.

What if we get seen? My mate asked.

Its Miles from the farmhouse. Dont worry.

The next thing we knew we were driving off. I didn't drink so I was designated driver. My mate was sat in the passenger seat staring at his phone. Willing it to ring. It didn't. After maybe ten miles driving we found the field full of sheep and lambs. We parked up and got the weapons ready. We had to wait for a couple of ramblers to pass by on an evening stroll. Then we hopped over the gate. I helped my mate with his harpoon as he was drunk. Then we ran at them. Of course they were cute. It was hard. I swung the bat at one white curly head and the animal went down. I reached down and cut its throat with a pen knife. My mate didn't want to do it. He stood trembling like he was going to cry. Until the mother of the lamb I had killed went for him. He raised the harpoon and fired. As the metal arrow went through its eye socket it died instantly. I shouted for my mate to help me with the two lifeless bodies. We got them over the hedge and in the boot of the car. We then sped off back to my mates house. We parked the car in the garage and carried the two carcasses separately into the house. The adult female was heavy and we both grabbed two legs each. We then carried both animals up to the bathroom. Careful of the carpet! My mate kept saying. But when we got them in the bath there was so much blood it didn't seem to matter anymore. We strung both animals up on the shower rail. They no longer had heads. I put the heads in a black bin bag. We let the blood drain out. My friend had found a bottle of whiskey and was taking long swings of it. Blood and viscera covered the bottle. Blood ran red down the plughole. The stench seemed out of place. I went to the kitchen and found some knives. I cut round the ankles. I cut a slit in the stomach. Not too deep as to damage the internal membranes. Then I used my hands to make the slits wider as all the organs and stomach fell into the bath. My friend was smoking a cigarette. Rapidly puffing on its blood soaked ember. There was blood everywhere. My friend looked at me with a kind of scared amusement. That was before he heard the key in the door. And his wife shouted up from the hallway.