Raw – Short Horror Story

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People say I have the perfect job. Traveling to exotic places? Eating the most decadent food? And all on my employer’s dime? It sounds like heaven.

And yes, I’d say it is. But none of those things are my favorite thing about my job.

For this article, I’m interviewing one Narumi Hiroshi, an up-and-coming young sushi chef in L.A. Shy, but an artist with the Santoku knife, his hands moving so swiftly, they’re a blur. The resulting sashimi and rolls are works of art—I almost regret eating them. But the flavor is divine.

“You truly are a master, Narumi-san,” I purr. He blushes and looks away. What a sweet thing. I offer him my thanks, and pretend to depart.

He doesn’t leave the restaurant until after midnight. Fumbling with his keys beside his car, he doesn’t hear me approach.

Konban-wa, Narumi-san,” I say, startling him. He drops the keys and greets me sheepishly.

“I didn’t realize you were still here,” he says.

I step up to him and place a hand on his chest. He looks at my hand, surprised, then at my face.

“I like to keep people on their toes,” I say, and kiss him.

He tastes like salt, like brine. He hesitates, wondering if he should pull away. By the time he makes his decision, it’s too late.

His knees go weak, and he only stays standing because I catch him, holding onto his jacket to keep his mouth against mine.

When I’m done, I let go, and he collapses in a heap. He pats himself all over, checking for wounds, wondering what happened. “Gochisousama deshita,” I say. Thank you for the meal.

He watches silently as I stalk away, licking my lips.

He doesn’t understand now what he lost, but tomorrow, when he arrives at work and picks up the Santoku knife, he will. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my hundreds of years, it’s that there’s nothing quite so delicious as raw talent.

submitted by /u/firesidechats451

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