"There's a lot to said for cold meat." 100 words or less.
Stop now and compose your own before reading my twisted story, and submit it here and there. I am inserting a picture here so you don't see my subject before writing. This steer was helping in the Foreign Animal Disease exercise last week. Cold meat? No, not this guy.
A bruised jaw and a black eye was not what mom expected. And a raw filet was not what I expected to be slapped on my face, after the backside of her hand slapped my bottom. “There’s a lot to be said for cold meat,” she said, adding “the rest of the family will have theirs on the table tonight, “Warm, grilled.”
I felt like cold meat while my father was pounding me in the stairway. He called me a faggot. “Filthy faggot.”
That was 6 years ago. I am a faggot. A good faggot. Father is dead. Cold meat.
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While "faggot" is an offensive word I am using here in literature and in reality, this is how homophobes often refer to gay people, including fathers who beat their kids.
