ORIGINAL FICTION: "The Truth About Lions and Lambs" (Part 5)

Please Note: This story deals with very dark and disturbing themes. Do not read it if you're squeamish. This is part 5 of the story. Part 1 of the story is online here http://www.republibot.com/content/original-fiction-truth-about-lions-and... and part 2 is online here http://www.republibot.com/content/original-fiction-truth-about-lions-and... Part 3 is online here http://www.republibot.com/content/original-fiction-truth-about-lions-and.... Part 4 is online here http://www.republibot.com/content/original-fiction-truth-about-lions-and... and part 6 will be online next sunday
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The girl didn’t survive, of course. She was too far gone. She lasted a day or two, or maybe only twelve hours, and he kept forgetting she was there. He was always surprised to see her, took her to be an interloper trying to steal his food. Every time he tried to attack, however, he would notice some post-it notes he’d stuck conspicuously to her: “She is not an enemy,” one said, “She is a friend. Feed her and keep her safe.” So he did, though it did no good.

Or did it? She died peacefully in her sleep with a full belly for the first time in God alone knew how long. She didn’t die alone and cold on the floor, but rather she expired on a cobbled-together bed made of cardboard Civil Defense boxes, and in the end he held her hand, though probably she didn’t know it. They weren’t friends by any stretch of the imagination, but at least she wasn’t entirely by herself. A tiny spark of humanity had re-entered the airport.

And from that came a plan, of sorts. He looked at her body after she’d expired, forgetting again who she was until he saw the notes he’d made for himself, though of course he didn‘t realize he was the one who‘d written them. Why had he bothered? What had she meant to whoever wrote the notes? Well, that didn’t matter much, he supposed, but she must have been important to whomever left the instructions for him. She was dead, obviously, so what could ‘keeping her safe’ mean? There were only one or two things a person would want a dead body for - food and sex - so clearly he must be meant to protect her body from that. He found to his surprise that he had paper and a pen, so he wrote himself a note: Get rid of body in some way others won’t get it. Then he wadded it between his wrist and his watch band, and put her over his shoulder. They made their way to the central atrium, with him forgetting several times what he was doing, but the note reminded him of his mission. He made his way to the third floor, and then chucked her body with all of his might over the side. She fell at an angle, splattering in to the center of the swamp of feces and effluvium that made up the first floor, the impact raising slow concentric ripples amongst the chives growing on top. He thought that was oddly pretty.

Her body was driven fourth-fifths of the way in to the gelatinous mass by the force of impact. ‘Wow,’ he thought, having no memory of just having thrown her in, ‘there’s a lot of meat in that dead body in the middle there,’ he thought, suddenly hungry - but not quite as hungry as he normally was - ‘but no one will ever